On the late Captain Grose’s Peregrinations by Robert Burns
HEAR, Land o’ Cakes, and brither Scots, Frae Maidenkirk to Johnie Groat’s;— If there’s a hole in a’ your coats, I rede you tent it: A chield’s amang you takin notes, And, faith, he’ll prent it:
If in your bounds ye chance to light Upon a fine, fat fodgel wight, O’ stature short, but genius bright, That’s he, mark weel; And wow! he has an unco sleight O’ cauk and keel.
By some auld, houlet-haunted biggin, Or kirk deserted by its riggin, It’s ten to ane ye’ll find him snug in Some eldritch part, Wi’ deils, they say, L—d save’s! colleaguin At some black art.
Ilk ghaist that haunts auld ha’ or chaumer, Ye gipsy-gang that deal in glamour, And you, deep-read in hell’s black grammar, Warlocks and witches, Ye’ll quake at his conjuring hammer, Ye midnight bitches.
It’s tauld he was a sodger bred, And ane wad rather fa’n than fled; But now he’s quat the spurtle-blade, And dog-skin wallet, And taen the—Antiquarian trade, I think they call it.
He has a fouth o’ auld nick-nackets: Rusty airn caps and jinglin jackets, Wad haud the Lothians three in tackets, A towmont gude; And parritch-pats and auld saut-backets, Before the flood.
Of Eve’s first fire he has a cinder; Auld Tubalcain’s fire-shool and fender; That which distinguished the gender O’ Balaam’s ass: A broomstick o’ the witch of Endor, Weel shod wi’ brass.
Forbye, he’ll shape you aff fu’ gleg The cut of Adam’s philibeg; The knife that nickit Abel’s craig He’ll prove you fully, It was a faulding jocteleg, Or lang-kail gullie.
But wad ye see him in his glee, For meikle glee and fun has he, Then set him down, and twa or three Gude fellows wi’ him: And port, O port! shine thou a wee, And THEN ye’ll see him!
Now, by the Pow’rs o’ verse and prose! Thou art a dainty chield, O Grose!— Whae’er o’ thee shall ill suppose, They sair misca’ thee; I’d take the rascal by the nose, Wad say, “Shame fa’ thee!”
Poetry Monster — the ultimate repository of world poetry.
Poetry Monster — the multilingual library of poetic works. Here you’ll find original poems, poetry translations, ancient verses, ballads and even folk tales.
Poetry Monster (or even The Poetry Monster) — is also an international multilingual community of poets and poetry connoisseurs. Join us:
Some external links: The Bat’s Poetry Cave. — Fledermaus’s poetry site. Talking Writing Monster. — the irreverent and irrelevant chatter on subjects both serious and not quite. A free for all board. You can scribble anything on it without registration (but it doesn’t let spammers in). You can even post your poems. Qwant.com. — a search engine from France. It’s an alternative because there are a few alternatives, like Bing, Duckduckgo, and Ecosia. And there is Yandex, the ultimate language-oriented search engine for the Russophone world. Commercial Links: Russian Commerce – the foreign trade assistance agency Other links: Poems and poetry in Russian (if you are reading this in English, as you obviously are, then you’d have to switch the language, the language switch is on the menu. More on languages)
Robert Burns, (born January 25, 1759, Alloway, Ayrshire, Scotland—died July 21, 1796, Dumfries, Dumfriesshire), national poet of Scotland. He wrote lyrics, ballads and songs in Scots and in English. He was also notable for his amorous adventures and his rebellion against religion and morality.
