ROBERT BURNS (1759-1796), “the Bard of Ayrshire” and Sweet Afton the National Poet of Scotland, was born in Alloway, Scotland. A poor farmer's son, he received little formal education and Flow gently, sweet Afton! amang thy green braes, hills published Poems, Chiefly in the Scottish dialect in 1786. The Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise; success of this volume allowed him to join Edinburgh's literary My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, elite and marry his mistress Jean Armour who bore his Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. legitimate children (he also fathered illegitimate children with various women). He also began to collect and write songs (over Thou stockdove whose echo resounds thro' the glen, 500 in number, many still sung today including “Auld Lang Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den, Syne” and “Scots Wae Hae”) which he contributed to The Scots Thou green-crested lapwing thy screaming forbear, Musical Museum and The Melodies of Scotland. Burns lost I charge you, disturb not my slumbering Fair. many friends in the 1790s for his support of the French Revolution and political radicalism (prefiguring modern How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills, socialism). Always a drinker, he began to drink more heavily Far mark'd with the courses of clear, winding rills; and died at the premature age of 37. Burns is often considered There daily I wander as noon rises high, merely a “proto-Romantic” because his poetic style in some My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye. ways looks back to earlier 18th Century verse; but his iconoclastic vision and immersion in Scottish folk culture and How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below, language make him more authentically “romantic” than many Where, wild in the woodlands, the primroses blow; others so styled. There oft, as mild Ev'ning weeps over the lea, The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me. birch Song--Green Grow The Rashes Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides, And winds by the cot where my Mary resides; Chor.--Green grow the rashes, O; rushes [pondweeds] How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave, Green grow the rashes, O; As, gathering sweet flowerets, she stems thy clear wave. The sweetest hours that e'er I spend, Are spent amang the lasses, O. Flow gently, sweet Afton, amang thy green braes, Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays; There's nought but care on ev'ry han', My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, In ev'ry hour that passes, O: Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. What signifies the life o' man, An' 'twere na for the lasses, O. Green grow, &c. John Anderson, My Jo

The war'ly race may riches chase, John Anderson, my jo, John, An' riches still may fly them, O; When we were first acquent; acquainted An' tho' at last they catch them fast, Your locks were like the raven, Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O. Your bonie brow was brent; handsome; steep Green grow, &c. But now your brow is beld, John, Your locks are like the snaw; But gie me a cannie hour at e'en, snug But blessings on your frosty pow, poll (head) My arms about my dearie, O; John Anderson, my jo. An' war'ly cares, an' war'ly men, May a' gae tapsalteerie, O! head over heels John Anderson, my jo, John, Green grow, &c. We clamb the hill thegither; And mony a cantie day, John, many a lively For you sae douce, ye sneer at this; sober We've had wi' ane anither: Ye're nought but senseless asses, O: Now we maun totter down, John, must The wisest man the warl' e'er saw, And hand in hand we'll go, He dearly lov'd the lasses, O. And sleep thegither at the foot, together Green grow, &c. John Anderson, my jo.

Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears Her noblest work she classes, O: A Man's A Man For A' That Her prentice han' she try'd on man, apprentice hand An' then she made the lasses, O. Is there for honest Poverty Green grow, &c. That hings his head, an' a' that; The coward slave--we pass him by, We dare be poor for a' that! For a' that, an' a' that.

