A Night Out with Burns (10 page)
Read A Night Out with Burns Online
Authors: Robert Burns
The Great Author of All Knowledge
T
he effect of this flight on the public was astonishing, and Lunardi was acclaimed a hero. He must have been suitably flattered at the brisk sale of Lunardi bonnets and Lunardi garters, which the enterprising milliners made and the faster London ladies bought with relish. Perhaps the best tribute to this flight, and to the achievement of aerostation in general, is the inscription still to be read on the monument at Standon: âLet posterity know, and knowing be astonished, that on the 15th day of September 1784 Vincent Lunardi of Lucca in Tuscany, the First Aerial Traveller in Britain, mounting from the Artillery Ground in London and traversing the Regions of the Air for two Hours and fifteen Minutes, in this spot revisited the Earth. On this rude monument, for ages be recorded that wondrous Enterprise successfully achieved by the Powers of Chemistry and the fortitude of Man, that Improvement in Science which the Great Author of All Knowledge, patronising by His Providence the Invention of Mankind, hath graciously permitted to their Benefit and His own Eternal Glory.'
A History of Flying
by C.H. Gibbs-Smith
Ha! whare ye gaun, ye crowlan ferlie!
Your impudence protects you sairly:
I canna say but ye strunt rarely,
Owre
gawze
and
lace
;
Tho' faith, I fear ye dine but sparely,
On sic a place.
Ye ugly, creepan, blastet wonner,
Detested, shunn'd, by saunt an' sinner,
How daur ye set your fit upon her,
Sae fine a
Lady
!
Gae somewhere else and seek your dinner,
On some poor body.
Swith, in some beggar's haffet squattle;
There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle,
Wi' ither kindred, jumping cattle,
In shoals and nations;
Whare
horn
nor
bane
ne'er daur unsettle,
Your thick plantations.
Now haud you there, ye're out o' sight,
Below the fatt'rels, snug and tight,
Na faith ye yet! ye'll no be right,
Till ye've got on it,
The vera tapmost, towrin height
O'
Miss's bonnet
.
My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose out,
As plump an' gray as onie grozet:
O for some rank, mercurial rozet,
Or fell, red smeddum,
I'd gie you sic a hearty dose o't,
Wad dress your droddum!
I wad na been surpriz'd to spy
You on an auld wife's
flainen toy
;
Or aiblins some bit duddie boy,
On's
wylecoat
;
But Miss's fine
Lunardi
, fye!
How daur ye do't?
O
Jenny
dinna toss your head,
An' set your beauties a' abread!
Ye little ken what cursed speed
The blastie's makin!
Thae
winks
and
finger-ends
, I dread,
Are notice takin!
O wad some Pow'r the giftie gie us
To see oursels as others see us!
It wad frae monie a blunder free us
An' foolish notion:
What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us,
An' ev'n Devotion!
1
This encounter happened in seed-time 1785.
2
An epidemical fever was then raging in that country.
3
This gentleman, Dr Hornbook, is professionally, a brother of the sovereign Order of the Ferula; but, by intuition and inspiration, is at once an Apothecary, Surgeon, and Physician.
4
Buchan's
Domestic Medicine
.
5
The grave-digger.
1
Is thought to be a night when Witches, Devils, and other mischief-making beings, are all abroad on their baneful, midnight errands: particularly, those aerial people, the Fairies, are said, on that night, to hold a grand Anniversary.
2
Certain little, romantic, rocky, green hills, in the neighbourhood of the ancient seat of the Earls of Cassilis.
3
A noted cavern near Colean-house, called the Cove of Colean; which, as well as Cassilis Downans, is famed, in country story, for being a favourite haunt of Fairies.
4
The famous family of that name, the ancestors of R
OBERT
the great Deliverer of his country, were Earls of Carrick.
5
The first ceremony of Halloween, is, pulling each a
Stock
, or plant of kail. They must go out, hand in hand, with eyes shut, and pull the first they meet with: its being big or little, straight or crooked, is prophetic of the size and shape of the grand object of all their Spellsâthe husband or wife. If any
yird
, or earth, stick to the root, that is
tocher
, or fortune; and the taste of the
custock
, that is, the heart of the stem, is indicative of the natural temper and disposition. Lastly, the stems, or to give them their ordinary appellation, the
runts
, are placed somewhere above the head of the door; and the christian names of the people whom chance brings into the house, are, according to the priority of placing the
runts
, the names in question.
