Merry Muses of Caledonia by Robert Burns
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- Bu səhifədəki naviqasiya:
- Ken ye na Oor Lass, Bess
- Blythe Will an Bessies Weddin
- Oor Johns Brak Yestreen
- Comin Ower the Hills o Coupar
- Put Butter In My Donalds Brose
- Epitaph for Johannes Fuscus Hic Jacet Quondam Horologiorum Faber
- Epitaph for Hugh Logan, esq., o Laight
- Gie the Lass Her Fairin
- ROBt BURNS The Fornicator
- She Gripet at the Girtest Ot
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Merry Muses of Caledonia by Robert Burns Sing, Up wi't, Aily Sing, Up wi't, Aily, Aily; Doun wi kimmerland jock; Deil ram their lugs, qo Willie, But I hae scoored her dock! Encore! They Teuk Me to the Haly Band hey teuk me to the haly band, For playin bye my wife, Sir; An lang an sair they lectur'd me, For hadin sic a life, Sir. I answered in na mony wirds, "What deel needs a' this clatter; "As lang as she coud keep the grip "I aye was mowin at her." Ken ye na Oor Lass, Bess? ken ye na oor lass, Bess? An ken ye na oor lass, Bess? Between her lily white thies She's biggit a magpie's nest. An ken ye na oor lad, Tam? An ken ye na oor lad, Tam? He's on o a three-fitted stool, An up to the nest he clamb. An what did he there, think ye? An what did he there, think ye? He brak a' the eggs o the nest, An the white's ran doun her thie Blythe Will an Bessie's Weddin There was a weddin ower in Fife, An mony ane frae Lothian at it; Jean Vernor there maist lost her life, For love o Jamie Howden at it. Blythe Will an Bessie's weddin, Blythe Will an Bessie's weddin, Haed I been Will, Bess haed been mine, An Bess an I haed made the weddin. Richt sair she grat, an wet her cheeks, An naething pleased that we coud gie her; She tint her hert in Jeamie's breeks, It cam nae back to Lothian wi her. Tammie Tamson too was there, Maggie Birnie was his dearie, He pat it in amang the hair, An puddled there till he was weary. When e'enin cam the toun was thrang, An beds were no to get for siller; When e'er they fand a want o room, They lay in pairs like breid an butter. Twa an twa they made the bed, An twa an twa they lay the gither; When they haed na room eneuch, Ilk ane lap on abuin the tither. The Reels o Bogie You lads an lasses a' that dwell In the toun o Strathbogie, Whene'er you meet a pretty lass, Be shuir you tip her coggie. The lads an lasses toy an kiss, The lads ne'er think it is amiss To bang the holes whereout they piss, An that's the reels o Bogie. There's Kent, an Keen, an Aiberdeen, An the toun o Strathbogie, Where every lad mey have his lass, Nou that I've got my coggie. They spreid wide their snaw-white thies An rowe aboot their wanton een, An when they see your pintle rise They'll dance the reels o Bogie. A trooper gaun ower the lea, He swore that he wad steer me, An lang before the brak o day, He giggled, goggled near me. He put a stiff thing in my hand, I could not bear the bangin o't But lang before he went awa I suppled baith the ends o't. His pintle was o largest size, Indeed it was a banger, He socht a prize between my thies Till it became a hanger. Haed you but seen the wee bit skin - He haed to put his pintle in, You'd sworn it was a chitterlin Dancin the reels o Bogie. He turned aboot to fire again An gie me t'other sally, An as he fired I ne'er retired But received him in my alley. His pebbles they went thump, thump, Against