Reuben and Other Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Wi' handfuls o' hardships and heartfuls o' care,
Guidwife, you and I ha'e a hantle to bear,
We've scrimpit an' clootit to mak baith ends meet,
Yet for a', there's but little between's and the street.
There's something far wrang whan the like o' us want,
And plenty for Idleness, Quack'ry, and Cant.
The fat o' the land is enjoy'd by sic gentry,
While hard handed Wark has a beggarly pantry.

Guidman, we ha'e troubles and hardships enew,
But we've comforts and joys neither little nor few.
We gree weel thegither, our bare leggit weans
Are lichtsome as linties and sturdy as stanes:
Hard wark and sound sleep, a clear conscience and peace;
And richly we dine when guid health says the grace.
Awa' wi' your envy o' lots that look fairer—
A' burdens are licht, except to the bearer.

But think o' your thousands exempt frae a' toil,
The heirs o' the siller, the lords o' the soil;
Your limbs o' the law, wi' a scart o' the pen
Each makin' as muckle's wad sair ony ten;

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Your parsons, whase heaviest wark is to speak,
And that, too, for only ae day in the week;
Your doctors, your merchants, your traders and tricksters,
That live by their lees and their villainous mixtures!

The last I wad envy's the rich idle crew,
For the weariest labour is—naething to do;
Nor wad I the lawyer, though cramm'd be his purse,
Ilk penny that fills it is paid wi' a curse:
The parson's hard set for his seventh day's scrieve,
And aften maun preach what he canna believe:
Wi' doctor and dealer, Death and Debt deal nae fairer:—
A' burdens are licht, except to the bearer.

Ay, ay, but to slave frae the dawn to the dark,
And aften denied e'en the curse o' hard wark;
Ilka day eatin' up what the ither has won,
Wi' nocht to fa' back or look forrad upon;
Yet plenty for a' in the lap o' the earth,
To whilk we've a richt by the charter o' birth!
It's hard to be borne, and wrang to defend it;—
We shouldna put up wi't—plain Justice cries “mend it!”

It's mended already—ay mair than we ken;
The troubles o' life are the makin' o' men:
Ilk ane gets his share, and what matter the kind,
Be this through the body or that through the mind.
Ah, mony's the licht-seemin' heart on the road,
Wad part wi' its pack for your wearisome load.
The mair we repeat it, the proverb grows clearer—
A' burdens are licht, except to the bearer.