Part 4 — EPIGRAMS BY ROBERT BURNS.
Reading edition
THE POET'S CHOICE.
I murder hate, by field or flood, Though glory's name may screen us; In wars at hame I'll spend my blood, Life-giving wars of Venus.
The Jeities that I adore, Are social peace and plenty; I'm better pleased to make one more, Than be the death of twenty.
ON A CELEBRATED RULING ELDER.
Here souter Hood in death does sleep;— To h-ll, if he's gane thither, Satan, gie him thy gear to keep, He'll haud it weel thegither.
ON JOHN DOVE
INNKEEPER OF MAUCHLINE.
Here lies Johnny Pidgeon; What was his religion? Wha e'er desires to ken, To some other warl' Maun follow the carl, For here Johnny Pidgeon had nane!
Strong ale was ablution— Small beer, persecution, A dram was MEMENTO MORI: But a full flowing bowl Was the saving his soul, And port was celestial glory.
ON ANDREW TURNER.
In se'enteen hunder an' forty-nine, Satan took stuff to mak' a swine, And cuist it in a corner; But wilily he chang'd his plan, And shaped it something like a man. And ca'd it Andrew Turner.
ON A SCOTCH COXCOMB
Light lay the earth on Billy's breast, His chicken heart so tender; But build a castle on his head, His skull will prop it under.
ON GRIZZEL GRIM.
Here lies with death auld Grizzel Grim. Lineluden's ugly witch; O death, how horrid is thy taste, To lie with such a b——!
ON A WAG IN MAUCHLINE.
Lament him, Mauchline husbands a', He aften did assist ye; For had ye stayed whole years awa, Your wives they ne'er had missed ye. Ye Mauchline bairns, as on ye pass To school in bands thegither, O tread ye lightly on his grass— Perhaps he was your father.
EPITAPH ON W—-.
Stop, thief! dame Nature cried to Death, As Willie drew his latest breath; You have my choicest model ta'en; How shall I make a fool again?
ON A SUICIDE.
Earth'd up here lies an imp o' hell, Planted by Satan's dibble— Poor silly wretch, he's damn'd himsel' To save the Lord the trouble.