No More Learning

THE CREED OF POVERTY.

[When the commissioners of Excise told Burns that he was to act, and
not to think; he took out his pencil and wrote "The Creed of
Poverty. "]


In politics if thou would'st mix,
And mean thy fortunes be;
Bear this in mind--be deaf and blind;
Let great folks hear and see.

* * * * *




XLIV.

WRITTEN IN A LADY'S POCKET-BOOK.

[That Burns loved liberty and sympathized with those who were warring
in its cause, these lines, and hundreds more, sufficiently testify. ]


Grant me, indulgent Heav'n, that I may live
To see the miscreants feel the pains they give,
Deal Freedom's sacred treasures free as air,
Till slave and despot be but things which were.

* * * * *




XLV.

THE PARSON'S LOOKS.

[Some sarcastic person said, in Burns's hearing, that there was
falsehood in the Reverend Dr. Burnside's looks: the poet mused for a
moment, and replied in lines which have less of truth than point. ]


That there is falsehood in his looks
I must and will deny;
They say their master is a knave--
And sure they do not lie.

* * * * *




XLVI.

THE TOAD-EATER.

[This reproof was administered extempore to one of the guests at the
table of Maxwell, of Terraughty, whose whole talk was of Dukes with
whom he had dined, and of earls with whom he had supped.
]


What of earls with whom you have supt,
And of dukes that you dined with yestreen?
Lord! a louse, Sir, is still but a louse,
Though it crawl on the curl of a queen.

* * * * *




XLVII.

ON ROBERT RIDDEL.

[I copied these lines from a pane of glass in the Friars-Carse
Hermitage, on which they had been traced with the diamond of Burns. ]


To Riddel, much-lamented man,
This ivied cot was dear;
Reader, dost value matchless worth?
This ivied cot revere.

* * * * *




XLVIII.

THE TOAST.

[Burns being called on for a song, by his brother volunteers, on a
festive occasion, gave the following Toast. ]


Instead of a song, boys, I'll give you a toast--
Here's the memory of those on the twelfth that we lost! --
That we lost, did I say? nay, by Heav'n, that we found;
For their fame it shall last while the world goes round.
The next in succession, I'll give you--the King!
Whoe'er would betray him, on high may he swing;
And here's the grand fabric, our free Constitution,
As built on the base of the great Revolution;
And longer with politics not to be cramm'd,
Be Anarchy curs'd, and be Tyranny damn'd;
And who would to Liberty e'er prove disloyal,
May his son be a hangman, and he his first trial.