MY DEAR THOMSON,
You cannot have any idea of the predicament in which I write to you.
You cannot have any idea of the predicament in which I write to you.
Robert Burns
[275]
I do not give you the foregoing song for your book, but merely by way
of _vive la bagatelle_; for the piece is not really poetry. How will
the following do for "Craigieburn-wood? "--
Sweet fa's the eve on Craigieburn. [276]
Farewell! God bless you!
R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 275: Song CCLXIV. ]
[Footnote 276: Song CCXLV. ]
* * * * *
CCCXI.
TO MR. THOMSON.
[Of this letter, Dr. Currie writes "the poet must have been tipsy
indeed to abuse sweet Ecclefechan at this rate;" it is one of the
prettiest of our Annandale villages, and the birth-place of that
distinguished biographer. ]
_Ecclefechan_, 7_th February_, 1795.
MY DEAR THOMSON,
You cannot have any idea of the predicament in which I write to you.
In the course of my duty as supervisor (in which capacity I have acted
of late), I came yesternight to this unfortunate, wicked little
village. I have gone forward, but snows of ten feet deep have impeded
my progress: I have tried to "gae back the gate I cam again," but the
same obstacle has shut me up within insuperable bars. To add to my
misfortune, since dinner, a scraper has been torturing catgut, in
sounds that would have insulted the dying agonies of a sow under the
hands of a butcher, and thinks himself, on that very account,
exceeding good company. In fact, I have been in a dilemma, either to
get drunk, to forget these miseries; or to hang myself, to get rid of
them: like a prudent man (a character congenial to my every thought,
word, and deed), I of two evils have chosen the least, and am very
drunk, at your service!
I wrote you yesterday from Dumfries. I had not time then to tell you
all I wanted to say; and, Heaven knows, at present have not capacity.
Do you know an air--I am sure you must know it--"We'll gang nae mair
to yon town? " I think, in slowish time, it would make an excellent
song. I am highly delighted with it; and if you should think it worthy
of your attention, I have a fair dame in my eye to whom I would
consecrate it.
As I am just going to bed, I wish you a good night.
R. B.
* * * * *
CCCXII.
TO MR. THOMSON.
I do not give you the foregoing song for your book, but merely by way
of _vive la bagatelle_; for the piece is not really poetry. How will
the following do for "Craigieburn-wood? "--
Sweet fa's the eve on Craigieburn. [276]
Farewell! God bless you!
R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 275: Song CCLXIV. ]
[Footnote 276: Song CCXLV. ]
* * * * *
CCCXI.
TO MR. THOMSON.
[Of this letter, Dr. Currie writes "the poet must have been tipsy
indeed to abuse sweet Ecclefechan at this rate;" it is one of the
prettiest of our Annandale villages, and the birth-place of that
distinguished biographer. ]
_Ecclefechan_, 7_th February_, 1795.
MY DEAR THOMSON,
You cannot have any idea of the predicament in which I write to you.
In the course of my duty as supervisor (in which capacity I have acted
of late), I came yesternight to this unfortunate, wicked little
village. I have gone forward, but snows of ten feet deep have impeded
my progress: I have tried to "gae back the gate I cam again," but the
same obstacle has shut me up within insuperable bars. To add to my
misfortune, since dinner, a scraper has been torturing catgut, in
sounds that would have insulted the dying agonies of a sow under the
hands of a butcher, and thinks himself, on that very account,
exceeding good company. In fact, I have been in a dilemma, either to
get drunk, to forget these miseries; or to hang myself, to get rid of
them: like a prudent man (a character congenial to my every thought,
word, and deed), I of two evils have chosen the least, and am very
drunk, at your service!
I wrote you yesterday from Dumfries. I had not time then to tell you
all I wanted to say; and, Heaven knows, at present have not capacity.
Do you know an air--I am sure you must know it--"We'll gang nae mair
to yon town? " I think, in slowish time, it would make an excellent
song. I am highly delighted with it; and if you should think it worthy
of your attention, I have a fair dame in my eye to whom I would
consecrate it.
As I am just going to bed, I wish you a good night.
R. B.
* * * * *
CCCXII.
TO MR. THOMSON.
