Answer to a Mandate sent by the Surveyor of the Windows, Carriages, &c. to each Farmer, ordering him to send a signed List of his Horses, Servants, Wheel-Carriages, &c. and whether he was a married Man or a Bachelor, and what Children they had.
SIR, as your mandate did request,
I send you here a faithfu' list,
My horses, servants, carts, and graith,
To which I'm free to tak my aith.
Imprimis, then, for carriage cattle,
I hae four brutes o' gallant mettle,
As ever drew before a pettle,
My hand-afore, a guid auld has-been,
And wight and wilfu' a' his days seen;
* The fore-horse on the left hand, in the plough.
hand-a hin,* a guid brown filly,
Wha aft has borne me safe frae Killie;†
And your auld borough mony a time,
In days when riding was nae crime:
My fur-a-hin, a guid, gray beast,
As e'er in tug or tow was trac'd:
The fourth, a Highland Donald hasty,
A d-mn'd red-wud, Kilburnie blastie.
For-by a cowte, of cowtes the wale,
As ever ran before a tail;
An' he be spar'd to be a beast,
He'll draw me fifteen pund at least.
Wheel carriages I hae but few,
Three carts, and twa are feckly new ;
An auld wheel-barrow, mair for token,
Ae leg and baith the trams are broken;
I made a poker o' the spindle,
And my auld mither brunt the trundle.
For men, I've three mischievous boys,
Run-deils for rantin and for noise;
A gadsman ane, a thresher tother,
Wee Davoc hauds the nowte in fother.
The hindmost on the left-hand, in the plough. + Kilmarnock.
The same on the right hand, in the plough.
I rule them, as I ought, discreetly,
And often labour them compleatly;
And ay on Sundays duly nightly,
I on the questions tairge them tightly,
'Till faith wee Davoc's grown sae gleg,
(Tho' scarcely langer than my leg)
He'll screed you off effectual calling,
As fast as ony in the dwalling.
I've nane in female servant station,
Lord keep me ay frae a' temptation!
I hae nae wife, and that my bliss is,
And ye hae laid nae tax on misses;
For weans I'm mair than weel contented,
Heaven sent me ane mair than I wanted;
My sonsie, smirking, dear-bought Bess,
She stares the daddie in her face,
Enough of ought ye like but grace.
But her, my bonny, sweet, wee lady,
I've said enough for her already,
And if ye tax her or her mither,
By the L-d ye'se get them a' thegither!
And now, remember, Mr. Aiken, Nae kind of licence out I'm taking. Thro' dirt and dub for life I'll paidle,
Ere I sae dear pay for a saddle;
I've sturdy stumps, the Lord be thanked! And a' my gates on foot I'll shank it.
This list wi' my ain hand I've wrote it,
The day and date as under noted;
Then know all ye whom it concerns
Subscripsi huic
ROBERT BURNS.
On Mrs.'s Birth Day, 4th Nov. 1793.
OLD Winter with his frosty beard,
Thus once to Jove his prayer preferred;
What have I done of all the year,
To bear this hated doom severe ?
My cheerless suns no pleasure know;
Night's horrid car drags, dreary, slow:
My dismal months no joys are crowning,
But spleeny English hanging, drowning.
Now, Jove, for once be mighty civil,
To counterbalance all this evil ;
Give me, and I've no more to say,
Give me Maria's natal day!
That brilliant gift will so enrich me,
Spring, summer, autumn, cannot match me; 'Tis done! says Jove; so ends my story,
And Winter once rejoic'd in glory.
|