Now that
my first sentence is concluded, I have nothing to do but to pray
heaven to help me on to another.
my first sentence is concluded, I have nothing to do but to pray
heaven to help me on to another.
Robert Burns
Maxwell of Carruchen, in his usual goodness,
offered to accompany me, when an unlucky indisposition on my part
hindered my embracing the opportunity. To court the notice or the
tables of the great, except where I sometimes have had a little matter
to ask of them, or more often the pleasanter task of witnessing my
gratitude to them, is what I never have done, and I trust never shall
do. But with your ladyship I have the honour to be connected by one of
the strongest and most endearing ties in the whole moral world. Common
sufferers, in a cause where even to be unfortunate is glorious, the
cause of heroic loyalty! Though my fathers had not illustrious honours
and vast properties to hazard in the contest, though they left their
humble cottages only to add so many units more to the unnoted crowd
that followed their leaders, yet what they could they did, and what
they had they lost; with unshaken firmness and unconcealed political
attachments, they shook hands with ruin for what they esteemed the
cause of their king and their country. The language and the enclosed
verses are for your ladyship's eye alone. Poets are not very famous
for their prudence; but as I can do nothing for a cause which is now
nearly no more, I do not wish to hurt myself.
I have the honour to be,
My lady,
Your ladyship's obliged and obedient
Humble servant,
R. B.
* * * * *
CLXXIX.
TO PROVOST MAXWELL,
OF LOCHMABEN.
[Of Lochmaben, the "Marjory of the mony Lochs" of the election
ballads, Maxwell was at this time provost, a post more of honour than
of labour. ]
_Ellisland, 20th December, 1789. _
DEAR PROVOST,
As my friend Mr. Graham goes for your good town to-morrow, I cannot
resist the temptation to send you a few lines, and as I have nothing
to say I have chosen this sheet of foolscap, and begun as you see at
the top of the first page, because I have ever observed, that when
once people have fairly set out they know not where to stop.
Now that
my first sentence is concluded, I have nothing to do but to pray
heaven to help me on to another. Shall I write you on Politics or
Religion, two master subjects for your sayers of nothing. Of the first
I dare say by this time you are nearly surfeited: and for the last,
whatever they may talk of it, who make it a kind of company concern, I
never could endure it beyond a soliloquy. I might write you on
farming, on building, or marketing, but my poor distracted mind is so
torn, so jaded, so racked and bediveled with the task of the
superlative damned to make _one guinea do the business of three_, that
I detest, abhor, and swoon at the very word business, though no less
than four letters of my very short sirname are in it.
Well, to make the matter short, I shall betake myself to a subject
ever fruitful of themes; a subject the turtle-feast of the sons of
Satan, and the delicious secret sugar-plum of the babes of grace--a
subject sparkling with all the jewels that wit can find in the mines
of genius: and pregnant with all the stores of learning from Moses and
Confucius to Franklin and Priestley--in short, may it please your
Lordship, I intend to write * * *
[_Here the Poet inserted a song which can only be sung at times when
the punch-bowl has done its duty and wild wit is set free. _]
If at any time you expect a field-day in your town, a day when Dukes,
Earls, and Knights pay their court to weavers, tailors, and cobblers,
I should like to know of it two or three days beforehand. It is not
that I care three skips of a cur dog for the politics, but I should
like to see such an exhibition of human nature. If you meet with that
worthy old veteran in religion and good-fellowship, Mr. Jeffrey, or
any of his amiable family, I beg you will give them my best
compliments.
R. B.
* * * * *
CLXXX.
TO SIR JOHN SINCLAIR.
[Of the Monkland Book-Club alluded to in this letter, the clergyman
had omitted all mention in his account of the Parish of Dunscore,
published in Sir John Sinclair's work: some of the books which the
poet introduced were stigmatized as vain and frivolous. ]
1790.
SIR,
The following circumstance has, I believe, been committed in the
statistical account, transmitted to you of the parish of Dunscore, in
Nithsdale.
offered to accompany me, when an unlucky indisposition on my part
hindered my embracing the opportunity. To court the notice or the
tables of the great, except where I sometimes have had a little matter
to ask of them, or more often the pleasanter task of witnessing my
gratitude to them, is what I never have done, and I trust never shall
do. But with your ladyship I have the honour to be connected by one of
the strongest and most endearing ties in the whole moral world. Common
sufferers, in a cause where even to be unfortunate is glorious, the
cause of heroic loyalty! Though my fathers had not illustrious honours
and vast properties to hazard in the contest, though they left their
humble cottages only to add so many units more to the unnoted crowd
that followed their leaders, yet what they could they did, and what
they had they lost; with unshaken firmness and unconcealed political
attachments, they shook hands with ruin for what they esteemed the
cause of their king and their country. The language and the enclosed
verses are for your ladyship's eye alone. Poets are not very famous
for their prudence; but as I can do nothing for a cause which is now
nearly no more, I do not wish to hurt myself.
I have the honour to be,
My lady,
Your ladyship's obliged and obedient
Humble servant,
R. B.
* * * * *
CLXXIX.
TO PROVOST MAXWELL,
OF LOCHMABEN.
[Of Lochmaben, the "Marjory of the mony Lochs" of the election
ballads, Maxwell was at this time provost, a post more of honour than
of labour. ]
_Ellisland, 20th December, 1789. _
DEAR PROVOST,
As my friend Mr. Graham goes for your good town to-morrow, I cannot
resist the temptation to send you a few lines, and as I have nothing
to say I have chosen this sheet of foolscap, and begun as you see at
the top of the first page, because I have ever observed, that when
once people have fairly set out they know not where to stop.
Now that
my first sentence is concluded, I have nothing to do but to pray
heaven to help me on to another. Shall I write you on Politics or
Religion, two master subjects for your sayers of nothing. Of the first
I dare say by this time you are nearly surfeited: and for the last,
whatever they may talk of it, who make it a kind of company concern, I
never could endure it beyond a soliloquy. I might write you on
farming, on building, or marketing, but my poor distracted mind is so
torn, so jaded, so racked and bediveled with the task of the
superlative damned to make _one guinea do the business of three_, that
I detest, abhor, and swoon at the very word business, though no less
than four letters of my very short sirname are in it.
Well, to make the matter short, I shall betake myself to a subject
ever fruitful of themes; a subject the turtle-feast of the sons of
Satan, and the delicious secret sugar-plum of the babes of grace--a
subject sparkling with all the jewels that wit can find in the mines
of genius: and pregnant with all the stores of learning from Moses and
Confucius to Franklin and Priestley--in short, may it please your
Lordship, I intend to write * * *
[_Here the Poet inserted a song which can only be sung at times when
the punch-bowl has done its duty and wild wit is set free. _]
If at any time you expect a field-day in your town, a day when Dukes,
Earls, and Knights pay their court to weavers, tailors, and cobblers,
I should like to know of it two or three days beforehand. It is not
that I care three skips of a cur dog for the politics, but I should
like to see such an exhibition of human nature. If you meet with that
worthy old veteran in religion and good-fellowship, Mr. Jeffrey, or
any of his amiable family, I beg you will give them my best
compliments.
R. B.
* * * * *
CLXXX.
TO SIR JOHN SINCLAIR.
[Of the Monkland Book-Club alluded to in this letter, the clergyman
had omitted all mention in his account of the Parish of Dunscore,
published in Sir John Sinclair's work: some of the books which the
poet introduced were stigmatized as vain and frivolous. ]
1790.
SIR,
The following circumstance has, I believe, been committed in the
statistical account, transmitted to you of the parish of Dunscore, in
Nithsdale.
