186
THE POEMS OF BURNS.
ON MR. M'MURDO.
Blest be M'Murdo to his latest day,
No envious cloud o'ercast his evening ray;
No wrinkle furrowed by the hand of care,
Nor even sorrow add one silver hair!
Oh, may no son the father's honour stain,
Nor ever daughter give the mother pain.
No envious cloud o'ercast his evening ray;
No wrinkle furrowed by the hand of care,
Nor even sorrow add one silver hair!
Oh, may no son the father's honour stain,
Nor ever daughter give the mother pain.
ΤΟ ———
Your billet, sir, I grant receipt;
Wi' you I'll canter ony gate,
Though 'twere a trip to yon blue warl',
Whare birkies march on burning marl:
Then sir, God willing, I'll attend ye,
And to his goodness I commend ye.
R. Burns.
Wi' you I'll canter ony gate,
Though 'twere a trip to yon blue warl',
Whare birkies march on burning marl:
Then sir, God willing, I'll attend ye,
And to his goodness I commend ye.
R. Burns.
TO A LADY
WHO WAS LOOKING UP THE TEXT DURING SERMON.
Fair maid, you need not take the hint,
Nor idle texts pursue:
'Twas guilty sinners that he meant—
Not angels such as you!
Nor idle texts pursue:
'Twas guilty sinners that he meant—
Not angels such as you!
ΤΟ ———
Friday first's the day appointed
By the Right Worshipful anointed,
To hold our grand procession;
To get a blad o' Johnie's morals,
And taste a swatch o' Manson's barrels
I' the way of our profession.
The Master and the Brotherhood
Would a' be glad to see you;
For me I would be mair than proud
To share the mercies wi' you.
If Death, then, wi' skaith, then,
Some mortal heart is hechtin',
Inform him, and storm him,
That Saturday you'll fecht him.
Robert Burns.
Mossgiel, An. M. 5790.
By the Right Worshipful anointed,
To hold our grand procession;
To get a blad o' Johnie's morals,
And taste a swatch o' Manson's barrels
I' the way of our profession.
The Master and the Brotherhood
Would a' be glad to see you;
For me I would be mair than proud
To share the mercies wi' you.
If Death, then, wi' skaith, then,
Some mortal heart is hechtin',
Inform him, and storm him,
That Saturday you'll fecht him.
Robert Burns.
Mossgiel, An. M. 5790.
