the jolly beggars: a tata 注释标题 not published by burns.
recitativo
when lyart leaves bestrow the yird,
or wavering like the bauckie-bird,
bedim cauld boreas' bst;
when hailstanes drive wi' bitter skyte,
and infant frosts begin to bite,
in hoary reuch drest;
ae night at e'en a merry core
o' randie, gangrel bodies,
in poosie-nansie's held the splore,
to drink their orra duddies;
wi' quaffing an' ughing,
they ranted an' they sang,
wi' jumping an' thumping,
the vera girdle rang,
first, the fire, in auld red rags,
a, weel brac'd wi' mealy bags,
and knapsack a' in order;
his doxy y within his arm;
wi' usquebae an' bs warm
she blinkit on her sodger;
an' aye he gies the tozie drab
the tither skelpin' kiss,
while she held up her greedy gab,
just like an aumous dish;
ilk smack still, did crack still,
just like a cadger's whip;
then staggering an' swaggering
he roar'd this ditty up—
air
tune—“soldier's joy.”
i am a son of mars who have been in many wars,
and show my cuts and scars wherever i e;
this here was for a wench, and that other in a trench,
when weling the french at the sound of the drum.
l de daudle, &c.
my 'prenticeship i past where my leader breath'd his st,
when the bloody die was cast on the heights of abram:
and i served out my trade when the galnt game y'd,
and the morro low was id at the sound of the drum.
i stly was with curtis among the floating batt'ries,
and there i left for witness an arm and a limb;
yet let my try need me, with elliot to head me,
i'd ctter on my stumps at the sound of a drum.
and now tho' i must beg, with a wooden arm and leg,
and many a tatter'd rag hanging over my bum,
i'm as happy with my wallet, my bottle, and my callet,
as when i used in scarlet to follow a drum.
what tho' with hoary locks, i must stand the winter shocks,
beh the woods and rocks oftentimes for a home,
whe' i sell, and the t'other bottle tell,
i could meet a troop of hell, at the sound of a drum.
recitativo
he ended; and the kebars sheuk,
aboon the chorus roar;
while frighted rattons backward leuk,
an' seek the benmost bore:
a fairy fiddler frae the neuk,
he skirl'd out, encore!
but up arose the martial chuck,
an' id the loud uproar.
air
tune—“sodger ddie.”
i once was a maid, tho' i ot tell when,
and still my delight is in proper young men;
some one of a troop oons was my daddie,
no wonder i'm fond of a sodger ddie,
sing, l de l, &c.
the first of my loves was a swaggering bde,
to rattle the thundering drum was his trade;
his leg was so tight, and his cheek was so ruddy,
transported i was with my sodger ddie.
but the godly old chapi him in the lurch;
the sword i forsook for the sake of the church:
he ventur'd the soul, and i risked the body,
'twas then i proved false to my sodger ddie.
full soon i grew siy sanctified sot,
the regiment at rge for a husband i got;
from the gilded spontoon to the fife i was ready,
i asked no more but a sodger ddie.
but the peace it reduc'd me to beg in despair,
till i met old boy in a ingham fair,
his rags regimental, they flutter'd so gaudy,
my heart it rejoic'd at a sodger ddie.
and now i have liv'd—i know not how long,
and still i join in a cup and a song;
but whilst with both hands i hold the gss steady,
here's to thee, my hero, my sodger ddie.
recitativo
poor merry-andrew, in the neuk,
sat guzzling wi' a tinkler-hizzie;
they mind't na wha the chorus teuk,
between themselves they were sae busy:
at length, wi' drink an' c dizzy,
he stoiter'd up an' made a face;
then turn'd an' id a sma grizzie,
syun'd his pipes wi' grave grimace.
air
tune—“auld sir symon.”
sir wisdom's a fool when he's fou;
sir knave is a fool in a session;
he's there but a 'prerow,
but i am a fool by profession.
my grannie she bought me a beuk,
an' i held awa to the school;
i fear i my talent misteuk,
but what will ye hae of a fool?
