Hyslop, of
Lochrutton, enclosed an invitation to dinner.
Lochrutton, enclosed an invitation to dinner.
Robert Forst
_
* * * * *
XL.
A GRACE.
[This Grace was spoken at the table of Ryedale, where to the best
cookery was added the richest wine, as well as the rarest wit: Hyslop
was a distiller. ]
Lord, we thank and thee adore,
For temp'ral gifts we little merit;
At present we will ask no more,
Let William Hyslop give the spirit.
* * * * *
XLI.
INSCRIPTION ON A GOBLET.
[Written on a dinner-goblet by the hand of Burns. Syme, exasperated at
having his set of crystal defaced, threw the goblet under the grate:
it was taken up by his clerk, and it is still preserved as a
curiosity. ]
There's death in the cup--sae beware!
Nay, more--there is danger in touching;
But wha can avoid the fell snare?
The man and his wine's sae bewitching!
* * * * *
XLII.
THE INVITATION.
[Burns had a happy knack in acknowledging civilities. These lines were
written with a pencil on the paper in which Mrs.
Hyslop, of
Lochrutton, enclosed an invitation to dinner. ]
The King's most humble servant I,
Can scarcely spare a minute;
But I am yours at dinner-time,
Or else the devil's in it.
* * * * *
XLIII.
THE CREED OF POVERTY.
[When the commissioners of Excise told Burns that he was to act, and
not to think; he took out his pencil and wrote "The Creed of
Poverty. "]
In politics if thou would'st mix,
And mean thy fortunes be;
Bear this in mind--be deaf and blind;
Let great folks hear and see.
* * * * *
XLIV.
WRITTEN IN A LADY'S POCKET-BOOK.
[That Burns loved liberty and sympathized with those who were warring
in its cause, these lines, and hundreds more, sufficiently testify. ]
Grant me, indulgent Heav'n, that I may live
To see the miscreants feel the pains they give,
Deal Freedom's sacred treasures free as air,
Till slave and despot be but things which were.
* * * * *
XLV.
THE PARSON'S LOOKS.
[Some sarcastic person said, in Burns's hearing, that there was
falsehood in the Reverend Dr. Burnside's looks: the poet mused for a
moment, and replied in lines which have less of truth than point. ]
That there is falsehood in his looks
I must and will deny;
They say their master is a knave--
And sure they do not lie.
* * * * *
XLVI.
* * * * *
XL.
A GRACE.
[This Grace was spoken at the table of Ryedale, where to the best
cookery was added the richest wine, as well as the rarest wit: Hyslop
was a distiller. ]
Lord, we thank and thee adore,
For temp'ral gifts we little merit;
At present we will ask no more,
Let William Hyslop give the spirit.
* * * * *
XLI.
INSCRIPTION ON A GOBLET.
[Written on a dinner-goblet by the hand of Burns. Syme, exasperated at
having his set of crystal defaced, threw the goblet under the grate:
it was taken up by his clerk, and it is still preserved as a
curiosity. ]
There's death in the cup--sae beware!
Nay, more--there is danger in touching;
But wha can avoid the fell snare?
The man and his wine's sae bewitching!
* * * * *
XLII.
THE INVITATION.
[Burns had a happy knack in acknowledging civilities. These lines were
written with a pencil on the paper in which Mrs.
Hyslop, of
Lochrutton, enclosed an invitation to dinner. ]
The King's most humble servant I,
Can scarcely spare a minute;
But I am yours at dinner-time,
Or else the devil's in it.
* * * * *
XLIII.
THE CREED OF POVERTY.
[When the commissioners of Excise told Burns that he was to act, and
not to think; he took out his pencil and wrote "The Creed of
Poverty. "]
In politics if thou would'st mix,
And mean thy fortunes be;
Bear this in mind--be deaf and blind;
Let great folks hear and see.
* * * * *
XLIV.
WRITTEN IN A LADY'S POCKET-BOOK.
[That Burns loved liberty and sympathized with those who were warring
in its cause, these lines, and hundreds more, sufficiently testify. ]
Grant me, indulgent Heav'n, that I may live
To see the miscreants feel the pains they give,
Deal Freedom's sacred treasures free as air,
Till slave and despot be but things which were.
* * * * *
XLV.
THE PARSON'S LOOKS.
[Some sarcastic person said, in Burns's hearing, that there was
falsehood in the Reverend Dr. Burnside's looks: the poet mused for a
moment, and replied in lines which have less of truth than point. ]
That there is falsehood in his looks
I must and will deny;
They say their master is a knave--
And sure they do not lie.
* * * * *
XLVI.