6
They go to the barn-yard, and pull each, at three several times, a stalk of Oats. If the third stalk wants the
top-pickle
, that is, the grain at the top of the stalk, the party in question will come to the marriage-bed anything but a Maid.
7
When the corn is in a doubtful state, by being too green, or wet, the Stack-builder, by means of old timber, &
c
. makes a large apartment in his stack, with an opening in the side which is fairest exposed to the wind: this he calls a
Fause-house
.
8
Burning the nuts is a favourite charm. They name the lad and lass to each particular nut, as they lay them in the fire; and according as they burn quietly together, or start from beside one another, the course and issue of the Courtship will be.
9
Whoever would, with success, try this spell, must strictly observe these directions. Steal out, all alone, to the
kiln
, and, darkling, throw into the
pot
, a clew of blue yarn: wind it in a new clew off the old one; and towards the latter end, something will hold the thread: demand,
wha hauds
? i.e. who holds? and answer will be returned from the kiln-pot, by naming the Christian and sirname of your future Spouse.
10
Take a candle, and go, alone, to a looking glass: eat an apple before it, and some traditions say you should comb your hair all the time: the face of your conjungal companion,
to be
, will be seen in the glass, as if peeping over your shoulder.
11
Steal out, unperceived, and sow a handful of hemp-seed; harrowing it with any thing you can conveniently draw after you. Repeat, now and then, âHemp-seed I saw thee, Hemp-seed I saw thee, and him (or her) that is to be my true-love, come after me and pou thee.' Look over your left shoulder, and you will see the appearance of the person invoked, in the attitude of pulling hemp. Some traditions say, âcome after me and shaw thee,' that is, show thyself; in which case it simply appears. Others omit the harrowing, and say, âcome after me and harrow thee.'
12
This charm must likewise be performed, unperceived and alone. You go to the
barn
, and open both doors; taking them off the hinges, if possible; for there is danger, that the Being, about to appear, may shut the doors, and do you some mischief. Then take that instrument used in winnowing the corn, which, in our country-dialect, we call a
wecht
; and go thro' all the attitudes of letting down corn against the wind. Repeat it three times; and the third time, an apparition will pass thro' the barn, in at the windy door, and out at the other, having both the figure in question and the appearance or retinue, marking the employment or station in life.
13
Take an opportunity of going, unnoticed, to a
Bear-stack
, and fathom it three times round. The last fathom of the last time, you will catch in your arms, the appearance of your future conjugal yoke-fellow.
14
You go out, one or more, for this is a social spell, to a south-running spring or rivulet, where âthree Lairds' lands meet,' and dip your left shirt-sleeve. Go to bed in sight of a fire, and hang your wet sleeve before it to dry. Ly awake; and sometime near midnight, an apparition, having the exact figure of the grand object in question, will come and turn the sleeve, as if to dry the other side of it.
15
Take three dishes; put clean water in one, foul water in another, and leave the third empty: blindfold a person, and lead him to the hearth where the dishes are ranged; he (or she) dips the left hand: if by chance in the clean water, the future husband or wife will come to the bar of Matrimony, a Maid; if in the foul, a widow; if in the empty dish, it foretells, with equal certainty, no marriage at all. It is repeated three times; and every time the arrangement of the dishes is altered.
16
Sowens, with butter instead of milk to them, is always the
Halloween Supper
.
A
noble tradition in Scottish poetry involves the use of animal monologues for comical and political purposes, and Burns sought to advance that tradition in the Kilmarnock edition. His own favourite poet, Robert Fergusson, had used this form in âThe Sow of Feeling' (1773), but Burns must also have been aware of Aesop's blethering dogs and Henryson's
Fables
, as well as Swift's talking horses. We often find these animals can look at human nature as human nature is seldom capable of looking at itself, and the resulting poems, when as well done as this one, are masterpieces of the literary art.
As Mailie, an' her lambs thegither,
Was ae day nibbling on the tether,
Upon her cloot she coost a hitch,
An' owre she warsl'd in the ditch:
There, groaning, dying, she did ly,
When
Hughoc
he cam doytan by.
Wi' glowrin een, an' lifted han's,
Poor
Hughoc
like a statue stan's;
He saw her days were near hand ended,
But, waes my heart! he could na mend it!
He gaped wide, but naething spak,
At length poor
Mailie
silence brak.
