Whom his ain son of life bereft,

The grey hairs yet stack to the heft;
Wi' mair of horrible and awefu',
Which even to name wad be unlawfu'.

As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd, and curious, The mirth and fun grew fast and furious; The Piper loud and louder grew,

The dancers quick and quicker flew,

As bees bizz out wi' angry 1 fyke,

When plundering herds assail their "byke; As open pussie's mortal foes,

When, pop! she starts before their nose;
As eager runs the market-crowd,

When "Catch the thief!" resounds aloud;
So Maggie runs, the witches follow,
Wi' mony an eldritch skriech and hollow.

cleekit,

Till ilka carlin swat and 1reekit,

And coost her duddies to the wark,
And linket at it in her sark!

Now, Tam, O Tam! had thae been queans,
A' plump and strapping in their teens!
Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flainen,
Been snaw-white seventeen-hunder linen!-
Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair,
That ance were plush, o' guid blue hair,
I wad hae gi'en them off my hurdies,
For ae blink o' the bonie burdies!
But wither'd beldams, auld and droll,
Rigwoodie hags wad 3spean a foal,
Louping an' flinging on a crummock,
I wonder did na turn thy stomach.

But Tam kent what was what fu' brawlie:
There was ae winsome wench and waulie,
That night enlisted in the core;
Lang after kenn'd on Carrick shore;
(For many a beast to dead she shot,
And perish'd mony a bonnie boat,

And shook baith meikle corn and 5 bear,
And held the country-side in fear);
Her cutty sark, o' Paisley harn,
That while a lassie she had worn,
In longitude tho' sorely scanty,

It was her best, and she was 7 vauntie.
Ah! little kent thy reverend grannie,
That sark she coft for her wee Nannie,
Wi' twa pund Scots ('twas a' her riches),
Wad ever grac'd a dance of witches!

But here my Muse her wing maun cour,
Sic flights are far beyond her power;
To sing how Nannie lap and flang
(A souple jade she was and strang),
And how Tam stood, like ane bewitch'd,
And thought his very een enrich'd;
Even Satan glowr'd, and fidg'd fu' fain,
And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main :
Till first ae caper, syne anither,
Tam tint his reason a' thegither,
And roars out, "6
Weel done, Cutty-sark!"
And in an instant all was dark:
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied,
When out the hellish legion sallied.

In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin!
In vain thy Kate awaits thy coming!
Kate soon will be a woefu' woman!
Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg,
And win the key-stane of the brig.
There, at them thou thy tail may toss,
A running stream they dare na' cross.
But ere the Keystane she could make
The fient a tail she had to shake!
For Nannie, far before the rest,
Hard upon noble Maggie prest,
And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle;
But little wist she Maggie's mettle!
Ae spring brought off her master hale,
But left behind her ain grey tail:
The carlin claught her by the rump,
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.

Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read,
Each man, and mother's son, take heed:
Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd,
Or cutty-sarks rin in your mind,
Think! ye may buy the joys o'er dear,
Remember Tam o'Shanter's meare.

ROBT. BURNS.

THE JOLLY BEGGARS.

A CANTATA.

[This inimitable poem, unheard of while the poet lived, was first given to the world, with other characteristic pieces, by Mr. Stewart of Glasgow, in the year 1801. Some have surmised that it is not the work of Burns; but the parentage is certain: the original manuscript at the time of its composition, in 1785, was put into the hands of Mr. Richmond of Mauchline, and afterwards given by Burns himself to Mr. Woodburn, factor of the laird of Craigengillan: the song of "For a'that, and a'that" was inserted by the poet, with his name, in the Musical Museum of February, 1790. Cromek admired, yet did not, from overruling advice, print it in the Reliques, for which he was sharply censured by Sir Walter Scott, in the Quarterly Review. The scene of the poem is in Mauchline, where Poosie Nansie had her change house.]

5 Barley.

8 Must hold.

Tune-" Soldier's Joy."

I am a son of Mars,
Who have been in many wars,
And show my cuts and scars
Wherever I come;
This here was for a wench,
And that other in a trench,
When welcoming the French
At the sound of the drum.
Lal de daudle, &c.

My prenticeship I past
Where my leader breath'd his last,
When the bloody die was cast

On the heights of Abram :

I served out my trade

When the gallant game was play'd, And the 10 Moro low was laid

At the sound of the drum.

His leg was so tight, and his cheek was so
ruddy,
Transported I was with my sodger laddie.
Sing, Lal de dal, &c.

But the godly old chaplain left him in the lurch,

The sword I forsook for the sake of the church;

He ventur❜d the soul, and I risk'd the body, 'Twas then I prov'd false to my sodger laddie.

Sing, Lal de dal, &c.

Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified sot, The regiment at large for a husband I got, From the gilded spontoon to the fife I was ready,

I asked no more but a sodger laddie.

Sing, Lal de dal, &c.