my little wanton rump, But suin I left him but the stump To dance the reels o Bogie. Said I, young man, mair you can't dae, I think I've granted your desire, By bobbin on my wanton clue, You see your pintle's a' on fire. When on my back I work like steel An bar the door wi my left heel, The mair you fuck the less I feel, An that's the reels o Bogie. The Bonniest Lass The bonniest lass that ye meet neist Gie her a kiss an a' that, In spite o ilka pairish priest, Repentin stool, an a' that. For a' that an a' that, Their mim-mou'd sangs an a' that, In time an place convenient, They'll do't themsels for a' that. Your patriarchs in days o yore, Haed their handmaids an a' that; O bastard gets, some haed a score An some haed mair than a' that. For a' that an a' that, Your langsyne saunts, an a' that, Were fonder o a bonnie lass, Than you or I, for a' that. King Davie, when he waxed auld, An's bluid ran thin, an a' that, An fand his cods were growin cauld, Could not refrain, for a' that. For a' that an a' that, To keep him warm an a' that, The dochters o Jerusalem Were waled for him, an a' that. Wha wadna peety thae sweet dames He fumbled at, an a' that, An raised their bluid up into flames He couldna droun, for a' that. For a' that an a' that, He wanted pith, an a' that; For, as to what we shall not name, What could he dae but claw that. King Solomon, prince o divines, Wha proverbs made, an a' that, Baith mistresses an concubines In hundreds haed, for a' that. For a' that an a' that, Tho a preacher wice an a' that, The smuttiest sang that e'er was sung His Sang o Sangs is a' that. Then still I swear, a clever chiel Should kiss a lass, an a' that, Tho priests consign him to the deil, As reprobate, an a' that. For a' that an a' that, Their cantin stuff, an a' that, They ken nae mair wha's reprobate Than you or I, for a' that. Oor John's Brak Yestreen Twa neebor wifes sat i' the sun, A twynin at their rocks, An they an airgument began, An a' the plea was cocks. 'twas whether they were sinnens strang, Or whether they were bane? An how they rowed aboot your thoum, An how they stan't themlane? First, Raichie gae her rock a rug, An syne she clawed her tail; When oor Tam draws on his breeks, It waigles like a flail. " Says Bess, "they're bane I will maintain, "An pruif in haun I'll gie; "For oor John's it brak yestreen, "An the margh ran doun my thie." Brose an Butter Brose an Butter Gie my Love brose, brose, Gie my Love brose an butter; An gie my Love brose, brose, Yestreen he wanted his supper. Jenny sits up i' the laft, Jocky wad fain a been at her; There cam a win' oot o the wast Made a' the windaes to clatter.
A goose is hollow within; A sicht wad mak you blush, But a' the fun's to fin'. Gie my &c. My Dadie sent me to the hill, To powe my minnie some heather; An drive it in your fill, Ye're welcome to the leather. Gie my &c. A moose is a merry wee beast; A modewurck wants the een; An O for the touch o the thing I haed i' my nieve yestreen. Gie my Love &c. The lark she loes the gress; The hen she loes the stibble; An hey for the Gar'ner lad, To gully awa wi his dibble.-- There Cam a Cadger There cam a cadger oot o Fife, I watna how they ca'd him; He played a trick to oor gudewife, When fient a body bad him. Fal, lal, &c. He teuk a lang thing stoot an strang, An strack it in her gyvel; An ay she swore she fand the thing Ge borin by her nyvel.