1 Our toils obscure an' a' that, Whaur horn nor bane ne'er daur unsettle The rank is but the guinea's stamp, 21 shilling coin Your thick plantations. The Man's the gowd for a' that. gold Now haud you there, ye're out o' sight, Below the fatt'rels, snug and tight; What though on hamely fare we dine, Na, faith ye yet! ye'll no be right, Wear hoddin grey, an' a that; homespun Till ye've got on it- Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine; The verra tapmost, tow'rin height A Man's a Man for a' that: O' Miss' bonnet. For a' that, and a' that, Their tinsel show, an' a' that; My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose out, The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor, As plump an' grey as ony groset: Is king o' men for a' that. O for some rank, mercurial rozet, Or fell, red smeddum, Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord, gallant fellow I'd gie you sic a hearty dose o't, Wha struts, an' stares, an' a' that; Wad dress your droddum. Tho' hundreds worship at his word, He's but a coof for a' that: dolt I wad na been surpris'd to spy For a' that, an' a' that, You on an auld wife's flainen toy; His ribband, star, an' a' that: Or aiblins some bit dubbie boy, The man o' independent mind On's wyliecoat; He looks an' laughs at a' that. But Miss' fine Lunardi! fye! A prince can mak a belted knight, How daur ye do't? A marquis, duke, an' a' that; But an honest man's abon his might, O Jeany, dinna toss your head, Gude faith, he maunna fa' that! must not fail [to have] An' set your beauties a' abread! For a' that, an' a' that, Ye little ken what cursed speed Their dignities an' a' that; The blastie's makin: The pith o' sense, an' pride o' worth, importance Thae winks an' finger-ends, I dread, Are higher rank than a' that. Are notice takin.

Then let us pray that come it may, O wad some Power the giftie gie us (As come it will for a' that,) To see oursels as ithers see us! That Sense and Worth, o'er a' the earth, It wad frae mony a blunder free us, Shall bear the gree, an' a' that. attain degree An' foolish notion: For a' that, an' a' that, What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us, It's coming yet for a' that, An' ev'n devotion! That Man to Man, the world o'er, Shall brothers be for a' that. To A Mouse, On Turning Her Up In Her Nest With The Plough, November, 1785 To A Louse On Seeing One On A Lady's Bonnet, At Church Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie, sleek O, what a panic's in thy breastie! Ha! whaur ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie? Thou need na start awa sae hasty, Your impudence protects you sairly; Wi' bickering brattle! scampering I canna say but ye strunt rarely, I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, unwilling to run Owre gauze and lace; Wi' murd'ring pattle! spade Tho', faith! I fear ye dine but sparely On sic a place. I'm truly sorry man's dominion, Has broken nature's social union, Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner, An' justifies that ill opinion, Detested, shunn'd by saunt an' sinner, Which makes thee startle How daur ye set your fit upon her- At me, thy poor, earth-born companion, Sae fine a lady? An' fellow-mortal! Gae somewhere else and seek your dinner On some poor body. I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve; What then? poor beastie, thou maun live! must Swith! in some beggar's haffet squattle; A daimen icker in a thrave odd stalk in a shock of wheat There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle, 'S a sma' request; Wi' ither kindred, jumping cattle, I'll get a blessin wi' the lave, rest In shoals and nations; An' never miss't!

