Delphi Complete Works of Robert Burns (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series) by Robert Burns

last!The poor, oppressed, honest man   Had never, sure, been born,Had there not been some recompense   To comfort those that mourn!    80
     
    “O Death! the poor man’s dearest friend,   The kindest and the best!Welcome the hour my aged limbs   Are laid with thee at rest!The great, the wealthy fear thy blow    85   From pomp and pleasure torn;But, oh! a blest relief for those   That weary-laden mourn!”
     
     
     
    Chronological List of Poems
     
    Alphabetical List of Poems
     

55.
     
    The Twa Herds; or, The Holy Tulyie
     
    An Unco Mournfu’ Tale
     
    “Blockheads with reason wicked wits abhor,But fool with fool is barbarous civil war,” — POPE.
     
    O A’ ye pious godly flocks,Weel fed on pastures orthodox,Wha now will keep you frae the fox,
            Or worrying tykes?Or wha will tent the waifs an’ crocks,    5
            About the dykes?
     
    The twa best herds in a’ the wast,The e’er ga’e gospel horn a blastThese five an’ twenty simmers past —
            Oh, dool to tell!    10 Hae had a bitter black out-cast
            Atween themsel’.
     
    O, Moddie,   man, an’ wordy Russell,How could you raise so vile a bustle;Ye’ll see how New-Light herds will whistle,    15
            An’ think it fine!The L—’s cause ne’er gat sic a twistle,
            Sin’ I hae min’.
     
    O, sirs! whae’er wad hae expeckitYour duty ye wad sae negleckit,    20 Ye wha were ne’er by lairds respeckit
            To wear the plaid;But by the brutes themselves eleckit,
            To be their guide.
     
    What flock wi’ Moodie’s flock could rank? — 25 Sae hale and hearty every shank!Nae poison’d soor Arminian stank
            He let them taste;Frae Calvin’s well, aye clear, drank, —
            O, sic a feast!    30
     
    The thummart, willcat, brock, an’ tod,Weel kend his voice thro’ a’ the wood,He smell’d their ilka hole an’ road,
            Baith out an in;An’ weel he lik’d to shed their bluid,    35
            An’ sell their skin.
     
    What herd like Russell tell’d his tale;His voice was heard thro’ muir and dale,He kenn’d the L—’s sheep, ilka tail,
             Owre a’ the height;    40 An’ saw gin they were sick or hale,
            At the first sight.
     
    He fine a mangy sheep could scrub,Or nobly fling the gospel club,And New-Light herds could nicely drub    45
            Or pay their skin;Could shake them o’er the burning dub,
            Or heave them in.
     
    Sic twa-O! do I live to see’t? —Sic famous twa should disagree’t,    50 And names, like “villain,” “hypocrite,”
            Ilk ither gi’en,While New-Light herds, wi’ laughin spite,
            Say neither’s liein!
     
    A’ ye wha tent the gospel fauld,    55 There’s Duncan   deep, an’ Peebles   shaul,But chiefly thou, apostle Auld,
            We trust in thee,That thou wilt work them, het an’ cauld,
            Till they agree.    60
     
    Consider, sirs, how we’re beset;There’s scarce a new herd that we get,But comes frae ‘mang that cursed set,
            I winna name;I hope frae heav’n to see them yet    65
            In fiery flame.
     
    Dalrymple   has been lang our fae,M’Gill   has wrought us meikle wae,An’ that curs’d rascal ca’d M’Quhae,
            And baith the Shaws,    70 That aft hae made us black an’ blae,
            Wi’ vengefu’ paws.
     
    Auld Wodrow   lang has hatch’d mischief;We thought aye death wad bring relief;But he has gotten, to our grief,    75
            Ane to succeed him,A chield wha’   soundly buff our beef;
            I meikle dread him.
     
    And mony a ane that I could