But as daily bread is all I need, I do not much regard her.1 When sometimes by my labour, I earn a little money, Some unforeseen misfortune comes gen'rally upon me; Mischance, mistake, or by neglect, or my goodnatur'd folly : But come what will, I've sworn it still, I'll ne'er be melancholy. All you who follow wealth and power with unremitting ardour, The more in this you look for bliss, you leave your view the farther: Had you the wealth Potosi boasts, or nations to adore you, A cheerful honest-hearted clown I will prefer before you. JOHN BARLEYCORN: A BALLAD.2 THERE was three kings into the east, 3 They took a plough and plough'd him down, Put clods upon his head, 1 "I am quite indolent about those great concerns that set the bustling, busy sons of care agog; and if I have to answer for the present hour I am very easy with regard to anything further " (Burns to John Murdoch, Jan. 15th, 1783). 2 This is partly composed on the plan of an old song known by the same name.-R. B. 3 VAR. "They've taen" (MS.). And they hae sworn a solemn oath But the cheerful Spring came kindly on,' The sultry suns of Summer came,2 The sober Autumn enter'd mild,3 His colour sicken'd more and more, He faded into age; And then his enemies began To show their deadly rage. 4 They've taen a weapon, long and sharp, And cut him by the knee Then ty'd him fast upon a cart, Like a rogue for forgerie. They laid him down upon his back, They filled up a darksome pit 1 VAR. "The Spring time it came on (MS.). 2 VAR. "The Summer it came on " (MS.). 3 VAR. "The Autumn it came on " (MS.). 4 VAR. " They took a hook was " (MS.). They heaved in John Barleycorn- They laid1 him out upon the floor, They wasted, o'er a scorching flame, The marrow of his bones; But a miller us'd him worst of all, For he crush'd him between two stones. And they hae taen his very heart's blood, And drank it round and round; And still the more and more they drank, Their joy did more abound. John Barleycorn was a hero bold, Of noble enterprise; For if you do but taste his blood, 'Twill make your courage rise. 'Twill make a man forget his woe; "Twill heighten all his joy: "Twill make the widow's heart to sing, Tho' the tear were in her eye. Then let us toast John Barleycorn, 1 VAR. "They've thrown" (MS.). THE DEATH AND DYING WORDS OF POOR MAILIE.1 THE AUTHOR'S ONLY 2 PET YOWE,-AN UNCO 3 4 As Mailie, an' her lambs thegither, 9 8 Wi' glowrin een, and lifted han's Poor Hughoc like a statue stan's; He saw her days were near-hand ended, But, wae's my heart! he could na mend it! 66 1 This poem was composed one afternoon while Burns was engaged with his plough at Lochlie. The poet's youngest brother, John, drove the horses, while the bard guided his plough. Gilbert says: As they were setting out about noon, with their teams, a curious-looking, awkward boy, named Hugh Wilson, ran up to them in a very excited manner, and with a rueful countenance, announced that poor Mailie -a ewe Burns had bought from a neighbour-" had got entangled in her tether and was lying in the ditch. It had never occurred to the terror-stricken Hughoc' that he might have lent a hand in lifting her up: Mailie, however, was soon rescued from her peril, and lived-it is hoped-to see her bairns' bairns. 2 VAR. "My ain" (MS.). 3 VAR. "Were" (MS.). "Was" (as in the first edition) is correct. Mailie, with her lambs beside her, was tethered, and she alone. 5 cast. 6 fell wrestling. 4 hoof. 7 A neibour herd-callant, about three-fourths as wise as other folk.-R. B. walking stupidly. 9 staring. He gaped wide, but naething spak, "O thou, whase lamentable face "Tell him, if e'er again he keep “Tell him, he was a Master kin', “O, bid him save their harmless lives, An' tent them duly, e'en an' morn, 3 6 "An' may they never learn the gaets, |