Poem#Self
A Tippling Ballad—When Princes and Prelates, etc.
Poem byRobert Burns · 1759–1796
Commonly attributed — not confirmed in an authoritative edition. Text from PoetryDB's public-domain archive; not yet checked against a printed edition.
English (original)
WHEN Princes and Prelates, And hot-headed zealots, A’ Europe had set in a low, a low, The poor man lies down, Nor envies a crown, And comforts himself as he dow, as he dow, And comforts himself as he dow. The black-headed eagle, As keen as a beagle, He hunted o’er height and o’er howe, In the braes o’ Gemappe, He fell in a trap, E’en let him come out as he dow, dow, dow, E’en let him come out as he dow. · · · · · · · But truce with commotions, And new-fangled notions, A bumper, I trust you’ll allow; Here’s George our good king, And Charlotte his queen, And lang may they ring as they dow, dow, dow, And lang may they ring as they dow.
— Robert Burns
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Elegy on the Death of Sir James Hunter Blair
THE LAMP of day, with-ill presaging glare, Dim, cloudy, sank beneath the western wave; Th’ inconstant blast howl’d thro’ the dark’ning air, And hollow whistled in the rocky cave.
Suppressed Stanzas of “The Vision”
WITH secret throes I marked that earth, That cottage, witness of my birth; And near I saw, bold issuing forth In youthful pride,
On the late Captain Grose’s Peregrinations
HEAR, Land o’ Cakes, and brither Scots, Frae Maidenkirk to Johnie Groat’s;— If there’s a hole in a’ your coats, I rede you tent it: