Food fills the wame an' keeps us livin'; Tho' life's a gift no worth receivin'

When heavy dragg'd wi' pine an' grievin'; But, oil'd by thee, The wheels o' life gae down-hill, scrievin,'

Wi' rattlin' glee.

Thou clears the head o' doited Lear; Thou cheers the heart o' drooping Care; Thou strings the nerves o' Labour sair, At's weary toil; Thou even brightens dark Despair Wi' gloomy smile.

Aft, clad in ma.s.sy, siller weed, Wi' gentles thou erects thy head; Yet humbly kind in time o' need, The poor man's wine, His wee drap parritch, or his bread, Thou kitchens fine.

Thou art the life o' public haunts; But thee, what were our fairs an' rants?

Ev'n G.o.dly meetings o' the saunts, By thee inspir'd, When gaping they besiege the tents, Are doubly fir'd.

That merry night we get the corn in, O sweetly then thou reams the horn in!

Or reekin' on a new-year morning In cog or d.i.c.ker, An' just a wee drap sp'ritual burn in, An' gusty sucker!

When Vulcan gies his bellows breath, An' ploughmen gather wi' their graith, O rare! to see thee fizz an' freath I' th' lugget caup!

Then Burnewin comes on like Death At ev'ry chap.

Nae mercy, then, for airn or steel; The brawnie, bainie, ploughman chiel, Brings hard owrehip, wi' st.u.r.dy wheel, The strong forehammer, Till block an' studdie ring an' reel Wi' dinsome clamour.

When skirlin' weanies see the light, Thou maks the gossips clatter bright, How fumblin' cuifs their dearies slight; Wae worth the name!

Nae howdie gets a social night, Or plack frae them.

When neibors anger at a plea, An' just as wud as wud can be, How easy can the barley-bree Cement the quarrel!

It's aye the cheapest lawyer's fee, To taste the barrel.

Alake! that e'er my muse has reason To wyte her countrymen wi' treason!

But monie daily weet their weason Wi' liquors nice, An' hardly, in a winter's season, E'er spier her price.

Wae worth that brandy, burning trash!

Fell source o' monie a pain an' brash!

Twins monie a poor, doylt, druken hash, O' half his days; An' sends, beside, auld Scotland's cash To her warst faes.

Ye Scots, wha wish auld Scotland well, Ye chief, to you my tale I tell, Poor plackless devils like mysel', It sets you ill, Wi' bitter, dearthfu' wines to mell, Or foreign gill.

May gravels round his blather wrench, An' gouts torment him inch by inch, Wha twists his gruntle wi' a glunch O' sour disdain, Out owre a gla.s.s o' whiskey punch Wi' honest men;

O whiskey! soul o' plays an' pranks!

Accept a Bardie's gratefu' thanks!

When wanting thee, what tuneless cranks Are my poor verses!

Thou comes--they rattle i' their ranks At ither's a----s!

Thee, Ferintosh! O sadly lost!

Scotland lament frae coast to coast!

Now colic grips, an' barkin' hoast, May kill us a'; For loyal Forbes' charter'd boast, Is ta'en awa.

Thae curst horse-leeches o' th' Excise, Wha mak the whiskey stells their prize!

Haud up thy han', Deil! ance, twice, thrice!

There, seize the blinkers!

An' bake them up in brunstane pies For poor d--n'd drinkers.

Fortune! if thou'll but gie me still Hale breeks, a scone, an' whiskey gill, An' rowth o' rhyme to rave at will, Tak' a' the rest, An' deal't about as thy blind skill Directs thee best.

x.x.xVIII.

THE AUTHOR'S

EARNEST CRY AND PRAYER

TO THE

SCOTCH REPRESENTATIVES

IN THE

HOUSE OF COMMONS.

'Dearest of distillation! last and best!---- ------How art thou lost!--------'

PARODY ON MILTON

["This Poem was written," says Burns, "before the act anent the Scottish distilleries, of session 1786, for which Scotland and the author return their most grateful thanks." Before the pa.s.sing of this lenient act, so sharp was the law in the North, that some distillers relinquished their trade; the price of barley was affected, and Scotland, already exasperated at the refusal of a militia, for which she was a pet.i.tioner, began to handle her claymore, and was perhaps only hindered from drawing it by the act mentioned by the poet. In an early copy of the poem, he thus alludes to Colonel Hugh Montgomery, afterwards Earl of Eglinton:--

"Thee, sodger Hugh, my watchman stented, If bardies e'er are represented, I ken if that yere sword were wanted Ye'd lend yere hand; But when there's aught to say anent it Yere at a stand."

The poet was not sure that Montgomery would think the compliment to his ready hand an excuse in full for the allusion to his unready tongue, and omitted the stanza.]

Ye Irish lords, ye knights an' squires, Wha represent our brughs an' shires, An' doucely manage our affairs In Parliament, To you a simple Bardie's prayers Are humbly sent.

Alas! my roupet Muse is hea.r.s.e!

Your honours' hearts wi' grief 'twad pierce, To see her sittin' on her a--e Low i' the dust, An' scriechin' out prosaic verse, An' like to brust!

Tell them wha hae the chief direction, Scotland an' me's in great affliction, E'er sin' they laid that curst restriction On aqua-vitae; An' rouse them up to strong conviction, An' move their pity.

Stand forth, an' tell yon Premier youth, The honest, open, naked truth: Tell him o' mine an' Scotland's drouth, His servants humble: The muckie devil blaw ye south, If ye dissemble!

Does ony great man glunch an' gloom?

Speak out, an' never fash your thumb!

Let posts an' pensions sink or soom Wi' them wha grant 'em: If honestly they canna come, Far better want 'em.

In gath'rin votes you were na slack; Now stand as tightly by your tack; Ne'er claw your lug, an' fidge your back, An' hum an' haw; But raise your arm, an' tell your crack Before them a'.

Paint Scotland greetin' owre her thrizzle, Her mutchkin stoup as toom's a whissle: An' d.a.m.n'd excis.e.m.e.n in a bussle, Seizin' a stell, Triumphant crushin't like a mussel Or lampit sh.e.l.l.

Then on the t.i.ther hand present her, A blackguard smuggler, right behint her, An' cheek-for-chow, a chuffie vintner, Colleaguing join, Picking her pouch as bare as winter Of a' kind coin.