But the peace it reduc'd me to beg in despair,

Till I met my old boy in a Cunningham fair;

His rags regimental they flutter'd so gaudy, My heart it rejoic'd at my sodger laddie. Sing, Lal de dal, &c.

And now I have liv'd-I know not how long,

And still I can join in a cup or a song, But whilst with both hands I can hold the glass steady,

Here's to thee, my hero, my sodger laddie. Sing, Lal de dal, &c.

My grannie she bought me a beuk,
And I held awa to the school;
I fear I my talent misteuk

But what will ye hae of a fool?

For drink I would venture my neck,
A hizzie's the half o' my craft,
But what could ye other expect,
Of ane that's avowedly daft?

I ance was ty'd up like a 'stirk,
For civilly swearing and quaffing;
I ance was abused in the kirk,

For touzling a lass i' my daffin.

Poor Andrew that tumbles for sport,
Let naebody name wi' a jeer;
There's ev'n I'm tauld i' the court
A tumbler ca'd the premier.

Observ'd ye, yon reverend lad
Maks faces to tickle the mob;
He rails at our mountebank squad,
Its rivalship just i' the job.

And now my conclusion I'll tell,

For faith I'm confoundedly dry; The chiel that's a fool for himsel',

Gude L-d! he's far dafter than I.

With his philibeg an' tartan plaid,
An' gude claymore down by his side,
Tho ladies' hearts he did trepan,
My gallant braw John Highlandman.
Sing, hey, &c.

We ranged a' from Tweed to Spey,
An' liv'd like lords and ladies gay;
For a Lalland face he feared none,
My gallant braw John Highlandman.
Sing, hey, &c.

They banished him beyond the sea,
But ere the bud was on the tree,
Adown my cheeks the pearls ran,
Embracing my John Highlandman.
Sing, hey, &c.

But, och! they catch'd him at the last,
And bound him in a dungeon fast;
My curse upon them every one,
They've hang'd my braw John Highlandman.
Sing, hey, &c.

And now a widow, I must mourn,
The pleasures that will ne'er return
No comfort but a hearty can
When I think on John Highlandman.
Sing, hey, &c.

Despise that shrimp, that wither'd imp,
Wi' a' his noise and caprin,
And tak a share wi' those that bear
The budget and the apron.
And by that stoup, my faith and houp,
An' by that dear Kilbaigie,

If e'er ye want, or meet wi scant,
May I ne'er weet my craigie.

An' by that stoup, &c.

RECITATIVO.

The caird prevail'd th' unblushing fair In his embraces sunk,

Partly wi' love o'ercome sae sair,

An' partly she was drunk.

Sir Violino, with an air

That show'd a man of spunk, Wish'd unison between the pair, An' made the bottle clunk

To their health that night.

But urchin Cupid shot a shaft,
That play'd a dame a 'shavie,
A sailor rak'd her fore and aft,

Behint the chicken cavie.
Her lord, a wight o' Homer's craft,
Tho' limping wi' the spavie,
He hirpl'd up, and lap like daft,
And 2 shor'd them Dainty Davie
O boot that night.

He was a care-defying blade
As ever Bacchus listed,
Tho' Fortune sair upon him laid,
His heart she ever miss'd it.
He had nae wish but-to be glad,
Nor want but-when he thirsted;
He hated nought but-to be sad,
And thus the Muse suggested

AIR.

I never drank the Muses' tank,
Castalia's burn, an' a' that;
But there it streams, and richly reams,
My Helicon I ca' that.
For a' that, &c.

Great love I bear to a' the fair,
Their humble slave, an' a' that;
But lordly will, I hold it still

A mortal sin to thraw that.

For a' that, &c.

In raptures sweet, this hour we meet,
Wi' mutual love, an a' that:
But for how lang the flie may stang,
Let inclination law that.

For a' that, &c.

Their tricks and craft have put me daft,
They've ta'en me in, and a' that;
But clear your decks, and here's the sex!
I like the jads for a' that.

CHORUS.

For a' that, an' a' that,

An' twice as muckle's a' that; My dearest bluid, to do them guid, They're welcome till't for a' that.

RECITATIVO.

So sung the bard-and Nansie's wa's
Shook with a thunder of applause,
Re-echo'd from each mouth :

Tune.-" For a' that, an' a' that."

I am a bard of no regard,

Wi' gentle folks, an' a' that:

But Homer-like, the glowran byke, Frae town to town I draw that.

CHORUS.

For a' that, an' a' that,

An' twice as muckle's a' that; I've lost but ane, I've twa behin', I've wife eneugh for a' that.

The poet did request,

To loose his pack an' 5 wale a sang,

A ballad o' the best;

He rising, rejoicing,

Between his twa Deborahs

Looks round him, an' found them Impatient for the chorus.

AIR.

Tune.-" Jolly Mortals, fill your Glasses."
See the smoking bowl before us,
Mark our jovial ragged ring!
Round and round take up the chorus
And in rapture let us sing.

1 Damage.

2 Sang.

3 Staring crowd.

4 Nakedness.

5 Choose.