Maybe thou lets this fleshly thorn, Beset thy servant e'en and morn, Lest he owre high and proud should turn, 'Cause he's sae gifted; If sae, thy han' maun e'en be borne Until thou lift it.

Lord, bless thy chosen in this place, For here thou hast a chosen race: But G.o.d confound their stubborn face, And blast their name, Wha bring thy elders to disgrace And public shame.

Lord, mind Gawn Hamilton's deserts, He drinks, and swears, and plays at carts, Yet has sae mony takin' arts, Wi' grit and sma', Frae G.o.d's ain priests the people's hearts He steals awa.

An' whan we chasten'd him therefore, Thou kens how he bred sic a splore, As set the warld in a roar O' laughin' at us;-- Curse thou his basket and his store, Kail and potatoes.

Lord, hear my earnest cry and pray'r, Against the presbyt'ry of Ayr; Thy strong right hand, Lord, mak it bare Upo' their heads, Lord weigh it down, and dinna spare, For their misdeeds.

O Lord my G.o.d, that glib-tongu'd Aiken, My very heart and saul are quakin', To think how we stood groanin', shakin', And swat wi' dread, While Auld wi' hingin lips gaed sneakin'

And hung his head.

Lord, in the day of vengeance try him, Lord, visit them wha did employ him, And pa.s.s not in thy mercy by 'em, Nor hear their pray'r; But for thy people's sake destroy 'em, And dinna spare.

But, Lord, remember me an mine, Wi' mercies temp'ral and divine, That I for gear and grace may shine, Excell'd by nane, And a' the glory shall be thine, Amen, Amen!

XVIII.

EPITAPH ON HOLY WILLIE.

[We are informed by Richmond of Mauchline, that when he was clerk in Gavin Hamilton's office, Burns came in one morning and said, "I have just composed a poem, John, and if you will write it, I will repeat it." He repeated Holy Willie's Prayer and Epitaph; Hamilton came in at the moment, and having read them with delight, ran laughing with them in his hand to Robert Aiken. The end of Holy Willie was other than G.o.dly; in one of his visits to Mauchline, he drank more than was needful, fell into a ditch on his way home, and was found dead in the morning.]

Here Holy Willie's sair worn clay Takes up its last abode; His saul has ta'en some other way, I fear the left-hand road.

Stop! there he is, as sure's a gun, Poor, silly body, see him; Nae wonder he's as black's the grun, Observe wha's standing wi' him.

Your brunstane devilship I see, Has got him there before ye; But hand your nine-tail cat a wee, Till ance you've heard my story.

Your pity I will not implore, For pity ye hae nane; Justice, alas! has gi'en him o'er, And mercy's day is gaen.

But hear me, sir, deil as ye are, Look something to your credit; A coof like him wad stain your name, If it were kent ye did it.

XIX.

THE INVENTORY;

IN ANSWER TO A MANDATE BY THE SURVEYOR

OF THE TAXES.

[We have heard of a poor play-actor who, by a humorous inventory of his effects, so moved the commissioners of the income tax, that they remitted all claim on him then and forever; we know not that this very humorous inventory of Burns had any such effect on Mr. Aiken, the surveyor of the taxes. It is dated "Mossgiel, February 22d, 1786," and is remarkable for wit and sprightliness, and for the information which it gives us of the poet's habits, household, and agricultural implements.]

Sir, as your mandate did request, I send you here a faithfu' list, O' gudes, an' gear, an' a' my graith, To which I'm clear to gi'e my aith.

_Imprimis_, then, for carriage cattle, I have four brutes o' gallant mettle, As ever drew afore a pettle.

My lan' afore's[8] a gude auld has been, An' wight, an' wilfu' a' his days been.

My lan ahin's[9] a weel gaun fillie, That aft has borne me hame frae Killie,[10]

An' your auld burro' mony a time, In days when riding was nae crime-- But ance, whan in my wooing pride, I like a blockhead boost to ride, The wilfu' creature sae I pat to, (L--d pardon a' my sins an' that too!) I play'd my fillie sic a shavie, She's a' bedevil'd with the spavie.

My fur ahin's[11] a wordy beast, As e'er in tug or tow was trac'd.

The fourth's a Highland Donald hastie, A d--n'd red wud Kilburnie blastie!

Forbye a cowt o' cowt's the wale, As ever ran afore a tail.

If he be spar'd to be a beast, He'll draw me fifteen pun' at least.-- Wheel carriages I ha'e but few, Three carts, an' twa are f.e.c.kly new; Ae auld wheelbarrow, mair for token, Ae leg an' baith the trams are broken; I made a poker o' the spin'le, An' my auld mither brunt the trin'le.

For men I've three mischievous boys, Run de'ils for rantin' an' for noise; A gaudsman ane, a thrasher t'other.

Wee Davock hauds the nowt in fother.

I rule them as I ought, discreetly, An' aften labour them completely; An' ay on Sundays, duly, nightly, I on the Questions targe them tightly; Till, faith, wee Davock's turn'd sae gleg, Tho' scarcely langer than your leg, He'll screed you aff Effectual calling, As fast as ony in the dwalling.

I've nane in female servan' station, (Lord keep me ay frae a' temptation!) I ha'e 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 devils darena touch me.

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 bonnie sweet wee lady, I've paid enough for her already, An' gin ye tax her or her mither, B' the L--d! ye'se get them a'thegither.

And now, remember, Mr. Aiken, Nae kind of license 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 st.u.r.dy 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 buke.

Nor for my ten white shillings luke.

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_ ROBERT BURNS.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 8: The fore-horse on the left-hand in the plough.]

[Footnote 9: The hindmost on the left-hand in the plough.]

[Footnote 10: Kilmarnock.]

[Footnote 11: The hindmost horse on the right-hand in the plough.]

XX.

THE HOLY FAIR.