He was the best cooper that ever I saw; He cam to girth oor landlady's tubbie, He banged her buttocks again the wa'. Cooper qo she, hae ye ony money? The deevil a penny, qo Cuddy, at a'! She teuk oot her purse, an she gied him a guinea, For bangin her buttocks again the wa'. Comin Ower the Hills o Coupar Donald Brodie met a lass, Comin ower the hills o Coupar, Donald wi his Hieland hand Graipit a' the bits aboot her. Comin ower the hills o Coupar, Comin ower the hills o Coupar, Donald in a sudden wrath He ran his Hieland durk into her. Weel I wat she was a quine, Wad made a body's mooth to watter; Oor Mess John, wi's auld grey pow, His haly lips wad licket at her. Up she started in a fricht, Throu the braes what she could bicker: Let her gang, qo Donald, nou For in him's nerse my shot is siccar. Kate Mackie cam frae Parlon craigs, The road was foul tweesh that an Couper; She shaw'd a pair o handsome legs, When Hieland Donald he owertook her. Comin ower the muir o Couper, Comin ower the muir o Couper, Donald fell in love wi her An rowed his Hieland plaid aboot her. They teuk them to the Logan steps An set them doun to rest thegither, Donald laid her on her back An fired a Hieland pistol at her. Lochleven Castle heard the rair, An Falkland-hoose the echo sounded; Hieland Donald gae a stare, The lassie siched, but was nae wounded. Denty Davie Bein pursued by the dragoons, Within my bed he was laid doun An weel I wat he was worth his room, My ain dear denty Davie. O leeze me on his curly pow, Bonnie Davie, denty Davie; Leeze me on his curly pow, He was my denty Davie. My minnie laid him at my back, I trow he lay na lang at that, But turned, an in a vera crack Produced a denty Davie. Then in the field amang the pease, Behin' the hoose o Cherrytrees, Again he wan atweesh my thies, An, splash! gaed oot his gravy. But haed I gowd, or haed I land, It should be a' at his command; I'll ne'er forget what he pat i' my hand , It was a denty Davie. Put Butter In My Donald's Brose Put butter in my Donald's brose, For weel dis Donald fa' that; I loe my Donald's tartans weel His naked erse an a' that. For a' that, an a' that, An twice as meikle's a' that, The lassie gat a skelpit doup, But wan the day for a' that. For Donald swore a solemn aith, By his first hairy gravat! That he wad fecht the battle there, An stick the lass, an a' that. His hairy ballocks, side an wide, Hang like a beggar's wallet; A pentle like a roarin-pin, She nichered when she saw that!!! Then she turned up her hairy cunt, An she bade Donald claw that; The deevil's dizzen Donald drew, An Donald gied her a' that. Duncan Macleerie Duncan Macleerie an Janet his wife, They gaed to Kilmarnock to buy a new knife; But insteed o a knife they coft but a bleerie; We're very weel saird. qo Duncan Macleerie. Duncan Macleerie haes got a new fiddle, It's a' strung wi hair, an a hole in the middle; An ay when he plays on't, his wife leuks sae cheary, Very weel duin, Duncan, qo Janet Macleerie. Duncan he played till his bow it grew greasy; Janet grew fretfu, an unco uneasy. Hoot, qo she, Duncan, ye're unco suin weary; Play us a pibroch, qo Janet Macleerie. Duncan Macleerie played on the herp, An Janet Macleerie danced in her sark; Her sark it was short, her cunt it was hairy, Very weel danced, Janet, qo Duncan Macleerie. Epitaph for Johannes Fuscus Hic Jacet Quondam Horologiorum Faber In Mauchline Lament him, Mauchline husbands a', He aften did assist ye! Tho ye haed bidden years awa Your wifes wad ne'er hae miss't ye. Ye Mauchline bairns, as bye ye pass To schuil in bands thegither, O tread but lichtly on the gress, Perhaps he was your faither!
Come mak your watter on him, I'm shuir that he weel pleased wad be To think ye pished upon him. Errock Brae O Errock stane, mey never maid, A maiden by thee gae, Nor e'er a stane o stanin graith, Gae stanin ower the brae. An tillin Errock brae, young man, An tillin Errock brae, An open fur an stanin graith, Maun till the Errock brae. As I sat by the Errock stane, Surveyin far an near, Up cam a Cameronian, Wi a' his preachin gear. He flang the Bible ower the brae, Amang the rashy gerse; But the solemn league an covenant He laid below my erse. But on the edge o Errock brae, He gae me sic a sten, That ower, an ower, an ower we rowed, Till we cam to