No More Learning

Scotland, my auld, respected mither!
Tho' whiles ye moistify your leather,
Till whare ye sit, on craps o' heather
Ye tine your dam;
Freedom and whiskey gang thegither! --
Tak aff your dram!

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 46: Sir Adam Ferguson. ]

[Footnote 47: The Duke of Montrose. ]

[Footnote 48: A worthy old hostess of the author's in Mauchline, where
he sometimes studies politics over a glass of guid auld Scotch drink. ]

* * * * *




XXXIX.

ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUID,

OR THE

RIGIDLY RIGHTEOUS.

"My son, these maxims make a rule,
And lump them ay thegither;
The Rigid Righteous is a fool,
The Rigid Wise anither:
The cleanest corn that e'er was dight
May hae some pyles o' caff in;
So ne'er a fellow-creature slight
For random fits o' daffin. "

SOLOMON. --Eccles. ch. vii. ver. 16.
["Burns," says Hogg, in a note on this Poem, "has written more from
his own heart and his own feelings than any other poet. External
nature had few charms for him; the sublime shades and hues of heaven
and earth never excited his enthusiasm: but with the secret fountains
of passion in the human soul he was well acquainted. " Burns, indeed,
was not what is called a descriptive poet: yet with what exquisite
snatches of description are some of his poems adorned, and in what
fragrant and romantic scenes he enshrines the heroes and heroines of
many of his finest songs! Who the high, exalted, virtuous dames were,
to whom the Poem refers, we are not told. How much men stand indebted
to want of opportunity to sin, and how much of their good name they
owe to the ignorance of the world, were inquiries in which the poet
found pleasure. ]


I.

O ye wha are sae guid yoursel',
Sae pious and sae holy,
Ye've nought to do but mark and tell
Your neibor's fauts and folly!
Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill,
Supply'd wi' store o' water,
The heaped happer's ebbing still,
And still the clap plays clatter.

II.

Hear me, ye venerable core,
As counsel for poor mortals,
That frequent pass douce Wisdom's door
For glaikit Folly's portals;
I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes,
Would here propone defences,
Their donsie tricks, their black mistakes,
Their failings and mischances.

III.

Ye see your state wi' theirs compar'd,
And shudder at the niffer,
But cast a moment's fair regard,
What maks the mighty differ?
Discount what scant occasion gave,
That purity ye pride in,
And (what's aft mair than a' the lave)
Your better art o' hiding.

IV.

Think, when your castigated pulse
Gies now and then a wallop,
What ragings must his veins convulse,
That still eternal gallop:
Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail,
Right on ye scud your sea-way;
But in the teeth o' baith to sail,
It makes an unco lee-way.

V.