| My Son, these maxims make a rule, |
| An’ 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.vii. 16) |
| 1. |
| O ye, wha are sae guid yoursel, |
| Sae pious and sae holy, |
| Ye’ve nought to do but mark and tell |
| Your neebours’ fauts and folly ; |
| Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill, |
| Supplied wi’ store o’ water ; |
| The heapet happer’s ebbing still, |
An’ still the clap plays clatter !
|
| 2. |
| 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.
|
| 3. |
| Ye see your state wi’ theirs compared, |
| And shudder at the niffer ; |
| But cast a moment’s fair regard, |
| What makes 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’ hidin.
|
| 4. |
| 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.
|
| 5. |
| See Social-life and Glee sit down |
| All joyous and unthinking, |
| Till, quite transmugrify’d, they’re
grown |
| Debauchery and Drinking : |
| O, would they stay to calculate, |
| Th’ eternal consequences, |
| Or -your more dreaded hell to state - |
Damnation of expenses !
|
| 6. |
| Ye high, exalted, virtuous dames, |
| Tied up in godly laces, |
| Before ye tie poor Frailty names, |
| Suppose a change o’ cases : |
| A dear-lov’d lad, convenience snug, |
| A treach’rous inclination- |
| But, let me whisper i’ your lug, |
Ye’re ailblins nae temptation.
|
| 7. |
| Then gently scan your brother man, |
| Still gentler sister woman ; |
| Tho’ they may gang a kennin wrang, |
| To step aside is human : |
| One point must still be greatly dark, |
| The moving why they do it ; |
| And just as lamely can ye mark |
How far perhaps they rue it.
|
| 8. |
| Who made the heart, ’tis He alone |
| Decidedly can try us : |
| He knows each chord, its various tone, |
| Each spring, its various bias : |
| Then at the balance let’s be mute, |
| We never can adjust it ; |
| What’s done we partly may compute, |
But know not what’s resisted.
|
| Robert Burns
| Classic Poems |
| |
|
[ A Red, Red Rose ] [ To a Mountain Daisy ] [ Address to a Haggis ] [ Address to Edinburgh ] [ Auld Lang Syne ] [ Is there for Honest Poverty ] [ Address to the Unco Guid ] [ The Cotter's Saturday Night ] [ To a Louse ] [ My Heart's in the Highlands ] [ Holy Willie's Prayer ] [ Tam O'Shanter ] [ To a Mouse ] |
