A Night Out with Burns by Robert Burns Page B

oftentimes for a home,
    When the tother bag I sell and the tother bottle tell,
    I could meet a troop of H ELL at the sound of a drum.

    R ECITATIVO
    He ended; and the kebars sheuk,
    Aboon the chorus roar;
    While frighted rattons backward leuk,
    An’ seek the benmost bore:
    A fairy F IDDLER frae the neuk,
    He skirl’d out, ENCORE .
    But up arose the martial C HUCK ,
    An’ laid the loud uproar—

    A IR
    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 D RAGOONS was my dadie,
    No wonder I’m fond of a S ODGER LADDIE ,
    Sing lal de lal, &c.

    The first of my L OVES was a swaggering blade,
    To rattle the thundering drum was his trade;
    His leg was so tight and his cheek was so ruddy,
    Transported I was with my S ODGER LADDIE .
    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 risked the B ODY ,
    â€™Twas then I prov’d false to my S ODGER LADDIE .

    Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified Sot ,
    The Regiment AT LARGE for a H USBAND I got;
    From the gilded S PONTOON to the F IFE I was ready;
    I asked no more but a S ODGER LADDIE .

    But the P EACE it reduc’d me to beg in despair,
    Till I met my old boy in a C UNNINGHAM fair;
    His RAGS REGIMENTAL they flutter’d so gaudy,
    My heart it rejoic’d at a S ODGER LADDIE .

    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 glass steady,
    Here’s to thee, M Y H ERO , M Y S ODGER LADDIE .

    R ECITATIVO
    Poor Merry-andrew, in the neuk,
    Sat guzzling wi’ a Tinkler-hizzie;
    They mind’t na wha the chorus teuk,
    Between themsels they were sae busy:
    At length wi’ drink an’ courting dizzy,
    He stoiter’d up an’ made a face;
    Then turn’d, an’ laid a smack on Grizzie,
    Syne tun’d his pipes wi’ grave grimace.
    A IR
    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 ty’d up like a stirk,
    For civilly swearing and quaffing;
    I, ance, was abus’d i’ the kirk,
    For towsing a lass i’ my daffin.

    Poor Andrew that tumbles for sport,
    Let nae body name wi’ a jeer;
    There’s even, I’m tauld, i’ the Court
    A Tumbler ca’d the Premier.
    Observ’d ye yon reverend lad
    Mak 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,
    Guid Lord, he’s far dafter than I.

    R ECITATIVO
    Then niest outspak a raucle Carlin,
    Wha ken’t fu’ weel to cleek the Sterlin;
    For mony a pursie she had hooked,
    An’ had in mony a well been douked:
    Her L OVE had been a H IGHLAND LADDIE ,
    But weary fa’ the waefu’ woodie!
    Wi’ sighs an’ sobs she thus began
    To wail her braw J OHN H IGHLANDMAN —

    A IR
    A H IGHLAND lad my Love was born,
    The lalland laws he held in scorn;
    But he still was faithfu’ to his clan,
    My gallant, braw J OHN H IGHLANDMAN .

    C HORUS
    Sing hey my braw John Highlandman!
    Sing ho my braw John Highlandman!
    There’s not a lad in a’ the lan’
    Was match for my John Highlandman.
    With his Philibeg, an’ tartan Plaid,
    An’ guid Claymore down by his side,
    The 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 an’ ladies