âO thou, whase lamentable face
Appears to mourn my woefu' case!
My
dying words
attentive hear,
An' bear them to my
Master
dear.
âTell him, if e'er again he keep
As muckle gear as buy a
sheep
,
O, bid him never tye them mair,
Wi' wicked strings o' hemp or hair!
But ca' them out to park or hill,
An' let them wander at their will:
So, may his flock increase an' grow
To
scores
o' lambs, an'
packs
of woo'!
âTell him, he was a Master kin',
An' ay was guid to me an' mine;
An' now my
dying
charge I gie him,
My helpless
lambs
, I trust them wi' him.
âO, bid him save their harmless lives,
Frae dogs an' tods, an' butchers' knives!
But gie them guid
cow-milk
their fill,
Till they be fit to fend themsel;
An' tent them duely, e'en an' morn,
Wi' taets o'
hay
an' ripps o'
corn
.
âAn' may they never learn the gaets,
Of ither vile, wanrestfu'
Pets
!
To slink thro' slaps, an' reave an' steal,
At stacks o' pease, or stocks o' kail.
So may they, like their great
forbears
,
For monie a year come thro' the sheers:
So
wives
will gie them bits o' bread,
An'
bairns
greet for them when they're dead.
âMy poor
toop-lamb
, my son an' heir,
O, bid him breed him up wi' care!
An' if he live to be a beast,
To pit some havins in his breast!
An' warn him, what I winna name,
To stay content wi'
yowes
at hame;
An' no to rin an' wear his cloots,
Like ither menseless, graceless brutes.
âAn' neist my
yowie
, silly thing,
Gude keep thee frae a
tether string
!
O, may thou ne'er forgather up,
Wi' onie blastet, moorlan
toop
;
But ay keep mind to moop an' mell,
Wi' sheep o' credit like thysel!
âAnd now,
my bairns
, wi' my last breath,
I lea'e my blessin wi' you baith:
An' when ye think upo' your Mither,
Mind to be kind to ane anither.
âNow, honest
Hughoc
, dinna fail,
To tell my Master a' my tale;
An' bid him burn this cursed
tether
,
An' for thy pains thou'se get my blather.'
This said, poor
Mailie
turn'd her head,
An' clos'd her een amang the dead!
T
here are also a growing number of larger-scale private enterprises in the Chinese countryside, generating for their owners profits that dwarf by many magnitudes the âfortunes' for which âevil landlords' of the old society were submitted to revolutionary justice. Substantial fortunes make it possible, among other things, for some individuals to flaunt population controls by paying the fines for having larger families with impunity; this is among the more serious of the contradictions that rural industry has brought in its wake. Increased polarisation of classes in the rural areas is a serious problem in its own right.
Anthropology and the Global Factory: Studies of the New
Industrialization in the Late Twentieth Century
, edited by Frances Abrahamer Rothstein and Michael L. Blim
'Twas in that place o'
Scotland
's isle,
That bears the name o' auld king Coil,
Upon a bonie day in June,
When wearing thro' the afternoon,
Twa Dogs
, that were na thrang at hame,
Forgather'd ance upon a time.
The first I'll name, they ca'd him
Ceasar
,
Was keepet for His Honor's pleasure;
His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs,
Show'd he was nane o' Scotland's dogs;
But whalpet some place far abroad,
Whare sailors gang to fish for Cod.
His locked, letter'd, braw brass-collar,
Show'd him the
gentleman
an'
scholar
;
But tho' he was o' high degree,
The fient a pride na pride had he,
But wad hae spent an hour caressan,
Ev'n wi' a' Tinkler-gipsey's
messan
:
At
Kirk
or
Market, Mill
or
Smiddie
,
Nae tawtied
tyke
, tho' e'er sae duddie,
But he wad stan't, as glad to see him,
An' stroan't on stanes an' hillocks wi' him.
The tither was a
ploughman's collie
,
A rhyming, ranting, raving billie,
Wha for his friend an' comrade had him,
And in his freaks had Luath ca'd him;
After some dog in
Highlan Sang
,
Was made lang syne, lord knows how lang.
He was a gash an' faithfu'
tyke
,
As ever lap a sheugh, or dyke!
His honest sonsie, baws'nt
face
,
Ay gat him friends in ilka place;
His
breast
was white, his towzie
back
,
Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black;
His gawsie tail, wi' upward curl,
Hung owre his hurdies wi' a swirl.
Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither,
An' unco pack an' thick the gither;
Wi' social
nose
whyles snuff'd an' snowcket;
Whyles mice an' modewurks they howcket;
Whyles scour'd awa in lang excursion,
An' worry'd ither in
diversion
;
Untill wi' daffin weary grown,
Upon a knowe they sat them down,
An' there began a lang digression
About the
lords o' the creation
.
C
EASAR
I've aften wonder'd, honest
Luath
,
What sort o' life poor dogs like you have;
An' when the
gentry
's life I saw,
What way
poor bodies
liv'd ava.
Our
Laird
gets in his racked rents,
His coals, his kane, an' a' his stents;
He rises when he likes himsel;
His flunkies answer at the bell;
He ca's his coach; he ca's his horse;
He draws a bonie, silken purse
As lang's my
tail
, whare thro' the steeks,
The yellow, letter'd
Geordie
keeks.
Frae morn to een, it's nought but toiling,
At baking, roasting, frying, boiling:
An' tho' the gentry first are steghan,
Yet ev'n the
ha' folk
fill their peghan
Wi' sauce, ragouts, an' sic like trashtrie,
That's little short o' downright wastrie.
Our
Whipper-in
, wee, blastiet wonner,
Poor, worthless elf, it eats a dinner,
Better than ony
Tenant-man
His Honor has in a' the lan':
An' what poor
Cot-folk
pit their painch in,
I own it's past my comprehension.â
L
UATH
Trowth,
Ceasar
, whyles they're fash'd eneugh;
A
Cotter
howckan in a sheugh,
Wi' dirty stanes biggan an dyke,
Bairan a quarry, an' sic like,
Himsel, a wife, he thus sustains,
A smytrie o' wee, duddie weans,
An' nought but his han'-daurk, to keep
Them right an' tight in
thack an' raep
.
An' when they meet wi' sair disasters,
Like loss o' health, or want o' masters,
Ye maist wad think, a wee touch langer,
An' they maun starve o' cauld an' hunger:
But how it comes, I never kent yet,
They're maistly wonderfu' contented;
An' buirdly chiels, an' clever hizzies,
Are bred in sic a way as this is.
C
EASAR
But then, to see how ye're negleket,
How huff'd, an' cuff'd, an' disrespeket!
Lord man, our gentry care as little
For
delvers, ditchers
, an' sic cattle;
They gang as saucy by poor folk,
As I wad by a stinkan brock.
I've notic'd, on our Laird's
court-day
,
An' mony a time my heart's been wae,
Poor
tenant-bodies
, scant o' cash,
How they maun thole a
factor
's snash;
He'll stamp an' threaten, curse an' swear,
He'll
apprehend
them,
poind
their gear,
While they maun stand, wi' aspect humble,
An' hear it a', an' fear an' tremble!
I see how folk live that hae riches,
But surely poor-folk maun be
wretches
!
L
UATH
They're no sae wretched's ane wad think;
Tho' constantly on poortith's brink,
They're sae accustom'd wi' the sight,
The view o't gies them little fright.
Then chance an' fortune are sae guided,
They're ay in less or mair provided;
An' tho' fatigu'd wi' close employment,
A blink o' rest's a sweet enjoyment.
The dearest comfort o' their lives,
Their grushie weans, an' faithfu' wives;
The
prattling things
are just their pride,
That sweetens a' their fire-side.
An' whyles, twalpennie-worth o'
nappy
Can mak the bodies unco happy;
They lay aside their private cares,
To mind the Kirk an' State affairs;
They'll talk o'
patronage
an'
priests
,
Wi' kindling fury i' their breasts,
Or tell what new taxation's comin,
An' ferlie at the folk in L
ON'ON
.
As bleak-fac'd Hallowmass returns,
They get the jovial, rantan
Kirns
,
When
rural life
, of ev'ry station,
Unite in common recreation;
Love blinks, Wit slaps, an' social Mirth
Forgets there's
care
upo' the earth.
That
merry day
the year begins,
They bar the door on frosty win's;
The nappy reeks wi' mantling ream,
An' sheds a heart-inspiring steam;
The luntan pipe, an' sneeshin mill,
Are handed round wi' right guid will;
The cantie, auld folks, crackan crouse,
The young anes rantan thro' the houseâ
My heart has been sae fain to see them,
That I for joy hae
barket
wi' them.
