THE INVENTORY

I hae nae wife-and that my bliss is,
An' ye have laid nae tax on misses;
An' then, if kirk folks dinna clutch me,
I ken the deevils darena touch me.1
Wi' weans I'm mair than weel contented,
Heav'n sent me ane mae than I wanted!
My sonsie, smirking, dear-bought Bess,
She stares the daddy in her face,
Enough of ought ye like but grace;
But her, my bonie, sweet wee lady,
I've paid enough for her already;
An' gin ye tax her or her mither,
By the L-d, ye'se get them a' thegither!

. 1

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And now, remember, Mr Aiken,
Nae kind of licence out I'm takin:
Frae this time forth, I do declare
I'se ne'er ride horse nor hizzie mair;
Thro' dirt and dub for life I'll paidle,
Ere I sae dear pay for a saddle;
My travel a', on foot I'll shank it,
I've sturdy bearers, Gude be thankit !?
The kirk and you may tak you that,
It puts but little in your pat;
Sae dinna put me in your beuk,
Nor for my ten white shillings leuk.

This list, wi' my ain hand I wrote it,
The day and date as under noted;
Then know all ye whom it concerns,
Subscripsi huic,

MOSSGIEL, February 22, 1786.

children.

b engaging.

1 These two couplets are wanting in Currie.

2 Currie gives :"I've sturdy stumps, the Lord be thankit,

ROBERT BURNS.

puddle.

TO JOHN KENNEDY

To John Kennedy, Dumfries House.

Now, Kennedy, if foot or horse
E'er bring you in by Mauchlin corse,
(Lord, man, there's lasses there wad force
A hermit's fancy;

An' down the gate in faith they're worse,
An' mair unchancy).°

But as I'm sayin, please step to Dow's,
An' taste sic geard as Johnie brews,
Till some bit callan bring me news

e

That ye are there;

An' if we dinna hae a bouze,

I'se ne'er drink mair.

It's no I like to sit an' swallow,

Then like a swine to puke an' wallow;

But gie me just a true good fallow,

Wi' right ingine,'

And spunkie ance to mak us mellow,
An' then we'll shine.

Now if ye're ane o' warl's folk,
Wha rate the wearer by the cloak,
An' sklenth on poverty their joke,

Wi' bitter sneer,

Wi' you nae friendship I will troke,

Nor cheap nor dear.

1 A purely occasional piece sent, with Night, to Mr Kennedy, Lord Dumfries, a MS. copy of The Cotter's Saturday

factor.

TO MR M'ADAM

The flinty heart that canna feel—

Come, sir, here's to you!

Hae, there's my haun', I wiss you weel,

MOSSGIEL, 3rd March 1786.

An' gude be wi' you.

ROBT. BURNESS.

To Mr M'Adam, of Craigen-Gillan,1

In answer to an obliging Letter he sent in the
commencement of my poetic career.

SIR, o'er a gill I gat your card,
I trow it made me proud;

'See wha taks notice o' the bard!'
I lap and cried fu' loud.

'Twas noble, sir; 'twas like yoursel',
To grant your high protection:
A great man's smile ye ken fu' well,
Is aye a blest infection.

Tho', by his banes wha in a tub
Match'd Macedonian Sandy!

On my ain legs thro' dirt and dub,
I independent stand aye,-

And when those legs to gude, warm kail,
Wi' welcome canna bear me,

A lee dyke-side, a sybow-tail,d
An' barley-scone shall cheer me.

TO A LOUSE

Heaven spare you lang to kiss the breath
O' mony flow'ry simmers!

An' bless your bonie lasses baith,

I'm tauld they're lo'esome kimmers !

An' God bless young Dunaskin's laird,
The blossom of our gentry!

An' may he wear an auld man's beard,
A credit to his country.

To a Louse.

On seeing one on a Lady's Bonnet at Church.1

HA! whaur ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlieb?
Your impudence protects you sairly;

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I canna say but ye strunt rarely,

Owre gauze and lace;

Tho', faith! I fear ye dine but sparely
On sic a place.

Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner,b

Detested, shunn'd by saunt an' sinner,

How daur ye set your fit

upon herSae fine a lady?

Gae somewhere else and seek your dinner
On some poor body.

Swith! in some beggar's haffet squattle;
There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle,
Wi' ither kindred, jumping cattle,2

In shoals and nations;

Whaur horn nor bane' ne'er daur unsettle

Your thick plantations.

TO A LOUSE

a

Now haud you there, ye're out o' sight,
Below the fatt'rels, snug and tight;
Na, faith ye yet! ye'll no be right,
Till ye've got on it-

The verra tapmost, tow'rin height

O' Miss's bonnet,

My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose out,
As plump an' grey as ony groset:

O for some rank, mercurial rozet,

Or fell, red smeddum,"

I'd gie you sic a hearty dose o't,

Wad dress your droddum.d

I wad na been surpris'd to spy
You on an auld wife's flainen toy*;
Or aiblins' some bit duddies boy,
On's wyliecoath;

But Miss's fine Lunardi! fye!

How daur ye do't?

O Jeany, dinna toss your head,
An' set your beauties a' abread!
Ye little ken what cursed speed

The blastie's makin:
Thae winks an' finger-ends, I dread,
Are notice takin.

O wad some Power the giftie gic us
To see oursels as ithers see us!
It wad frae mony a blunder free us,
An' foolish notion:

What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us,
An' ev'n devotion !