2 That frequent pass douce Wisdom's door kind Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin! For glaikit Folly's portals: stupid It's silly wa's the win's are strewin! poor walls I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes, An' naething, now, to big a new ane, build; one Would here propone defences-- O' foggage green! grass left standing after mowing Their donsie tricks, their black mistakes, mean An' bleak December's winds ensuin, Their failings and mischances. Baith snell an' keen! Both harsh Ye see your state wi' theirs compared, Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste, And shudder at the niffer; An' weary winter comin fast, But cast a moment's fair regard, An' cozie here, beneath the blast, What maks the mighty differ; Thou thought to dwell-- Discount what scant occasion gave, Till crash! the cruel coulter past plowblade That purity ye pride in; Out thro' thy cell. And (what's aft mair than a' the lave), oft more; all the rest Your better art o' hidin. That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble, stubble Has cost thee mony a weary nibble! Think, when your castigated pulse punishing Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble, Gies now and then a wallop! But house or hald, hold (as in household) What ragings must his veins convulse, To thole the winter's sleety dribble, withstand That still eternal gallop! An' cranreuch cauld! frost-covered cold Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail, Right on ye scud your sea-way; But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane, not alone But in the teeth o' baith to sail, both In proving foresight may be vain; It maks a unco lee-way. exceptional lee-way (rough sailing) The best-laid schemes o' mice an 'men Gang aft agley, go often off-course See Social Life and Glee sit down, An'lea'e us nought but grief an' pain, And leave us nothing All joyous and unthinking, For promis'd joy! Till, quite transmugrified, they're grown transformed Debauchery and Drinking: Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me O would they stay to calculate The present only toucheth thee: Th' eternal consequences; But, Och! I backward cast my e'e. eye Or your more dreaded hell to state, On prospects drear! Damnation of expenses! An' forward, tho' I canna see, I guess an' fear! Ye high, exalted, virtuous dames, Tied up in godly laces, Before ye gie poor Frailty names, Address To The Unco Guid, Or The Rigidly Righteous Suppose a change o' cases; A dear-lov'd lad, convenience snug, My Son, these maxims make a rule, A treach'rous inclination-- An' lump them aye thegither; But let me whisper i' your lug, The Rigid Righteous is a fool, Ye're aiblins nae temptation. perhaps The Rigid Wise anither: The cleanest corn that ere was dight sifted Then gently scan your brother man, May hae some pyles o' caff in; grains of chaff Still gentler sister woman; So ne'er a fellow-creature slight Tho' they may gang a kennin wrang a bit For random fits o' daffin. foolishness To step aside is human: One point must still be greatly dark,-- (Solomon.--Eccles. ch. vii. verse 16.) The moving Why they do it; And just as lamely can ye mark, O ye wha are sae guid yoursel', How far perhaps they rue it. Sae pious and sae holy, Ye've nought to do but mark and tell Who made the heart, 'tis He alone Your neibours' fauts and folly! faults Decidedly can try us; Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill, well-operating He knows each chord, its various tone, Supplied wi' store o' water; Each spring, its various bias: The heaped happer's ebbing still, grain-hopper Then at the balance let's be mute, An' still the clap plays clatter. mill-clapper We never can adjust it; What's done we partly may compute, Hear me, ye venerable core, But know not what's resisted. As counsel for poor mortals

3 Address To The Deil They skim the muirs an' dizzy crags, moors Wi' wicked speed; O Prince! O chief of many throned Pow'rs And in kirk-yards renew their leagues, That led th' embattl'd Seraphim to war. Owre howkit dead. O Thou! whatever title suit thee-- Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie, Thence countra wives, wi' toil and pain, Wha in yon cavern grim an' sootie, May plunge an' plunge the kirn in vain; churn Clos'd under hatches, For oh! the yellow treasure's ta'en Spairges about the brunstane cootie, splashes;bucket By witchin' skill; To scaud poor wretches! An' dawtit, twal-pint hawkie's gane cow Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee, Hangman As yell's the bill. An' let poor damned bodies be; Thence mystic knots mak great abuse I'm sure sma' pleasure it can gie, On young guidmen, fond, keen an' crouse, Ev'n to a deil, When the best wark-lume i' the house, work-loom (tool) To skelp an' scaud poor dogs like me, spank By cantrip wit, An' hear us squeel! Is instant made no worth a louse, Just at the bit. Great is thy pow'r an' great thy fame; Far ken'd an' noted is thy name; When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord, An' tho' yon lowin' heuch's thy hame, burning; chasm An' float the jinglin' icy boord, Thou travels far; Then water-kelpies haunt the foord, fairies An' faith! thou's neither lag nor lame, slow By your direction, Nor blate, nor scaur. bashful; scared And 'nighted trav'llers are allur'd To their destruction. Whiles, ranging like a roarin lion, For prey, a' holes and corners tryin; And aft your moss-traversin Spunkies mischievous ghosts Whiles, on the strong-wind'd tempest flyin, Decoy the wight that late an' drunk is: Tirlin the kirks; stripping The bleezin, curst, mischievous monkies hammered drunk Whiles, in the human bosom pryin, Delude his eyes, Unseen thou lurks. Till in some miry slough he sunk is, Ne'er mair to rise. I've heard my rev'rend graunie say, In lanely glens ye like to stray; When masons' mystic word an' grip Or where auld ruin'd castles grey In storms an' tempests raise you up, Nod to the moon, Some cock or cat your rage maun stop, Ye fright the nightly wand'rer's way, Or, strange to tell! Wi' eldritch croon. spine-tingling The youngest brither ye wad whip Aff straught to hell. When twilight did my graunie summon, To say her pray'rs, douse, honest woman! good Lang syne in Eden's bonie yard, Long since Aft'yont the dyke she's heard you bummin, humming When youthfu' lovers first were pair'd, Wi' eerie drone; An' all the soul of love they shar'd, Or, rustlin, thro' the boortrees comin, elders The raptur'd hour, Wi' heavy groan. Sweet on the fragrant flow'ry swaird, In shady bower; Ae dreary, windy, winter night, The stars shot down wi' sklentin light, slanting Then you, ye auld, snick-drawing dog! tricksterish Wi' you, mysel' I gat a fright, Ye cam to Paradise incog, incognito Ayont the lough; across the lake An' play'd on man a cursed brogue, trick Ye, like a rash-buss, stood in sight, rush-bush (Black be your fa'!) Wi' wavin' sough. rustle An' gied the infant warld a shog, shake 'Maist rui'd a'. almost ruined all The cudgel in my nieve did shake, fist Each brist'ld hair stood like a stake, D'ye mind that day when in a bizz When wi' an eldritch, stoor "quaick, quaick," harsh Wi' reekit duds, an' reestit gizz, smoky; scorched wig Amang the springs, Ye did present your smoutie phiz dirty face Awa ye squatter'd like a drake, 'Mang better folk, On whistlin' wings. An' sklented on the man of Uzz cheated; Job Your spitefu' joke? Let warlocks grim, an' wither'd hags, Tell how wi' you, on ragweed nags, An' how ye gat him i' your thrall,