Still it's owre true that ye hae said,
Sic game is now owre aften play'd;
There's monie a creditable
stock
O' decent, honest, fawsont folk,
Are riven out baith root an' branch,
Some rascal's pridefu' greed to quench,
Wha thinks to knit himsel the faster
In favor wi' some
gentle Master
,
Wha, aiblins, thrang a
parliamentin
,
For
Britain's guid
his saul indentinâ
C
EASAR
Haith lad, ye little ken about it;
For Britain's guid!
guid faith! I doubt it.
Say rather, gaun as P
REMIERS
lead him,
An' saying
aye
or
no
's they bid him:
At Operas an' Plays parading,
Mortgaging, gambling, masquerading:
Or maybe, in a frolic daft,
To H
AGUE
or C
ALAIS
takes a waft,
To make a
tour
an' take a whirl,
To learn
bon ton
an' see the worl'.
There, at V
IENNA
or V
ERSAILLES
,
He rives his father's auld entails;
Or by M
ADRID
he takes the rout,
To thrum
guittarres
an' fecht wi'
nowt
;
Or down
Italian Vista
startles,
Whore-hunting amang groves o' myrtles:
Then bowses drumlie
German-water
,
To make himsel look fair an' fatter,
An' clear the consequential sorrows,
Love-gifts of Carnival Signioras.
For Britain's guid
! for her destruction!
Wi' dissipation, feud an' faction!
L
UATH
Hech man! dear sirs! is that the gate,
They waste sae mony a braw estate!
Are we sae foughten an' harass'd
For gear to gang that gate at last!
O would they stay aback frae courts,
An' please themsels wi' countra sports,
It wad for ev'ry ane be better,
The
Laird
, the
Tenant
, an' the
Cotter
!
For thae frank, rantan, ramblan billies,
Fient haet o' them's illhearted fellows;
Except for breakin o' their timmer,
Or speakin lightly o' their
Limmer
;
Or shootin of a hare or moorcock,
The ne'er-a-bit they're ill to poor folk.
But will ye tell me, Master
Ceasar
,
Sure
great folk
's life's a life o' pleasure?
Nae cauld nor hunger e'er can steer them,
The vera thought o't need na fear them.
C
EASAR
Lord man, were ye but whyles where I am,
The
gentle
s
ye wad ne'er envy them!
It's true, they needna starve or sweat,
Thro' Winter's cauld, or Summer's heat;
They've nae sair-wark to craze their banes,
An' fill
auld-age
wi' grips an' granes:
But
human-bodies
are sic fools,
For a' their Colledges an' Schools,
That when nae
real
ills perplex them,
They
mak
enow themsels to vex them;
An' ay the less they hae to sturt them,
In like proportion, less will hurt them.
A country fellow at the pleugh,
His
acre
's till'd, he's right eneugh;
A country girl at her wheel,
Her
dizzen
's done, she's unco weel;
But Gentlemen, an' Ladies warst,
Wi' ev'n down
want o
'
wark
they're curst.
They loiter, lounging, lank an' lazy;
Tho' deil-haet ails them, yet uneasy;
Their days, insipid, dull an' tasteless,
Their nights, unquiet, lang an' restless.
An' ev'n their sports, their balls an' races,
Their galloping thro' public places,
There's sic parade, sic pomp an' art,
The joy can scarcely reach the heart.
The
Men
cast out in
party-matches
,
Then sowther a' in deep debauches.
Ae night, they're mad wi' drink an' whoring,
Niest day their life is past enduring.
The
Ladies
arm-in-arm in clusters,
As great an' gracious a' as sisters;
But hear their
absent thoughts
o' ither,
They're a' run-deils an' jads the gither
Whyles, owre the wee bit cup an' platie,
They sip the
scandal-potion
pretty;
Or lee-lang nights, wi' crabbet leuks,
Pore owre the devil's
pictur'd beuks
;
Stake on a chance a farmer's stackyard,
An' cheat like ony
unhang'd blackguard
.
There's some exceptions, man an' woman;
But this is Gentry's life in common.
By this, the sun was out o' sight,
An' darker gloamin brought the night:
The
bum-clock
humm'd wi' lazy drone,
The kye stood rowtan i' the loan;
When up they gat, an' shook their lugs,
Rejoic'd they were na
men
but
dogs
;
An' each took off his several way,
Resolv'd to meet some ither day.
