"I will hope and trust in Heaven,
Nancy, Nancy;
Strength to bear it will be given,
My spouse Nancy."
"Well, Sir, from the silent dead,
Still I'll try to daunt you;
Ever round your midnight bed
Horrid sprites shall haunt you!
"I'll wed another like my dear
Nancy, Nancy;
Then all hell will fly for fear,
My spouse Nancy."
Spoken by Miss Fontenelle on her Benefit Night,
December 4th, 1793, at the Theatre, Dumfries.1
STILL anxious to secure your partial favour,
And not less anxious, sure, this night than ever,
A Prologue, Epilogue, or some such matter,
"Twould vamp my bill, said I, if nothing better;
So sought a poet, roosted near the skies,
Told him I came to feast my curious eyes;
Said, nothing like his works was ever printed;
And last, my prologue-business slily hinted.
"Ma'am, let me tell you," quoth my man of rhymes,
"I know your bent-these are no laughing times:
Can you but, Miss, I own I have my fears-
Dissolve in pause, and sentimental tears;
With laden sighs, and solemn-rounded sentence,
Rouse from his sluggish slumbers, fell Repentance;
Paint Vengeance as he takes his horrid stand,
Waving on high the desolating brand,
Calling the storms to bear him o'er a guilty land?"
1 Sent by Burns to Mrs Dunlop. According to Mr Scott Douglas, Dr Currie tampered with the dates of such letters, perhaps because even Mrs
Dunlop was obliged to give up Burns in his last years. If this be so, Dr Currie's motives were foolish enough.
I could no more-askance the creature eyeing,
"D'ye think," said I, "this face was made for crying?
I'll laugh, that's poz-nay more, the world shall know it;
And so, your servant! gloomy Master Poet!"
Firm as my creed, Sirs, 'tis my fix'd belief,
That Misery's another word for Grief:
I also think-so may I be a bride!
That so much laughter, so much life enjoy'd.
Thou man of crazy care and ceaseless sigh,
Still under bleak Misfortune's blasting eye;
Doom'd to that sorest task of man alive-
To make three guineas do the work of five:
Laugh in Misfortune's face-the beldam witch!
Say, you'll be merry, tho' you can't be rich.
Thou other man of care, the wretch in love,
Who long with jiltish airs and arts hast strove;
Who, as the boughs all temptingly project,
Measur'st in desperate thought a rope-thy neck-
Or, where the beetling cliff o'erhangs the deep,
Peerest to meditate the healing leap:
Would'st thou be cur'd, thou silly, moping elf?
Laugh at her follies-laugh e'en at thyself:
Learn to despise those frowns now so terrific,
And love a kinder-that's your grand specific.
To sum up all, be merry, I advise ;
And as we're merry, may we still be wise.
Complimentary Epigram on Maria Riddell.1
"PRAISE Woman still," his lordship roars,
"Deserv'd or not, no matter?"
But thee, whom all my soul adores,
Ev'n Flattery cannot flatter:
Burns praising her in a high flown
1 After writing on himself as a "guilty lover" of Mrs Riddell, (the guilt, if style. any, being all on his own side) we find
MARIA, all my thought and dream,
Inspires my vocal shell;
The more I praise my lovely theme,
The more the truth I tell.
Remorseful Apology.1
THE friend whom, wild from Wisdom's way,
The fumes of wine infuriate send,
(Not moony madness more astray)
Who but deplores that hapless friend?
Mine was th' insensate frenzied part,
Ah! why should I such scenes outlive?
Scenes so abhorrent to my heart!-
"Tis thine to pity and forgive.
Wilt thou be my Dearie? 2
Tune-"The Sutor's Dochter."
WILT thou be my Dearie?
When Sorrow wrings thy gentle heart.
O wilt thou let me cheer thee!
By the treasure of my soul,
That's the love I bear thee:
I swear and vow that only thou
Shall ever be my Dearie !
Only thou, I swear and vow,
Shall ever be my Dearie !
1 Here he apologises for some drunken rudeness. Probably Mrs Riddell is the lady addressed. His next step was to lampoon her, and if Mrs Dunlop, now cooled in her regard for the lover of
"Chloris," she did what she had a perfect right to do.
2 Mr Scott Douglas supposes that Mrs Riddell was the heroine of this ditty, which Burns reckoned "one of his best songs."
Lassie, say thou lo'es me;
Or, if thou wilt na be my ain,
O say na thou❜lt refuse me!
If it winna, canna be,
Thou for thine may choose me,
Let me, lassie, quickly die,
Still trusting that thou lo'es me!
Lassie, let me quickly die,
Still trusting that thou lo'es me!
Tune-"The King o' France he rade a race."
AMANG the trees, where humming bees,
At buds and flowers were hinging, O,
Auld Caledon drew out her drone,
And to her pipe was singing, 0:
'Twas Pibroch, Sang, Strathspeys, and Reels,
She dirl❜d them aff fu' clearly, 0:
When there cam' a yell o' foreign squeels,
That dang her tapsalteerie, O.
Their capon craws an' queer "ha, ha's,”
They made our lugs grow eerie,d 0;
The hungry bike did scrape and fyke,'
Till we were waes and weary, 0:
But a royal ghaist, wha ance was cas'd,
A prisoner, aughteen year awa',
He fir'd a Fiddler in the North,
That dang them tapsalteerie, O.
1 What James I. of Scotland has to do with modern Scottish music, as
Burns seems to suggest that he had, is far from obvious.
THE MINSTREL AT LINCLUDEN
The Minstrel at Lincluden.1
As I stood by yon roofless tower,
Where the wa'flow'r scents the dewy air,
Where the howlet mourns in her ivy bower,
And tells the midnight moon her care.
Chorus.-A lassie all alone, was making her moan,
Lamenting our lads beyond the sea;
In the bluidy wars they fa', and our honour's
gane an' a',
And broken-hearted we maun die.
The winds were laid, the air was still,
The stars they shot along the sky;
The tod was howling on the hill,
And the distant-echoing glens reply.
A lassie all alone, &c.
The burn, adown its hazelly path,
Was rushing by the ruin'd wa',
Hasting to join the sweeping Nith,
Whase roarings seem'd to rise and fa'.
A lassie all alone, &c.
The cauld blae North was streaming forth
Her lights, wi' hissing, eerie din,
Athort the lift they start and shift,
Like Fortune's favours, tint as win.
A lassie all alone, &c.
Now, looking over frith and fauld,
Her horn the pale-faced Cynthia rear'd,
When lo! in form of Minstrel auld,
A stern and stalwart ghaist appear'd.
A lassie all alone, &c.
1 Burns was opposed to the war with the Regicides of France.
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