4 An' brak him out o' house an hal', That at the Lord's house, ev'n on Sunday, While scabs and botches did him gall, Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday, Wi' bitter claw; She prophesied that late or soon, An' lows'd his ill-tongu'd wicked scaul', loosed ; scold Thou wad be found, deep drown'd in Doon, Was warst ava? of all Or catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk, By Alloway's auld, haunted kirk. church But a' your doings to rehearse, Your wily snares an' fechtin fierce, fighting Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet, starts my tears Sin' that day Michael^2 did you pierce, To think how mony counsels sweet, Down to this time, How mony lengthen'd, sage advices, Wad ding a Lallan tounge, or Erse, defeat; Scots; Gaelic The husband frae the wife despises! In prose or rhyme. But to our tale: Ae market night, An' now, auld Cloots, I ken ye're thinkin, Tam had got planted unco right, A certain bardie's rantin, drinkin, Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, fireside Some luckless hour will send him linkin Wi reaming saats, that drank divinely; foamy brew To your black pit; And at his elbow, Souter Johnie, shoemaker But faith! he'll turn a corner jinkin, dodging His ancient, trusty, drougthy crony: An' cheat you yet. Tam lo'ed him like a very brither; They had been fou for weeks thegither. But fare-you-weel, auld Nickie-ben! The night drave on wi' sangs an' clatter; O wad ye tak a thought an' men'! And aye the ale was growing better: Ye aiblins might--I dinna ken-- perhaps; know The Landlady and Tam grew gracious, Stil hae a stake: Wi' favours secret, sweet, and precious: I'm wae to think up' yon den, woeful The Souter tauld his queerest stories; Ev'n for your sake! The Landlord's laugh was ready chorus: The storm without might rair and rustle, roar Tam did na mind the storm a whistle. Tam O' Shanter A Tale. Care, mad to see a man sae happy, "Of Brownyis and of Bogillis full is this Buke." E'en drown'd himsel amang the nappy. Gawin Douglas. brownies and goblins As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure: When chapman billies leave the street, peddlar fellows Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious, And drouthy neibors, neibors, meet; thirsty O'er a' the ills o' life victorious! As market days are wearing late, And folk begin to tak the gate, hit the road But pleasures are like poppies spread, While we sit bousing at the nappy, boozing at the bar You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed; An' getting fou and unco happy, drunk and exceptionally Or like the snow falls in the river, We think na on the lang Scots miles, A moment white--then melts for ever; The mosses, waters, slaps and stiles, Or like the Borealis race, That lie between us and our hame, That flit ere you can point their place; Where sits our sulky, sullen dame, Or like the Rainbow's lovely form Gathering her brows like gathering storm, Evanishing amid the storm.-- Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. Nae man can tether Time nor Tide, The hour approaches Tam maun ride; This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter, That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane, As he frae Ayr ae night did canter: That dreary hour he mounts his beast in; (Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses, And sic a night he taks the road in, For honest men and bonie lasses). As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in.

