Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. III. The Eighteenth Century: Addison to Blake

Robert Burns (1759–1796)

Extract from The Holy Fair

NOW, butt an’ ben, the change-house fills,

Wi’ yill-caup commentators:

Here ’s crying out for bakes an’ gills,

An’ there the pint-stowp clatters;

While thick an’ thrang, an’ loud an’ lang,

Wi’ logic, an’ wi’ Scripture,

They raise a din, that, in the end,

Is like to breed a rupture

O’ wrath that day.

Leeze me on drink! it gies us mair

Than either school or college:

It kindles wit, it waukens lear,

It pangs us fou o’ knowledge.

Be ’t whisky gill, or penny wheep,

Or ony stronger potion,

It never fails, on drinking deep,

To kittle up our notion

By night or day.

The lads an’ lasses, blythely bent

To mind baith saul an’ body,

Sit round the table, weel content,

An’ steer about the toddy.

On this ane’s dress, an’ that ane’s leuk,

They ’re makin observations;

While some are cozie i’ the neuk,

An’ formin assignations

To meet some day.

But now the Lord’s ain trumpet touts,

Till a’ the hills are rairin,

An’ echoes back return the shouts;

Black Russel is na spairin:

His piercing words, like Highlan swords,

Divide the joints an’ marrow;

His talk o’ Hell, whare devils dwell,

Our vera ‘sauls does harrow’

Wi’ fright that day.

A vast, unbottom’d, boundless pit,

Fill’d fu’ o’ lowin brunstane,

Wha’s raging flame, an’ scorching heat,

Wad melt the hardest whun-stane!

The half asleep start up wi’ fear,

An’ think they hear it roarin,

When presently it does appear,

’Twas but some neibor snorin

Asleep that day.

’Twad be owre lang a tale, to tell

How mony stories past,

An’ how they crowded to the yill,

When they were a’ dismist:

How drink gaed round, in cogs an’ caups,

Amang the furms and benches;

An’ cheese an’ bread frae women’s laps,

Was dealt about in lunches

An’ dawds that day.

In comes a gaucie gash Guidwife,

An’ sits down by the fire,

Syne draws her kebbuck an’ her knife,

The lasses they are shyer.

The auld guidmen, about the grace,

Frae side to side they bother,

Till some ane by his bonnet lays,

An’ gi’es them ’t like a tether,

Fu’ lang that day.

Waesucks! for him that gets nae lass,

Or lasses that hae naething!

Sma’ need has he to say a grace,

Or melvie his braw claithing!

O wives be mindfu’, ance yoursel

How bonie lads ye wanted,

An’ dinna for a kebbuck-heel,

Let lasses be affronted

On sic a day!

Now Clinkumbell, wi’ rattling tow,

Begins to jow an’ croon;

Some swagger hame, the best they dow,

Some wait the afternoon.

At slaps the billies halt a blink,

Till lasses strip their shoon:

Wi’ faith an’ hope, an’ love an’ drink,

They ’re a’ in famous tune

For crack that day.