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Authors: Robert Burns

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I'll Go and be a Sodger

First printed in Currie, 1800.

O why the deuce should I repine,

       And be an ill foreboder;

I'm twenty-three, and five feet nine,

       I'll go and be a sodger.
soldier 

I gat some gear wi' meikle care,
got, worldly goods, little

       I held it weel thegither;
well together

But now it's gane, and something mair,
gone, more

       I'll go and be a sodger.
soldier

The song dates from April 1782, according to notes taken by Dr Currie from a farming memorandum notebook, which was last seen in the library of William Roscoe about 1815. There is no
manuscript copy. Admittance to the canon has been on the word of Dr Currie. Perhaps ironically, out of economic necessity, certainly with a degree of self-dramatisation, Burns considered a military career: ‘Hannibal gave my young ideas such a turn that I used to strut in raptures up and down after the recruiting drum and bagpipe, and wish myself tall enough to be a soldier' (Letter 125).

My Father was a Farmer

Tune: Jockie's Gray Breeks or The Weaver and his Shuttle, O
First printed by Cromek, 1808.

My father was a farmer upon the Carrick border O

And carefully he bred me, in decency and order O.

He bade me act a manly part, though I had ne'er a farthing O 

For without an honest manly heart, no man was worth regarding O.

5
Chorus: Row de dow &c.

Then out into the world my course I did determine, O

Tho' to be rich was not my wish, yet to be great was charming O.

My talents they were not the worst, nor yet my education, O:

Resolv'd was I, at least to try, to mend my situation, O.

10
In many a way, and vain essay, I courted Fortune's favour; O

Some cause unseen, still stept between, to frustrate each endeavour; O

Sometimes by foes I was o'erpower'd, sometimes by friends forsaken, O

And when my hope was at the top, I still was worst mistaken, O.

Then sore harass'd, and tir'd at last, with Fortune's vain delusion, O,

15
I dropt my schemes, like idle dreams; and came to this conclusion; O

The past was bad, and the future hid; its good or ill untryed; O

But the present hour was in my pow'r, and so I would enjoy it, O.

No help, nor hope, nor view had I; nor person to befriend me; O

So I must toil, and sweat and broil, and labour to sustain me, O

20
To plough and sow, to reap and mow, my father bred me early, O

For one, he said, to labour bred, was a match for Fortune fairly, O.

Thus all obscure, unknown, and poor, thro' life I'm doom'd to wander, O

Till down my weary bones I lay in everlasting slumber; O

No view nor care, but shun whate'er might breed me pain or sorrow; O

25
I live to-day as well's I may, regardless of tomorrow, O.

But cheerful still, I am as well as a Monarch in a palace; O

Tho' Fortune's frown still hunts me down with all her wonted malice: O

I make indeed, my daily bread, but ne'er can make it farther; O

But as daily bread is all I need, I do not much regard her, O.

30
When sometimes by my labour I earn a little money, O

Some unforeseen misfortune comes gen'rally upon me; O

Mischance, mistake, or by neglect, or my good-natur'd folly; O

But come what will I've sworn it still, I'll ne'er be melancholy, O.

All you who follow wealth and power with unremitting ardour, O

35
The more in this you look for bliss, you leave your view the farther; O

Had you the wealth Potosi boasts, or nations to adore you, O

A cheerful, honest-hearted clown I will prefer before you, O. 

Other than commentary on Burns's notes on the tune, that a North of Ireland song,
The Weaver and his Shuttle, O,
was exactly the same as the Scottish one, Kinsley says nothing about this song. Perhaps he was prejudiced by Burns's own disparagement of it in his
First
Commonplace Book,
April, 1874: ‘a wild rhapsody, miserably deficient in versification; but as the sentiments are the genuine feelings of my heart, for that reason, I have a particular pleasure in conning it over'. This early, probably 1782 song, is indeed seminal in its rehearsal of so many future themes: the constant frustration of his worthy hopes; the harshness of farm toil and the compensatory sense of independence despite all such difficulties. The first stanza is of particular note. In Liam McIlvanney's forthcoming study,
Burns
the Radical: Poetry and Politics in Late Eighteenth-Century Scotland,
we will have a revaluation of the influence on the child of his father's passionate, liberal educational values. As McIlvanney writes: ‘… it is crucial to appreciate that Burns's education was far more extensive than his formal schooling. It could hardly be otherwise, given the fiercely intellectual presence of William Burnes, a man who bought and borrowed books for his sons and remorselessly engaged them in “improving” conversations.' McIlvanney also notes the degree to which his father and his hired schoolmaster, John Murdoch, combined forces to educate Robert and Gilbert with a humane, often English Whig-inspired eighteenth-century liberalism, against the prevalent Auld Licht Culture.

Montgomerie's Peggy

Tune: Galla Water
First printed by Cromek, 1808.

Altho' my bed were in yon muir,
that moor

        Amang the heather, in my plaidie,
among, old style kilt

Yet happy, happy would I be

        Had I my dear Montgomerie's Peggy. — 

5
When o'er the hill beat surly storms,

        And winter nights were dark and rainy;

I'd seek some dell, and in my arms
wooden glen

        I'd shelter dear Montgomerie's Peggy. —

Were I a Baron proud and high,

10
        And horse and servants waiting ready,

Then a' 'twad gie o' joy to me,
all it would give

        The sharin't with Montgomerie's Peggy. —
sharing it 

Composition is dated for around 1782. In the
First Commonplace Book
Burns writes this song is an ‘imitation of the manner of a noble old Scottish Piece called
MacMillan's
Peggy,
and sings to the tune of Galla Water. – My Montgomerie's Peggy was my Deity for six or eight months'. After laying courtship ‘siege' to her, he was mortified to discover that she had already been pledged to another. Peggy is believed to have been a house maid at Coylfield House, owned by the Montgomerie family, according to the poet's sister, later Mrs Begg.

