By Mike Fenwick
Lines Written on a Bank Note (1786)
Wae worth thy power, thou cursed leaf!
Fell source o’ a’ my woe and grief!
For lack o’ thee I’ve lost my lass!
For lack o’ thee I scrimp my glass!
I see the children of affliction
Unaided, through thy curst restriction:
I’ve seen the oppressor’s cruel smile
Amid his hapless victim’s spoil;
And for thy potence vainly wished,
To crush the villain in the dust:
For lack o’ thee, I leave this much-lov’d shore,
Never, perhaps, to greet old Scotland more.
Wonderful a true illustration of the universal nature of Robert Burns and how contemporary. There is a piece of Burns for everyone.
ODE TAE A FERT
Oh what a sleekit horrible beastie,
Lurks in yer belly efter the feastie.
Just as ye sit doon among yer kin,
There sterts to stir an enormous wind.
The neeps and tatties and mushy peas,
Stert workin like a gentle breeze.
But soon the puddin’ wi the sauncie face,
Will have ye blawin’ all ower the place.
Nae matter whit ye try tae dae,
A’bodys gonnae have tae pay.
Even if ye try to stifle,
It’s like a bullet oot a rifle.
Hawd yer bum tight tae the chair,
Tae try and stop the leakin’ air.
Shift yersel frae cheek tae cheek,
Pray tae God it doesny reek.
But aw yer efforts go assunder,
Oot it comes ? a clap o’ thunder.
Ricochets aroon the room,
Michty me, a sonic boom!
God almighty it fairly reeks,
Hope I huvnae pooed ma breeks!
Tae the loo I better scurry,
Aw who cares, its no ma worry.
A’body roon aboot me chokin,
Wan or two are nearly bokin.
I’ll feel better for a while,
Cannae help but raise a smile.
“Wis him!” I shout with accusin’ glower,
Alas too late, he’s just keeled ower!
“Ye dirty thing!” they shout and stare,
I don’t feel welcome any mair.
Where ere ye go let yer wind gang free,
Sounds like just the job fur me.
Whit a fuss at Rabbie’s perty,
Ower the sake o’ wan wee ferty!