for drink i would venture my neck;
a hizzie's the half of my craft;
but what could ye other expect
of ahat's avowedly daft?
i ance was tied up like a stirk,
for civilly swearing and quaffin;
i ance was abus'd i' the kirk,
for towsing a ss i' my daffin.
poor ahat tumbles for sport,
let naebody name wi' a jeer;
there's even, i'm tauld, i' the court
a tumbler ca'd the premier.
observ'd ye yon reverend d
mak faces to tickle the mob;
he rails at our mountebank squad,—
it's rivalship just i' the job.
and now my clusion i'll tell,
for faith i'm foundedly dry;
the chiel that's a fool for himsel',
guid lord! he's far dafter than i.
recitativo
the outspak a raucle carlin,
wha kent fu' weel to cleek the sterlin;
for mony a pursie she had hooked,
an' had in mony a well been douked;
her love had been a highnd ddie,
but weary fa' the waefu' woodie!
wi' sighs an' sobs she thus began
to wail her braw john highndman.
air
tune—“o, an ye were dead, guidman.”
a highnd d my love was born,
the lnd ws he held in s;
but he still was faithfu' to his ,
my galnt, braw john highndman.
chorus
sing hey my braw john highndman!
sing ho my braw john highndman!
there's not a d in a' the n'
was maty john highndman.
with his philibeg an' tartan pid,
an' guid cymore down by his side,
the dies' hearts he did trepan,
my galnt, braw john highndman.
sing hey, &c.
we ranged a' from tweed to spey,
an' liv'd like lords an' dies gay;
for a lnd face he feared none,—
my galnt, braw john highndman.
sing hey, &c.
they banish'd him beyond the sea.
but ere the bud was oree,
adown my cheeks the pearls ran,
embrag my john highndman.
sing hey, &c.
but, och! they catch'd him at the st,
and bound him in a dungeon fast:
my curse upon them every one,
they've hang'd my braw john highndman!
sing hey, &c.
and no, i must mourn
the pleasures that will ne'er return:
the fort but a hearty ,
when i think on john highndman.
sing hey, &c.
recitativo
a pigmy scraper wi' his fiddle,
wha us'd at trystes an' fairs to driddle.
her strappin limb and gausy middle
(he reach'd nae higher)
had hol'd his heartie like a riddle,
an' bwn't on fire.
wi' hand on hainch, and upward e'e,
he 'd his gamut, owo, three,
then in an arioso key,
the oll
set off wi' allegretto glee
his giga solo.
air
tune—“whistle owre the ve o't.”
let me ryke up to dight that tear,
an' go wi' me an' be my dear;
an' then your every care an' fear
may whistle owre the ve o't.
chorus
i am a fiddler to my trade,
an' a' the tuhat e'er i pyed,
the sweetest still to wife or maid,
was whistle owre the ve o't.
at kirns an' weddins we'se be there,
an' o sae nicely's we will fare!
we'll bowse about till daddie care
sing whistle owre the ve o't.
i am, &c.
sae merrily's the banes we'll pyke,
an' sun oursel's about the dyke;
an' at our leisure, when ye like,
we'll whistle owre the ve o't.
i am, &c.
but bless me wi' your heav'n o' charms,
an' while i kittle hair on thairms,
hunger, cauld, an' a' sic harms,
may whistle owre the ve o't.
i am, &c.
recitativo
her charms had struck a sturdy caird,
as weel as put-scraper;
he taks the fiddler by the beard,
an' draws a roosty rapier—
he swoor, by a' was swearing worth,
to speet him like a pliver,
unless he would from that time forth
relinquish her for ever.
wi' ghastly e'e poor tweedle-dee
upon his hunkers bended,
an' pray'd frace wi' ruefu' face,
an' so the quarrel ended.
but tho' his little heart did grieve
when round the tinkler prest her,
he feign'd to snirtle in his sleeve,
when thus the caird address'd her:
air
tune—“clout the cauldron.”