the glen. Yet still his pentle held the grip, An still his ballocks hang; That a Synod coud na tell the erse To wham they did belang. A Prelate he lowps on before, A Catholic behin', But gie me a Cameronian, He'll mowe a body blin'. Gie the Lass Her Fairin O gie the lass her fairin lad, O gie the lass her fairin, An something else she'll gie to you, That's waly worth the wearin; Syne cowp her ower amang the creels, When ye hae taen your brandy, The mair she bangs the less she squeels, An hey for houghmagandie. Then gie the lass a fairin, lad, O gie the lass her fairin, An she'll gie you a hairy thing, An o it be na sparin; But cowp her ower amang the creels, An bar the door wi baith your heels, The mair she bangs the less she squeels, An hey for houghmagandie. To Alexander Findlater Dear Sir, oor Lucky humbly begs Ye'll pree her caller, new-laid eggs: Lord grant the Cock mey keep his legs, Abuin the Chuckies; An wi his kittle, forket clegs, Claw weel their dockies! Haed Fate that curst me in her ledger, A Poet puir, & poorer Gager, Created me that feathered Sodger, A generous Cock, How I wad craw & strut an roger My kecklin Flock! Burkit wi mony a bien, braw feather, I wad defied the warst o weather: When corn or bear I could na gaither To gie my burdies; I'd treated them wi caller heather, An weel-knoozed hurdies. Nae cursed CLERICAL EXCISE On honest Natur's laws & ties; Free as the vernal breeze that flees At early day, We'd tasted Natur's richest joys, But stint or stey.-- But as this subject's something kittle, Oor wicest way's to say but little; An while my Muse is at her mettle, I am, maist fervent, Or mey I dee upon a whittle! Your Freend & Servant ROBt BURNS The Fornicator A new Sang Ye jovial boys wha love the joys, The blissful joys o Lovers, Yet daur avow, wi dauntless brou, When the bony lass discovers, I pray draw near, an lend an ear, An welcome in a Frater, For I've lately been on quarantine, A pruiven Fornicator.
I passed the muster fairly, My handsome Betsy by my side, We gat oor ditty rarely; But my downcast ee did chance to spy What made my lips to watter, Thae limbs sae clean where I between Commenced a Fornicator. Wi ruefu face an signs o grace I payed the buttock-hire, But the nicht was dark an throu the park I could not but convoy her; A partin kiss, I could not less, My vows began to scatter, My Betsy fell-lal de dal lal lal, I am a Fornicator.
An solemnly I swear it, That while I own a single croun She's welcome for to share it; An my roguish boy his Mither's joy An the darlin o his Pater, For him I boast my pains an cost, Altho a Fornicator. Ye wenchin blades whase hirelin jades Have tipt you aff blue-joram, I tell you plain, I dae disdain To rank you in the Quorum; But a bony lass upon the gress To teach her esse Mater, An no reward but fond regaird, O that's a Fornicator. Your warlike Kings an Heros bauld, Great Captains an Commanders; Your michty Caesars famed o auld, An conquerin Alexanders; In fields they focht an laurels bocht, An bulwarks strang did batter, But still they graced oor noble list, An ranked Fornicator!!! The Jolly Gauger There was a jolly gauger, a gaugin he did ride, An he haes met a beggar doun by yon river side. An weel gang nae mair a rovin wi ladies to the wine, When a beggar wi her meal-pocks can fidge her tail sae fine. Amang the broom he laid her; amang the broom sae green, An he's fa'n to the beggar, as she haed been a queen. An we'll gang &c. My blessins on thee, laddie, thoo's duin my turn sae weel, Wilt thoo accept, dear laddie, my pock an pickle meal? An weel, &c. Sae blythe the beggar teuk the bent, like ony bird in spring, Sae blythe the beggar teuk the bent, an merrily did sing. An weel, &c. My blessins on the gauger, o gaugers he's the chief, Sic kail ne'er crost my kettle, nor sic a joint o beef. An weel, &c. O Gin I Haed Her O gin I haed her, Ay gin I haed her, O gin I haed her, Black altho she be. I wad lay her bale, I'd gar her spew her kail; She ne'er soud keep a mail, Till she dandled it on her knee. She says, I am licht To manage maiters richt, That I've nae micht or wecht To fill a lassie's ee; But wad she tak a yokin, I wad put a cock in; A quarter o't to flocken, I wad frankly gie. She Gripet at the Girtest O't Oor bride flate, an oor bride flang, But