Remorse:

A Fragment

First printed by Currie, 1800.

Of all the numerous ills that hurt our peace;

That press the soul, or wring the mind with anguish;

Beyond comparison the worst are those

That to our Folly, or our Guilt we owe.

5
In ev'ry other circumstance the mind

Has this to say, it was no deed of mine:

But, when to all the evil of misfortune

This sting is added, blame thy foolish self;

Or worser far, the pangs of keen remorse:

10
The tort'ring, gnawing consciousness of guilt —
torturing

Of guilt, perhaps, where we've involved others;

The young, the innocent, who fondly lov'd us;

Nay more, that very love their cause of ruin —

O! burning Hell! in all thy store of torments

15
There's not a keener LASH —

Lives there a man so firm who, while his heart

Feels all the bitter horrors of his crime,

Can reason down its agonizing throbs,

And, after proper purpose of amendment,

20
Can firmly force his jarring thoughts to peace?

O happy, happy, enviable man!

O glorious magnanimity of soul! 

This was composed after reading Adam Smith's
Theory of Moral
Sentiments,
a book of philosophical inquiry (1759). In the
First
Commonplace Book,
the lines are dated for September 1783. The poet paraphrases his own verse: ‘I entirely agree with that judicious Philosopher Mr Smith in his excellent Theory of Moral Sentiments, that Remorse is the most painful sentiment that can embitter the human bosom … when our own follies or crimes, have made us miserable and wretched, to bear it up with manly firmness, and at the same time have a proper penitential sense of our misconduct, – is a glorious effort of Self-command'. It is clearly an experiment in Shakespearean blank verse, a poetic form the poet did not often employ and highly comparable, linguistically and formally, with the early, guilt-tormented Coleridge's use of that form.

On James Grieve, Laird of Boghead, Tarbolton

A Sanctimonious Rascal of the First Water

First printed with Chambers–Wallace, 1896.

Here lies Boghead amang the dead,
among

        In hopes to get salvation;

But if such as he, in Heav'n may be,

        Then welcome, hail! damnation. —

This was written on a Laird who lived near the Burns family at Lochlie. It is generally dated for 1783–4. In a 1787 edition of the poet's work a holograph copy of the epigram has the subtitle as above, ‘A Sanctimonious Rascal of the First Water'.

On an Innkeeper in Tarbolton

First in Chambers–Wallace, 1896.

Here lies ‘mang ither useless matters,
among other

A. Manson wi' his endless clatters. —
talk/chatter

In Chambers–Wallace this is titled
On Thomas Kirkpatrick, Late
Blacksmith in Stoop,
with ‘A. Manson' changed to ‘Auld Thomas' in the last line. Kinsley has no remarks. Mackay records that a plaque marks the spot in Tarbolton where Andrew Manson had an Inn.

The Ruined Farmer

Tune: Go From My Window, Love, Do!
First printed with Chambers, 1838.

The sun he is sunk in the west;

All creatures retired to rest,

While here I sit, all sore beset,

        With sorrow, grief, and woe:

5
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O! 

The prosperous man is asleep,

Nor hears how the whirlwinds sweep;

But Misery and I must watch

        The surly tempests blow:

10
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!

There lies the dear Partner of my breast;

Her cares for a moment at rest:

Must I see thee, my youthful pride,

        Thus brought so very low!

15
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!

There lie my sweet babies in her arms;

No anxious fear their little hearts alarms;

But for their sake my heart does ache,

        With many a bitter throe:

20
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!

I once was by Fortune carest;

I once could relieve the distrest:

Now life's poor support, hardly earn'd,

        My fate will scarce bestow:

25
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!

No comfort, no comfort I have!

How welcome to me were the grave!

But then my wife and children dear —

        O, whither would they go!

30
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!

O whither, O whither shall I turn!

All friendless, forsaken, forlorn!

For in this world, Rest or Peace

        I never more shall know!

35
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O! 

Unpublished during the poet's life, this song is written in the voice of a ruined farmer. There is a strong resonance of family biography relating to the poet's father during 1783–4 when he fell into rent arrears and was taken to court. Burns wrote about this episode in 1787: ‘My indignation yet boils at the recollection of the scoundrel tyrant's insolent, threatening epistles, which used to set us in tears' (Letter 125). The song is included among the Stair manuscripts.

Lines on the Bachelor's Club, Tarbolton

First published here as verse by Burns.

Of birth or blood we do not boast,

        Nor gentry does our club afford;

But ploughmen and mechanics we

        In Nature's simple dress record.

This was written in the Autumn of 1782. Dr James Currie says of the Tarbolton Bachelor's Club – essentially a debating society – that in the Autumn of 1782, a book was purchased into which the rules and regulations were copied by the poet, as President. Introducing the annotations, Currie prints four lines of poetry, stating that the entire text inscribed is from Burns (See Currie, 1800, p. xliv). If so, it is almost certain the lines of poetry are by Burns, although they have never previously been included in the canon. The lines may have merely been quoted from another author, but Burns is generally open about attribution. Currie records in a footnote that actual topics debated at Tarbolton included the following, ‘Whether do we derive more happiness from Love or Friendship? – Whether between friends who have no reason to doubt each other's friendship,
there should be any reserve? – Whether is the savage man, or the peasant of a civilised country, in the most happy situation? – Whether is a young man of the lower ranks of life likeliest to be happy, who has got a good education, and his mind well informed, or he who has just the education and information of those around him?' (Currie, p. xlvii). Found in the hand of Burns, these lines are almost certainly his.

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