No More Learning

V.

The beauteous, seraph sister-band,
With earnest tears I pray,
Thous know'st the snares on ev'ry hand--
Guide Thou their steps alway.

VI.

When soon or late they reach that coast,
O'er life's rough ocean driven,
May they rejoice, no wanderer lost,
A family in Heaven!

* * * * *




LX.

TO GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ. ,

MAUCHLINE.

(RECOMMENDING A BOY. )

[Verse seems to have been the natural language of Burns. The Master
Tootie whose skill he records, lived in Mauchline, and dealt in cows:
he was an artful and contriving person, great in bargaining and
intimate with all the professional tricks by which old cows are made
to look young, and six-pint hawkies pass for those of twelve. ]


_Mossgiel, May 3, 1786. _

I.

I hold it, Sir, my bounden duty,
To warn you how that Master Tootie,
Alias, Laird M'Gaun,
Was here to hire yon lad away
'Bout whom ye spak the tither day,
An' wad ha'e done't aff han':
But lest he learn the callan tricks,
As, faith, I muckle doubt him,
Like scrapin' out auld Crummie's nicks,
An' tellin' lies about them;
As lieve then, I'd have then,
Your clerkship he should sair,
If sae be, ye may be
Not fitted otherwhere.

II.

Altho' I say't, he's gleg enough,
An' bout a house that's rude an' rough
The boy might learn to swear;
But then, wi' you, he'll be sae taught,
An' get sic fair example straught,
I havena ony fear.
Ye'll catechize him every quirk,
An' shore him weel wi' Hell;
An' gar him follow to the kirk--
--Ay when ye gang yoursel'.
If ye then, maun be then
Frae hame this comin' Friday;
Then please Sir, to lea'e Sir,
The orders wi' your lady.

III.

My word of honour I hae gien,
In Paisley John's, that night at e'n,
To meet the Warld's worm;
To try to get the twa to gree,
An' name the airles[56] an' the fee,
In legal mode an' form:
I ken he weel a snick can draw,
When simple bodies let him;
An' if a Devil be at a',
In faith he's sure to get him.
To phrase you, an' praise you,
Ye ken your Laureat scorns:
The pray'r still, you share still,
Of grateful MINSTREL BURNS.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 56: The airles--earnest money. ]

* * * * *




LXI.

TO MR. M'ADAM,

OF CRAIGEN-GILLAN.

[It seems that Burns, delighted with the praise which the Laird of
Craigen-Gillan bestowed on his verses,--probably the Jolly Beggars,
then in the hands of Woodburn, his steward,--poured out this little
unpremeditated natural acknowledgment. ]


Sir, o'er a gill I gat your card,
I trow it made me proud;
See wha tak's notice o' the bard
I lap and cry'd fu' loud.

Now deil-ma-care about their jaw,
The senseless, gawky million:
I'll cock my nose aboon them a'--
I'm roos'd by Craigen-Gillan!

'Twas noble, Sir; 'twas like yoursel',
To grant your high protection:
A great man's smile, ye ken fu' well,
Is ay a blest infection.

Tho' by his[57] banes who in a tub
Match'd Macedonian Sandy!
On my ain legs thro' dirt and dub,
I independent stand ay. --

And when those legs to gude, warm kail,
Wi' welcome canna bear me;
A lee dyke-side, a sybow-tail,
And barley-scone shall cheer me.