lang before the laverock sang, She pay't him twice for every bang, An gripet at the girtest o't. Oor bride turned her to the wa', But lang before the cock did craw, She teuk him by the ballocks an a', An gripet at the girtest o't. Godly Girzie The nicht it was a haly nicht, The day haed been a haly day; Kilmarnock gleamed wi candle licht, As Girzie hameward teuk her wey. A man o sin, ill mey he thrive! An never haly-meetin see! Wi godly Girzie met belyve, Amang the Craigie hills sae hie. The chiel was wicht, the chiel was stark, He wad na wait to chap nor ca', An she was faint wi haly wark, She haed na pith to say him na. But ay she glowred up to the muin, An ay she siched maist piouslie; "I trust my hert's in heeven abuin, "Whare'er your sinfu pentle be." Green Sleeves Green sleeves an tartan ties Mark my true love whare she lies: I'll be at her or she rise, My fiddle an I thegither. Be it by the chrystal burn, Be it by the milkwhite thorn; I shall rouse her in the morn, My fiddle an I thegither. Grizzel Grimme Grim Grizzel was a michty Dame Weel kend on Cluden-side: Grim Grizzel was a michty Dame O meikle fame an pride. When gentles met in gentle bowers An nobles in the ha', Grim Grizzle was a michty Dame, The loodest o them a'. Where lawless Riot raged the nicht An Beauty durst na gang, Grim Grizzel was a michty Dame Wham nae man e'er wad wrang. Nor haed Grim Grizzel skill alane What bower an ha' require; But she haed skill, an meikle skill, In barn an eke in byre. Ae day Grim Grizzel walked forth, As she was wont to dae, Alang the banks o Cluden fair, Her cattle for to view. The cattle shat ower hill an dale As cattle will incline, An sair it grieved Grim Grizzel's hert Sae muckle muck tae tine. An she haes ca'd on John o Clods, O her herdsmén the chief, An she haes ca'd on John o Clods, An telled him a' her grief:-- "Nou wae betide thee, John o Clods! I gie thee meal an fee, An yet sae meickle muck ye tine Micht a' be gear to me! "Ye claut my byre, ye sweep my byre, The like was never seen; The very chaumer I lie in Was never hauf sae clean. "Ye ca' my kye adoon the loan An there they a' discharge: My Tammie's hat, wig, heid an a' Was never hauf sae lairge! "But mind my wirds nou, John o Clods, An tent me what I say: My kye shall shite or they gae oot, That shall they ilka day. "An mind my wirds nou, John o Clods, An tent nou wha ye serve; Or back ye'se to the Colonel gang, Aither to steal or starve." Then John o Clods, he leuked up An syne he leuked doun; He leuked east, he leuked west, He leuked roon' an roon'. His bunnet an his rowantree club Frae aither hand did fa'; Wi lifted een an open mooth He naething said at a'. At length he found his tremblin tongue, Within his mooth was fauld:-- "Ae silly wird frae me, madam, Gin I daur be sae bauld. "Your kye will at nae biddin shite, Let me dae what I can; Your kye will at nae biddin shite, O onie earthly man. "Tho ye are great Lady Glaur-hole, For a' your pouer an are Tho ye are great Lady Glaur-hole, They winna let a fart." "Nou wae betide thee, John o Clods! An ill daith mey ye dee! My kye shall at my biddin shite, An that ye suin shall see." Then she's taen Hawkie by the tail, An wrung wi micht an main, Till Hawkie rowted throu the wids Wi agonisin pain. "Shite, shite, ye bitch," Grim Grizzel roared, Till hill an valley rang; "An shite, ye bitch," the echoes roared Lincluden wa's amang. Nae Hair On't Yestreen I wed a lady fair, An ye wad believe me, On her cunt there growes nae hair, That's the thing that grieves me. It vexed me sair, it plagued me sair, It put me in a passion, To think that I haed wad a wife, Whase cunt was oot o fashion. There's Hair On't O, or yestreen I stented graith, An labored lang an sair on't; But fient a work, na work wad it, There's sic a crap o hair on't. There's hair on't, there's hair on't, There's thretty thrave an mair on't; But gin I live to anither year, I'll tether my grey naigs on't. An up the glen there rase a knowe, Below the knowe a lair on't, I maist haed perished, fit an horse, I could na see for hair on't. But I'll plant a stake into the flowe, That ploomen mey tak care on't; An lay twa steppin-stanes below, An syne I'll cowe the hair on't. Yüklə 231,5 Kb. Dostları ilə paylaş:
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