For this reason,
many musical compositions, particularly where much of the merit lies
in counterpoint, however they may transport and ravish the ears of
your connoisseurs, affect my simple lug no otherwise than merely as
melodious din.
many musical compositions, particularly where much of the merit lies
in counterpoint, however they may transport and ravish the ears of
your connoisseurs, affect my simple lug no otherwise than merely as
melodious din.
Robert Burns
I
do not mean the stately buskin of the tragic muse.
* * * * *
Does not your ladyship think that an Edinburgh theatre would be more
amused with affectation, folly, and whim of true Scottish growth, than
manners which by far the greatest part of the audience can only know
at second hand?
I have the honour to be,
Your ladyship's ever devoted
And grateful humble servant,
R. B.
* * * * *
CCLXXI.
TO MR. THOMSON.
[Peter Pindar, the name under which it was the pleasure of that bitter
but vulgar satirist, Dr. Wolcot, to write, was a man of little lyrical
talent. He purchased a good annuity for the remainder of his life, by
the copyright of his works, and survived his popularity many year. ]
_Sept. _ 1793.
You may readily trust, my dear Sir, that any exertion in my power is
heartily at your service. But one thing I must hint to you; the very
name of Peter Pindar is of great service to your publication, so get a
verse from him now and then; though I have no objection, as well as I
can, to bear the burden of the business.
You know that my pretensions to musical taste are merely a few of
nature's instincts, untaught and untutored by art.
For this reason,
many musical compositions, particularly where much of the merit lies
in counterpoint, however they may transport and ravish the ears of
your connoisseurs, affect my simple lug no otherwise than merely as
melodious din. On the other hand, by way of amends, I am delighted
with many little melodies, which the learned musician despises as
silly and insipid. I do not know whether the old air "Hey tuttie
taitie," may rank among this number; but well I know that, with
Frazer's haut-boy, it has often filled my eyes with tears. There is a
tradition, which I have met with in many places in Scotland, that it
was Robert Bruce's march at the battle of Bannockburn. This thought,
in yesternight's evening walk, warmed me to a pitch of enthusiasm on
the theme of liberty and independence, which I threw into a kind of
Scottish ode, fitted to the air, that one might suppose to be the
gallant Royal Scot's address to his heroic followers on the eventful
morning.
Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled. [237]
So may God ever defend the cause of truth and liberty, as he did that
day! Amen.
P. S. I showed the air to Urbani, who was highly pleased with it, and
begged me to make soft verses for it; but I had no idea of giving
myself any trouble on the subject, till the accidental recollection of
that glorious struggle for freedom, associated with the glowing ideas
of some other struggles of the same nature, not quite so ancient,
roused my rhyming mania. Clarke's set of the tune, with his bass, you
will find in the Museum, though I am afraid that the air is not what
will entitle it to a place in your elegant selection. [238]
R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 237: Song CCVII. ]
[Footnote 238: Song CCVIII.
do not mean the stately buskin of the tragic muse.
* * * * *
Does not your ladyship think that an Edinburgh theatre would be more
amused with affectation, folly, and whim of true Scottish growth, than
manners which by far the greatest part of the audience can only know
at second hand?
I have the honour to be,
Your ladyship's ever devoted
And grateful humble servant,
R. B.
* * * * *
CCLXXI.
TO MR. THOMSON.
[Peter Pindar, the name under which it was the pleasure of that bitter
but vulgar satirist, Dr. Wolcot, to write, was a man of little lyrical
talent. He purchased a good annuity for the remainder of his life, by
the copyright of his works, and survived his popularity many year. ]
_Sept. _ 1793.
You may readily trust, my dear Sir, that any exertion in my power is
heartily at your service. But one thing I must hint to you; the very
name of Peter Pindar is of great service to your publication, so get a
verse from him now and then; though I have no objection, as well as I
can, to bear the burden of the business.
You know that my pretensions to musical taste are merely a few of
nature's instincts, untaught and untutored by art.
For this reason,
many musical compositions, particularly where much of the merit lies
in counterpoint, however they may transport and ravish the ears of
your connoisseurs, affect my simple lug no otherwise than merely as
melodious din. On the other hand, by way of amends, I am delighted
with many little melodies, which the learned musician despises as
silly and insipid. I do not know whether the old air "Hey tuttie
taitie," may rank among this number; but well I know that, with
Frazer's haut-boy, it has often filled my eyes with tears. There is a
tradition, which I have met with in many places in Scotland, that it
was Robert Bruce's march at the battle of Bannockburn. This thought,
in yesternight's evening walk, warmed me to a pitch of enthusiasm on
the theme of liberty and independence, which I threw into a kind of
Scottish ode, fitted to the air, that one might suppose to be the
gallant Royal Scot's address to his heroic followers on the eventful
morning.
Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled. [237]
So may God ever defend the cause of truth and liberty, as he did that
day! Amen.
P. S. I showed the air to Urbani, who was highly pleased with it, and
begged me to make soft verses for it; but I had no idea of giving
myself any trouble on the subject, till the accidental recollection of
that glorious struggle for freedom, associated with the glowing ideas
of some other struggles of the same nature, not quite so ancient,
roused my rhyming mania. Clarke's set of the tune, with his bass, you
will find in the Museum, though I am afraid that the air is not what
will entitle it to a place in your elegant selection. [238]
R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 237: Song CCVII. ]
[Footnote 238: Song CCVIII.