my bonie ss, i work in brass,
a tinkler is my station:
i've travell'd round all christian ground
in this my occupation;
i've taen the gold, an' been enrolled
in many a noble squadron;
but vain they search'd when off i march'd
to go an' clout the cauldron.
i've taen the gold, &c.
despise that shrimp, that wither'd imp,
with a' his noise an' cap'rin;
an' take a share with those that bear
the budget and the apron!
and by that stowp! my faith an' houp,
and by that dear kilbaigie,
if e'er ye want, or meet wi' st,
may i ne'er weet my craigie.
and by that stowp, &c.
recitativo
the caird prevail'd—th' unblushing fair
in his embraces sunk;
partly wi' love o'ere sae sair,
an' partly she was drunk:
sir violino, with an air
that show'd a man o' spunk,
wish'd unisoween the pair,
an' made the bottle k
to their health that night.
but hur cupid shot a shaft,
that py'd a dame a shavie—
the fiddler rak'd her, fore and aft,
behint the chi cavie.
her lord, a wight of homer's craft,
tho' limpin wi' the spavie,
he hirpl'd up, an' p like daft,
an' shor'd them dainty davie.
o' boot that night.
he was a care-defying bde
as ever bacchus listed!
tho' fortune sair upon him id,
his heart, she ever miss'd it.
he had no wish but—to be gd,
nor want but—whehirsted;
he hated nought but—to be sad,
an' thus the muse suggested
his sang that night.
air
tune—“for a' that, an' a' that.”
i am a bard of nard,
wi' gentle folks an' a' that;
but homer-like, the glowrin byke,
frae town to town i draw that.
chorus
for a' that, an' a' that,
an' twice as muckle's a' that;
i've lost but ane, i've twa behin',
i've wife eneugh for a' that.
i never drank the muses' stank,
castalia's burn, an' a' that;
but there it streams an' richly reams,
my heli i ca' that.
for a' that, &c.
great love idbear to a' the fair,
their humble sve an' a' that;
but lordly will, i hold it still
a mortal sin to thraw that.
for a' that, &c.
in raptures sweet, this hour we meet,
wi' mutual love an' a' that;
but for how ng the flie may stang,
let ination w that.
for a' that, &c.
their tricks an' craft hae put me daft,
they've taen me in, an' a' that;
but clear your decks, and here's—“the sex!”
i like the jads for a' that.
chorus
for a' that, an' a' that,
an' twice as muckle's a' that;
my dearest bluid, to do them guid,
they're wele till't for a' that.
recitativo
so sang the bard—and nansie's wa's
shook with a thunder of appuse,
re-echo'd from each mouth!
they toom'd their pocks, they pawn'd their duds,
they scarcely left to co'er their fuds,
to quench their lowin drouth:
then ain, the jovial thrang
the poet did request
to lowse his pa' wale a sang,
a bald o' the best;
he rising, rejoig,
between his twa deborahs,
looks round him, an' found them
impatient for the chorus.
air
tune—“jolly mortals, fill ysses.”
see the smoking bowl before us,
mark our jovial ragged ring!
round and round take up the chorus,
and in raptures let us sing—
chorus
a fig for those by w protected!
liberty's a glorious feast!
courts for cowards were erected,
churches built to please the priest.
what is title, what is treasure,
what is reputation's care?
if we lead a life of pleasure,
'tis no matter how or where!
a fig for, &c.
with the ready trid fable,
round we wander all the day;
and at night in barn or stable,
hug our doxies on the hay.
a fig for, &c.
does the train-attended carriage
thro' the try lighter rove?
does the sober bed of marriage
witness brighter ses of love?
a fig for, &c.
life is al a variorum,
we regard not how it goes;
let them t about de,
who have character to lose.
a fig for, &c.
here's to budgets, bags and wallets!
here's to all the wandering train.
here's ed brats and callets,
one and all cry out, amen!
chorus
a fig for those by w protected!
liberty's a glorious feast!
courts for cowards were erected,
churches built to please the priest.