O Tam! had'st thou but been sae wise, The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last; As taen thy ain wife Kate's advice! The rattling showers rose on the blast; She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum, rogue The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd; A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum; blabbermouth Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellow'd: That frae November till October, That night, a child might understand, Ae market-day thou was na sober; The deil had business on his hand. devil That ilka melder wi' the Miller, every milling [of grain] Thou sat as lang as thou had siller; silver Weel-mounted on his grey mare, Meg, That ev'ry naig was ca'd a shoe on every nag was nailed A better never lifted leg, The Smith and thee gat roarin' fou on; Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire, skipped; puddles

5 Despising wind, and rain, and fire; Wi' mair of horrible and awfu', Whiles holding fast his gude blue bonnet, Which even to name wad be unlawfu'. Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet, Whiles glow'rin round wi' prudent cares, As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd, and curious, stared Lest bogles catch him unawares; spirits The mirth and fun grew fast and furious; Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh, The Piper loud and louder blew, Where ghaists and houlets nightly cry. owls The dancers quick and quicker flew, The reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit, linked arms By this time he was cross the ford, Till ilka carlin swat and reekit, each wife; burned Where in the snaw the chapman smoor'd; suffocated And coost her duddies to the wark, cast off; clothes; work And past the birks and meikle stane, big stone And linkit at it in her sark! danced; shirt Where drunken Charlie brak's neck-bane; And thro' the whins, and by the cairn, brambles Now Tam, O Tam! had they been queans, maids Where hunters fand the murder'd bairn; child A' plump and strapping in their teens! And near the thorn, aboon the well, Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flainen, dirty flannel Where Mungo's mither hang'd hersel'. Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linen!-- finely woven Before him Doon pours all his floods, The River Doon Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair, These pants The doubling storm roars thro' the woods, That ance were plush o' guid blue hair, The lightnings flash from pole to pole, I wad hae gien them off my hurdies, backside Near and more near the thunders roll, For ae blink o' the bonie burdies! one view; pretty maids When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees, But wither'd beldams, auld and droll, witches; like goblins Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze, Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal, bony; cause to wean Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing, each opening Louping an' flinging on a crummock. Leaping; wooden club And loud resounded mirth and dancing. I wonder did na turn thy stomach.

