Sweet Robin.
[From an anonymous sheet of music.]
O where are ye going, sweet Robin?
What makes you sae proud and sae shy?
I once saw the day, little Robin,
My friendship you would not deny.
But winter again is returning,
And weather both stormy and snell:
Gin ye will come back, little Robin,
I'll feed ye wi' moulins mysel'.
When summer comes in, little Robin
Forgets all his friends and his care;
Away to the fields flies sweet Robin,
To wander the groves here and there.
Though you be my debtor, sweet Robin,
On you I will never lay blame;
For I've had as dear friends as Robin,
Who often have served me the same.
I once had a lover like Robin,
Who long for my love did implore;
At last he took flight, just like Robin,
And him I ne'er saw any more.
But should the stern blast of misfortune
Return him, as winter does thee,
Though slighted by both, little Robin,
Yet both of your faults I'll forgi'e.
The Big-bellied Bottle.
[This appears in the first Edinburgh edition of Burns's Poems, 1787. It is adapted to the old tune called "The Lazy Mist."]
No churchman am I, for to rail and to write;
No statesman or soldier, to plot or to fight,
No sly man of business, contriving a snare:
For a big-bellied bottle's the whole of my care.
The peer I don't envy—I give him his bow;
I scorn not the peasant, though ever so low;
But a club of good fellows, like those that are here,
And a bottle like this, are my glory and care.
Here passes the squire on his brother—his horse;
There centum-per-centum, the cit with his purse;
But see you "the Crown," how it waves in the air!
There a big-bellied bottle still eases my care.
The wife of my bosom, alas! she did die;
For sweet consolation to church I did fly;
I found that old Solomon proved it fair,
That a big-bellied bottle's a cure for all care.
I once was persuaded a venture to make;
A letter inform'd me that all was to wreck;
But the pursy old landlord just waddled upstairs,
With a glorious bottle, that ended my cares.
"Life's cares they are comforts," a maxim laid down
By the bard, what d'ye call him, that wore the black gown?
And faith I agree with th' old prig to a hair,
For a big-bellied bottle's a heaven of care.
[Stanza added in a Mason Lodge.]
Then fill up a bumper, and make it o'erflow,
And honours masonic prepare for to throw;
May every true brother of the compass and square
Have a bis-bellied bottle when harass'd with care.
My Gudeman.
[Alex. Rodger.—Air, "Loch-Erroch Side.'—The first four lines form the chorus of a very-old song.]
My gudeman says aye to me,
Says aye to me, says aye to me;
My gudeman says aye to me,
Come cuddle in my bosie!
Though wearin' auld, he's blyther still
Than mony a swankie youthfu' chiel,
And a' his aim's to see me weel,
And keep me snug and cozie.
For though my cheeks, where roses grew,
Ha'e tint their lively glowing hue,
My Johnnie's just as kind and true
As if I still were rosy.
Our weel-won gear he never drank,
He never lived aboon his rank,
Yet wi' a neebour blythe and frank,
He could be as jocose aye.
