The Complete Works of Robert Burns - LightNovelsOnl.com
You're reading novel online at LightNovelsOnl.com. Please use the follow button to get notifications about your favorite novels and its latest chapters so you can come back anytime and won't miss anything.
[Footnote 95: John M'Murdo, Esq., of Drumlanrig.]
[Footnote 96: Fergusson of Craigdarroch.]
[Footnote 97: Riddel of Friars-Ca.r.s.e.]
[Footnote 98: Provost Staig of Dumfries.]
[Footnote 99: Sheriff Welsh.]
[Footnote 100: A wine merchant in Dumfries.]
[Footnote 101: The executioner of Charles I. was masked.]
[Footnote 102: Scrimgeour, Lord Dundee.]
[Footnote 103: Graham, Marquis of Montrose.]
[Footnote 104: Stewart of Hillside.]
CXVI.
ON
CAPTAIN GROSE'S
PEREGRINATIONS THROUGH SCOTLAND,
COLLECTING THE
ANTIQUITIES OF THAT KINGDOM.
[This "fine, fat, fodgel wight" was a clever man, a skilful antiquary, and fond of wit and wine. He was well acquainted with heraldry, and was conversant with the weapons and the armor of his own and other countries. He found his way to Friars-Ca.r.s.e, in the Vale of Nith, and there, at the social "board of Glenriddel," for the first time saw Burns. The Englishman heard, it is said, with wonder, the sarcastic sallies and eloquent bursts of the inspired Scot, who, in his turn, surveyed with wonder the remarkable corpulence, and listened with pleasure to the independent sentiments and humourous turns of conversation in the joyous Englishman. This Poem was the fruit of the interview, and it is said that Grose regarded some pa.s.sages as rather personal.]
Hear, Land o' Cakes and brither Scots, Frae Maidenkirk to Johnny Groat's; If there's a hole in a' your coats, I rede you tent it: A chiel's amang you taking 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 slight O' cauk and keel.
By some auld, houlet-haunted biggin, Or kirk deserted by its riggin, It's ten to one 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 gipsey-gang that deal in glamour, And you deep read in h.e.l.l's black grammar, Warlocks and witches; Ye'll quake at his conjuring hammer, Ye midnight b----s!
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 ta'en 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 guid; And parritch-pats, and auld saut-backets, Afore the flood.
Of Eve's first fire he has a cinder; Auld Tubal-Cain's fire-shool and fender; That which distinguished the gender O' Balaam's a.s.s; A broom-stick o' the witch o' Endor, Weel shod wi' bra.s.s.
Forbye, he'll shape you aff, fu' gleg, The cut of Adam's philibeg: The knife that nicket Abel's craig He'll prove you fully, It was a faulding jocteleg, Or lang-kail gully.--
But wad ye see him in his glee, For meikle glee and fun has he, Then set him down, and twa or three Guid fellows wi' him; And port, O port! s.h.i.+ne thou a wee, And then ye'll see him!
Now, by the pow'rs o' verse and prose!
Thou art a dainty chiel, 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!
CXVII.
WRITTEN IN A WRAPPER,
ENCLOSING
A LETTER TO CAPTAIN GROSE.
[Burns wrote out some antiquarian and legendary memoranda, respecting certain ruins in Kyle, and enclosed them in a sheet of a paper to Cardonnel, a northern antiquary. As his mind teemed with poetry he could not, as he afterwards said, let the opportunity, pa.s.s of sending a rhyming inquiry after his fat friend, and Cardonnel spread the condoling inquiry over the North--
"Is he slain by Highlan' bodies?
And eaten like a wether-haggis?"]
Ken ye ought o' Captain Grose?
Igo and ago, If he's amang his friends or foes?
Iram, coram, dago.
Is he south or is he north?
Igo and ago, Or drowned in the river Forth?
Iram, coram, dago.
Is he slain by Highlan' bodies?
Igo and ago, And eaten like a wether-haggis?
Iram, coram, dago.
Is he to Abram's bosom gane?
Igo and ago, Or haudin' Sarah by the wame?
Iram, coram, dago.
Where'er he be, the L--d be near him!
Igo and ago, As for the deil, he daur na steer him!