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn! whiskey But Tam kent what was what fu' brawlie: saw; well What dangers thou canst make us scorn! There was ae winsome wench and waulie pretty Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil; two-penny That night enlisted in the core, among the dancers Wi' usquabae, we'll face the devil! whiskey Lang after ken'd on Carrick shore; known The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle, brew; head (For mony a beast to dead she shot, Fair play, he car'd na deils a boddle, penny And perish'd mony a bonie boat, But Maggie stood, right sair astonish'd, sore And shook baith meikle corn and bear, much; barley Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd, And kept the country-side in fear); She ventur'd forward on the light; Her cutty sark, o' Paisley harn, low-cut shirt; linen And, wow! Tam saw an unco sight! That while a lassie she had worn, Warlocks and witches in a dance: In longitude tho' sorely scanty, Nae cotillon, brent new frae France, stately dance; brand It was her best, and she was vauntie. vain But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels, trad. reels Ah! little ken'd thy reverend grannie, Put life and mettle in their heels. That sark she coft for her wee Nannie, purchased A winnock-bunker in the east, window-seat Wi twa pund Scots ('twas a' her riches), pound There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast; the Devil Wad ever grac'd a dance of witches! A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large, furry hound To gie them music was his charge: But here my Muse her wing maun cour, must close He screw'd the pipes and gart them skirl, screech Sic flights are far beyond her power; such Till roof and rafters a' did dirl.-- vibrate To sing how Nannie lap and flang, Coffins stood round, like open presses, (A souple jade she was and strang), supple wench That shaw'd the Dead in their last dresses; And how Tam stood, like ane bewithc'd, And (by some devilish cantraip sleight) magical And thought his very een enrich'd: evening Each in its cauld hand held a light. cold Even Satan glowr'd, and fidg'd fu' fain, fidgeted full gladly By which heroic Tam was able And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main: fidgeted To note upon the haly table, Till first ae caper, syne anither, one step; then A murderer's banes, in gibbet-airns; irons Tam tint his reason a thegither, lost Twa span-lang, wee, unchristened bairns; foot-long And roars out, "Weel done, Cutty-sark!" A thief, new-cutted frae a rape, from a rope And in an instant all was dark: Wi' his last gasp his gabudid gape; mouth did And scarcely had he Maggie rallied. Five tomahawks, wi' blude red-rusted: When out the hellish legion sallied. Five scimitars, wi' murder crusted; A garter which a babe had strangled: As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke, fight A knife, a father's throat had mangled. When plundering herds assail their byke; nest Whom his ain son of life bereft, own As open pussie's mortal foes, bark; rabbit's The grey-hairs yet stack to the heft; When, pop! she starts before their nose;

6 As eager runs the market-crowd, I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly! When "Catch the thief!" resounds aloud; And clos'd for aye, the sparkling glance So Maggie runs, the witches follow, That dwalt on me sae kindly! Wi' mony an eldritch skreich and hollow. hair-raising And mouldering now in silent dust, That heart that lo'ed me dearly! Ah, Tam! Ah, Tam! thou'll get thy fairin! due But still within my bosom's core In hell, they'll roast thee like a herrin! herring fish Shall live my Highland Mary. In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin! Kate soon will be a woefu' woman! Now, do thy speedy-utmost, Meg, John Barleycorn And win the key-stone o' the brig, mid-arch of the bridge There, at them thou thy tail may toss, There was three kings into the east, A running stream they dare na cross. Three kings both great and high, But ere the keystane she could make, And they hae sworn a solemn oath The fient a tail she had to shake! fiend John Barleycorn should die. For Nannie, far before the rest, Hard upon noble Maggie prest, They took a plough and plough'd him down, And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle; desire Put clods upon his head, But little wist she Maggie's mettle! And they hae sworn a solemn oath Ae spring brought off her master hale, whole John Barleycorn was dead. But left behind her ain grey tail: The carlin claught her by the rump, wife clutched But the cheerful Spring came kindly on, And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. And show'rs began to fall; John Barleycorn got up again, Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read, And sore surpris'd them all. Ilk man and mother's son, take heed: Whene'er to Drink you are inclin'd, The sultry suns of Summer came, Or Cutty-sarks rin in your mind, run And he grew thick and strong; Think ye may buy the joys o'er dear; at too great a cost His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears, Remember Tam o' Shanter's mare. That no one should him wrong.

