DEDICATION

TO THE SECOND EDITION.

TO THE NOBLEMEN AND GENTLEMEN OF THE
CALEDONIAN HUNT.

MY LORDS AND Gentlemen,

A SCOTTISH Bard, proud of the name, and whose highest ambition is to sing in his Country's service -where shall he so properly look for patronage as to the illustrious names of his native Land-those who bear the honours and inherit the virtues of their Ancestors? The Poetic Genius of my Country found me, as the prophetic bard Elijah did Elisha-at the plough; and threw her inspiring mantle over me. She bade me sing the loves, the joys, the rural scenes and rural pleasures of my native soil in my native tongue. I tuned my wild, artless notes as she inspired. She whispered me to come to this ancient Metropolis of Caledonia, and lay my songs under your honoured protection.

Though much indebted to your goodness, I do not approach you, my Lords and Gentlemen, in the usual style of Dedication, to thank you for past favours. That path is so hackneyed by prostituted learning, that honest rusticity is ashamed of it. Nor do I present this address with the venal soul of a servile Author, looking for a continuation of those favours. I was bred to the plough, and am independent. I come to claim the common Scottish name with you, my illustrious countrymen; and to

tell the world that I glory in the title. I come to congratulate my Country that the blood of her ancient heroes still runs uncontaminated; and that from your courage, knowledge, and public spirit, she may expect protection, wealth and liberty. In the last place, I come to proffer my warmest wishes to the great Fountain of honour, the Monarch of the universe, for your welfare and happiness.

When you go forth to waken the Echoes, in the ancient and favourite amusement of your forefathers, may Pleasure ever be of your party'; and may social Joy await your return! When harassed in courts or camps with the jostlings of bad men and bad measures, may the honest consciousness of injured worth attend your return to your native Seats; and may domestic Happiness, with a smiling welcome, meet you at your gates! May Corruption shrink at your kindling, indignant glance! and may Tyranny in the Ruler, and Licentiousness in the People, equally find you an inexorable foe!

I have the honour to be,

With the sincerest gratitude, and highest respect,

My Lords and Gentlemen,

Your most devoted, humble Servant,

Edinburgh, April 4, 1787.

ROBERT BURNS.

POEMS,

CHIEFLY SCOTTISH.

THE TWA DOGS.

A TALE.

'Twas in that place o'a Scotland's isle,
That bears the name o' Auld King Coil,
Upon a bonnie day in June,

When wearing thro' the afternoon,
Twa dogs that were na thrang at hame,
Forgather'de ance upon a time.

The first I'll name, they ca'd him Cæsar,
Was keepit for his honour's pleasure;
His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs,d
Shew'd he was nane o' Scotland's dogs
But whalpite some place far abroad,
Where sailors gang to fish for cod.

His locked, letter'd, brawf brass collar,
Shew'd him the gentleman and scholar;
But though he was o' high degree,
The fients a pride nae pride had he;
But wad haeh spent an hour caressin',
Ev'n wi' a tinkler-gypsy's messin'
At kirk or market, mill or smiddie,
Nae tawted1 tyke,m tho' e'er sae duddie,"
But he wad stan't," as glad to see him,

And stroan'tP on stanes and hillocks wi' him.

a Of.

d Ears.

b Had nothing to do at home.

g Fiend, devil.

e Whelped.

h Would have.

c Met

Large, handsome.

Smithy, or smith's work-shop. Having the hair matted together.

m_Dog.

• Stand, or stop.

A small dog.

n Ragged.
p To piss.

g Stones and little hills.

The tither was a ploughman's collie, A rhyming, ranting, roaring billie, Wha for his friend an' comrade had him, And in his freaks had Luath ca'd him, After some dog in Highland sang," Was made lang syne"-Lord knows how lang He was a gash and faithful tyke, As ever lap a sheugh or dyke. His honest, sonsie,a baws'nt face, Ay gat him friends in ilka place. His breast was white, his touzied back Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black; His gawciee tail, wi' upward curl, Hung o'er his hurdies wi' a swirl.g

Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither,b An' unco pack and thick' thegither; Wi' social nose whylesk snuff't and snowkit, Whyles mice and moudieworts" they howkit; Whyles scour'd awa in lang excursion, An' worried ither in diversion; Until wi' daffin'P weary grown, Upon a knowe they sat them down, And there began a lang digression

About the Lords o' the Creation.

CÆSAR.

I've aften wonder'd, honest Luath,
What sort o' life poor dogs like you have;
An' when the gentry's life I saw,
What way poor bodies liv'd ava.r
Our laird gets in his racked rents,

His coals, his kain, and a' his stents:t

r The other. s A country cur.

x Sagacious.

t A young fellow

u Cuchullin's dog in Ossian's Fingal. w Long since.
y Leaped.
z Trench, or sluice.
Having a white stripe down the face.
d Shaggy. e Large. f Loins.
g Curve.
k Sometimes.

a Fngaging.

e Every.

à Fond of each other. i And very intimate. m Sometimes.

7 Scented.

p Merriment, foolishness.

n Moles.
q A small hillock.
Fowls, &c. paid as rent by a farmer.
1 Tribute, dues of any kind.

He rises when he likes himsel;

His flunkies" answer at the bell:
He ca's his coach, he ca's his horse;
He draws a bonnie silken purse

As lang's my tail, where, thro' the steeks,
The yellow-letter'd Geordie keeks.

Frae morn to e'en it's nought but toiling,
At baking, roasting, frying, boiling
An' tho' the gentry first are stechin',"
Yet ev'n the ha' folka fill their pechanb
Wi' sauce, ragouts, and sic like thrastrie,
That's little short o' downright wastrie.
Our whipper-in, weec blastitd wonner,
Poor worthless elf, it eats a dinner,
Better than onie tenant man

His honour has in a' the lan':

An' what poor cot-folk pitf their painchs in,

I own it's past my comprehension.

LUATH.

Trowth, Cæsar, whyles they 're fashth enough, A cotter howkin1 in a sheugh,k Wi' dirty stanes biggin' a dyke, Baring a quarry, and sic like, Himself, a wife, he thus sustains, A smytriem o' wee duddie weans," An' nought but his han' darg, to keep Them right and tight in thack an' rape.P An' when they meet wi' sair disasters, Like loss o' health or want o' masters, Ye maist wad think a wee touch langer, An' they maun starve o'cauld and hunger.

b Stomach.

c Little.

i Digging.

e A contemptuous appellation. f Put.
k Trench.

Troubled.

d Blasted.

g Paunch.

7 Building.

m A numerous collection of small individuals. n Ragged children.

p Clothing, necessaries.

o Day's work.
9 Must.