The Complete Works of Robert Burns - LightNovelsOnl.com
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x.x.xV.
WRITTEN ON A PANE OF GLa.s.s,
IN THE INN AT MOFFAT.
[A friend asked the poet why G.o.d made Miss Davies so little, and a lady who was with her, so large: before the ladies, who had just pa.s.sed the window, were out of sight, the following answer was recorded on a pane of gla.s.s.]
Ask why G.o.d made the gem so small, And why so huge the granite?
Because G.o.d meant mankind should set The higher value on it.
x.x.xVI.
SPOKEN,
ON BEING APPOINTED TO THE EXCISE.
[Burns took no pleasure in the name of gauger: the situation was unworthy of him, and he seldom hesitated to say so.]
Searching auld wives' barrels, Och--hon! the day!
That clarty barm should stain my laurels; But--what'll ye say!
These movin' things ca'd wives and weans Wad move the very hearts o' stanes!
x.x.xVII.
LINES ON MRS. KEMBLE.
[The poet wrote these lines in Mrs. Riddel's box in the Dumfries Theatre, in the winter of 1794: he was much moved by Mrs. Kemble's n.o.ble and pathetic acting.]
Kemble, thou cur'st my unbelief Of Moses and his rod; At Yarico's sweet notes of grief The rock with tears had flow'd.
x.x.xVIII.
TO MR. SYME.
[John Syme, of Ryedale, a rhymer, a wit, and a gentleman of education and intelligence, was, while Burns resided in Dumfries, his chief companion: he was bred to the law.]
No more of your guests, be they t.i.tled or not, And cook'ry the first in the nation; Who is proof to thy personal converse and wit, Is proof to all other temptation.
x.x.xIX.
TO MR. SYME.
WITH A PRESENT OF A DOZEN OF PORTER.
[The tavern where these lines were written was kept by a wandering mortal of the name of Smith; who, having visited in some capacity or other the Holy Land, put on his sign, "John Smith, from Jerusalem." He was commonly known by the name of Jerusalem John.]
O, had the malt thy strength of mind, Or hops the flavour of thy wit, 'Twere drink for first of human kind, A gift that e'en for Syme were fit.
_Jerusalem Tavern, Dumfries._
XL.
A GRACE.
[This Grace was spoken at the table of Ryedale, where to the best cookery was added the richest wine, as well as the rarest wit: Hyslop was a distiller.]
Lord, we thank and thee adore, For temp'ral gifts we little merit; At present we will ask no more, Let William Hyslop give the spirit.
XLI.
