the jolly ars: a cantata 注释标题 not published by burns.

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when lyart leaves bestrow the yird,

or wavering like the bauckie-bird,

bedim cauld boreas' st;

when hailstanes drive wi' bitter skyte,

and infant frosts begin to bite,

in hoary cranreuch drest;

ae night at e'en a merry core

o' randie, gangrel bodies,

in poosie-nansie's held the splore,

to drink their orra duddies;

wi' quaffing an'ughing,

they ranted an' they sang,

wi' jumping an' thumping,

the vera girdle rang,

first, neist the fire, in auld red rags,

ane sat, weel brac'd wi' mealy bags,

and knapsack a' in order;

his doxyy within his arm;

wi' usquebae an' nkets warm

she blinkit on her sodger;

an' aye he gies the tozie drab

the tither skelpin' kiss,

while she held up her greedy gab,

just like an aumous dish;

ilk smack still, did crack still,

just like a cadger's whip;

then ering an' ering

he roar'd this ditty up—

air

tune—“soldier's joy.”

i am a son of mars who have been in many wars,

and show my cuts and scars wherever i e;

this here was for a wench, and that other in a trench,

when weling the french at the sound of the drum.

lal de daudle, c.

my 'prenticeship i past where my leader breath'd hisst,

when the bloody die was cast on the heights of abram:

and i served out my trade when the gant game was y'd,

and the morro low wasid at the sound of the drum.

istly was with curtis among the floating batt'ries,

and there i left for witness an arm and a limb;

yet let my country need me, with elliot to head me,

i'd tter on my stumps at the sound of a drum.

and now tho' i must beg, with a wooden arm and leg,

and many a tatter'd rag hanging over my bum,

i'm as happy with my wallet, my bottle, and my callet,

as when i used in scarlet to follow a drum.

what tho' with hoary locks, i must stand the winter shocks,

beneath the woods and rocks oftentimes for a home,

when the t'other bag i sell, and the t'other bottle tell,

i could meet a troop of hell, at the sound of a drum.

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he ended; and the kebars sheuk,

aboon the chorus roar;

while frighted rattons backward leuk,

an' seek the benmost bore:

a fairy fiddler frae the neuk,

he skirl'd out, encore!

but up arose the martial chuck,

an'id the loud uproar.

air

tune—“sodgerddie.”

i once was a maid, tho' i cannot tell when,

and still my delight is in proper young men;

some one of a troop of dragoons was my daddie,

no wonder i'm fond of a sodgerddie,

sing,l del, c.

the first of my loves was a ering de,

to rattle the thundering drum was his trade;

his leg was so tight, and his cheek was so ruddy,

transported i was with my sodgerddie.

but the godly old chain left him in the lurch;

the sword i forsook for the sake of the church:

he ventur'd the soul, and i risked the body,

'twas then i proved false to my sodgerddie.

full soon i grew sick of my sanctified sot,

the regiment atrge for a husband i got;

from the gilded spontoon to the fife i was ready,

i asked no more but a sodgerddie.

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

till i met old boy in a cunningham fair,

his rags regimental, they flutter'd so gaudy,

my heart it rejoic'd at a sodgerddie.

and now i have liv'd—i know not how long,

and still i can join in a cup and a song;

but whilst with both hands i can hold the ss steady,

here's to thee, my hero, my sodgerddie.

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poor merry-andrew, in the neuk,

sat guzzling wi' a tinkler-hizzie;

they mind't na wha the chorus teuk,

between themselves they were sae busy:

at length, wi' drink an' courting dizzy,

he stoiter'd up an' made a face;

then turn'd an'id a smack on grizzie,

syne tun'd his pipes wi' grave grimace.

air

tune—“auld sir symon.”

sir wisdom's a fool when he's fou;

sir knave is a fool in a session;

he's there but a 'prentice i trow,

but i am a fool by profession.

my grannie she bought me a beuk,

an' 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 of my craft;

but what could ye other expect

of ane that's avowedly daft?

i ance was tied up like a stirk,

for civilly swearing and quaffin;

i ance was abus'd i' the kirk,

for towsing ass i' my daffin.

poor andrew that tumbles for sport,

let naebody name wi' a jeer;

there's even, i'm tauld, i' the court

a tumbler ca'd the premier.

observ'd ye yon reverendd

mak faces to tickle the mob;

he rails at our mountebank squad,—

it's 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',

guid lord! he's far dafter than i.

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then niest outspak a raucle carlin,

wha kent fu' weel to cleek the sterlin;

for mony a pursie she had hooked,

an' had in mony a well been douked;

her love had been a higndddie,

but weary fa' the waefu' woodie!

wi' sighs an' sobs she thus began

to wail her braw john higndman.

air

tune—“o, an ye were dead, guidman.”

a higndd my love was born,

thendws he held in scorn;

but he still was faithfu' to his n,

my gant, braw john higndman.

chorus

sing hey my braw john higndman!

sing ho my braw john higndman!

there's not ad in a' then'

was match for my john higndman.

with his philibeg an' tartan id,

an' guid ymore down by his side,

thedies' hearts he did trepan,

my gant, braw john higndman.

sing hey, c.

we ranged a' from tweed to spey,

an' liv'd like lords an'dies gay;

for and face he feared none,—

my gant, braw john higndman.

sing hey, c.

they banish'd him beyond the sea.

but ere the bud was on the tree,

adown my cheeks the pearls ran,

embracing my john higndman.

sing hey, c.

but, och! they catch'd him at thest,

and bound him in a dungeon fast:

my curse upon them every one,

they've hang'd my braw john higndman!

sing hey, c.

and now a widow, i must mourn

the pleasures that will ne'er return:

the fort but a hearty can,

when i think on john higndman.

sing hey, c.

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a pigmy scraper wi' his fiddle,

wha us'd at trystes an' fairs to driddle.

her strappin limb and gausy middle

(he reach'd nae higher)

had hol'd his heartie like a riddle,

an' wn't on fire.

wi' hand on hainch, and upward e'e,

he croon'd his gamut, one, two, three,

then in an arioso key,

the wee apoll