No More Learning

The bee that thro' the sunny hour
Sips nectar in the opening flower,
Compar'd wi' my delight is poor,
Upon the lips o' Philly.

SHE.

The woodbine in the dewy weet
When evening shades in silence meet,
Is nocht sae fragrant or sae sweet
As is a kiss o' Willy.

HE.

Let Fortune's wheel at random rin,
And fools may tyne, and knaves may win
My thoughts are a' bound up in ane,
And that's my ain dear Philly.

SHE.

What's a' joys that gowd can gie?
I care nae wealth a single flie;
The lad I love's the lad for me,
And that's my ain dear Willy.

* * * * *




CCXXXVI.

CONTENTED WI' LITTLE.

Tune--"_Lumps o' Pudding. _"

[Burns was an admirer of many songs which the more critical and
fastidious regarded as rude and homely. "Todlin Hame" he called an
unequalled composition for wit and humour, and "Andro wi' his cutty
Gun," the work of a master. In the same letter, where he records
these sentiments, he writes his own inimitable song, "Contented wi'
Little. "]


I.
Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair,
Whene'er I forgather wi' sorrow end care,
I gie them a skelp, as they're creepin alang,
Wi' a cog o' guid swats, and an auld Scottish sang.

II.

I whyles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought;
But man is a sodger, and life is a faught:
My mirth and guid humour are coin in my pouch,
And my freedom's my lairdship nae monarch dare touch.

III.

A towmond o' trouble, should that be my fa',
A night o' guid fellowship sowthers it a':
When at the blithe end o' our journey at last,
Wha the deil ever thinks o' the road he has past?

IV.

Blind chance, let her snapper and stoyte on her way;
Be't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the jade gae:
Come ease, or come travail; come pleasure or pain;
My warst word is--"Welcome, and welcome again! "

* * * * *




CCXXXVII.

CANST THOU LEAVE ME THUS.

Tune--"_Roy's Wife. _"

[When Burns transcribed the following song for Thomson, on the 20th of
November, 1794, he added, "Well! I think this, to be done in two or
three turns across my room, and with two or three pinches of Irish
blackguard, is not so far amiss. You see I am resolved to have my
quantum of applause from somebody. " The poet in this song complains of
the coldness of Mrs. Riddel: the lady replied in a strain equally
tender and forgiving. ]


I.