And how ye gat him i' your thrall, And lowsed his ill-tongued, wicked scawl," But a' your doings to rehearse, Wad ding a Lallan? tongue or Erse,8 In prose or rhyme. And now, auld Cloots, I ken ye're thinkin', Some luckless hour will send him linkin' THIS, the most dramatic effort of the poet's muse, was composed in 1785, and was suggested by a scene actually witnessed by him. Mrs. Gibson, (Poosie Nansie) kept a public-house in Mauchline, frequented by all the vagrant fraternity of the district. Burns, passing the house one night in the company of his friends James Smith and John Richmond, was attracted by the sounds of mirth and revelry proceeding from the interior, entered and was made heartily welcome by the motley crew assembled, who did not allow his presence to interrupt their enjoyment. So little did Burns think of the performance that he forgot all about it, and but for the fact that one of his friends had a copy of it, it would have been lost. It was printed as a chap-book in Glasgow in 1798. Sir Walter Scott says:-""The Jolly Beggars,' for humorous description and nice discrimination of character, is inferior to no poem of the same length in the whole range of English poetry. The scene, indeed, is laid in the very lowest department of low life, the actors being a set of strolling vagrants, met to carouse and barter their rags and plunder for liquor in a hedge alehouse, RECITATIVO. He ended; and the kebars1 shook While frighted rattons backward leuk, A fairy fiddler frae the neuk, AIR. Tune-"Soldier Laddie." I once was a maid, though I cannot tell when, Sing, Lal de lal, &c. The first of my loves was a swaggering blade, But the godly old chaplain left him in the lurch, Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified sot, Sing, Lal de lal, &c. But the peace it reduced me to beg in despair, And now I have lived-I know not how long, But whilst with both hands I can hold the glass steady, RECITATIVO. Poor Merry Andrew in the neuk Sat guzzling wi' a tinkler hizzie ; 1 Rafters. 2 Rats. 3 Innermost hole. They mind't na wha the chorus teuk, 1 Bullock. AIR. Tune-"Auld Sir Symon." Sir Wisdom's a fool when he's fou, But what will ye hae of a fool? I ance was tied up like a stirk,1 For civilly swearing and quaffing! For touzling2 a lass i' my daffin.3 Poor Andrew that tumbles for sport Observe ye yon reverend lad Mak faces to tickle the mob? The chiel that's a fool for himsel, RECITATIVO. 4 Then neist outspak a raucle carlin, Her dove had been a Highland laddie, To wail her braw John Highlandman :— 3 Merriment. 4 A sturdy old woman. 5 The gallows. |