Highland Mary The sober Autumn enter'd mild, When he grew wan and pale; Ye banks, and braes, and streams around His bending joints and drooping head The castle o' Montgomery! Show'd he began to fail. Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, Your waters never drumlie: His colour sicken'd more and more, There Simmer first unfauld her robes, He faded into age; And there the langest tarry; And then his enemies began For there I took the last Farewell To show their deadly rage. O' my sweet Highland Mary. They've taen a weapon, long and sharp, How sweetly bloom'd the gay, green birk, And cut him by the knee; How rich the hawthorn's blossom, Then tied him fast upon a cart, As underneath their fragrant shade, Like a rogue for forgerie. I clasp'd her to my bosom! The golden Hours on angel wings, They laid him down upon his back, Flew o'er me and my Dearie; And cudgell'd him full sore; For dear to me, as light and life, They hung him up before the storm, Was my sweet Highland Mary. And turned him o'er and o'er.

Wi' mony a vow, and lock'd embrace, They filled up a darksome pit Our parting was fu' tender; With water to the brim; And, pledging aft to meet again, They heaved in John Barleycorn, We tore oursels asunder; There let him sink or swim. But oh! fell Death's untimely frost, That nipt my Flower sae early! They laid him out upon the floor, Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay To work him farther woe; That wraps my Highland Mary! And still, as signs of life appear'd, They toss'd him to and fro. O pale, pale now, those rosy lips,

7 They wasted, o'er a scorching flame, Or to Victorie! The marrow of his bones; But a miller us'd him worst of all, Now's the day, and now's the hour; For he crush'd him between two stones. See the front o' battle lour; See approach proud Edward's power- And they hae taen his very heart's blood, Chains and Slaverie! And drank it round and round; And still the more and more they drank, Wha will be a traitor knave? Their joy did more abound. Wha can fill a coward's grave? Wha sae base as be a Slave? John Barleycorn was a hero bold, Let him turn and flee! Of noble enterprise; For if you do but taste his blood, Wha, for Scotland's King and Law, 'Twill make your courage rise. Freedom's sword will strongly draw, Free-man stand, or Free-man fa', 'Twill make a man forget his woe; Let him on wi' me! 'Twill heighten all his joy; 'Twill make the widow's heart to sing, By Oppression's woes and pains! Tho' the tear were in her eye. By your Sons in servile chains! We will drain our dearest veins, Then let us toast John Barleycorn, But they shall be free! Each man a glass in hand; And may his great posterity Lay the proud Usurpers low! Ne'er fail in old Scotland! Tyrants fall in every foe! Liberty's in every blow!- Let us Do or Die! Such a Parcel of Rogues in a Nation

Fareweel to a' our Scottish fame, Study Questions: Fareweel our ancient glory; Fareweel ev'n to the Scottish name, 1. Compare the style and diction of “Green Grow the Sae fam'd in martial story. Rashes” and “Sweet Afton.” Now Sark rins over Solway sands, An' Tweed rins to the ocean, 2. What do poems like “To a Louse” and “To a Mouse” To mark where England's province stands- say about Burns' attitude about humankind's relation to Such a parcel of rogues in a nation! the natural world?

What force or guile could not subdue, 3. What do poems like “Address to the Unco Guid” and Thro' many warlike ages, “Address to the Deil” suggest about Burns' attitude Is wrought now by a coward few, toward religious orthodoxy/Scottish Presbyterianism? For hireling traitor's wages. The English stell we could disdain, 4. Burns has been labeled a “pre-romantic” for his Secure in valour's station; rationalistic treatment of folk material. Does “Tam O' But English gold has been our bane- Shanter” support or deny such a statement? Such a parcel of rogues in a nation! 5. From the selection of poems and songs, how would O would, or I had seen the day you summarize Burns' political attitude toward his That Treason thus could sell us, native Scotland, particularly as a satellite of the British My auld grey head had lien in clay, Empire during a time of revolutionary upheaval in Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace! France? But pith and power, till my last hour, I'll mak this declaration; 6. From the selection of poems and songs, how would We're bought and sold for English gold- you summarize Burns' attitude toward drinking and the Such a parcel of rogues in a nation! pleasures of the flesh?

7. How does Burns' use of Scots' dialect vary in the Robert Bruce's March to Bannockburn selection of poems and songs? Why did Burns choose to write in dialect? Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, Scots, wham Bruce has aften led, Welcome to your gory bed,

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