Nothing ventured, nothing gained, I thought I’d have a go
A resumé of Rabbie bhoy, showing aff whit I don’t know
I know his birth month, January, a bear fortnight after mine
I know he died at thirty seven, the age of summer time
I know he liked the lassies too, his inky nib aye wet
Penned his love to mair than wan, maybe every lass he met
I know he sconced the privileged rich, the union of the crowns
I know he ridiculed the proud and pegged their worth way down
I know he loved to read and write, worked magic with his words
A story-teller, born and bred, the Tam O’shanter bard
I know he liked a drink or two, I know he worked the land
Little more I do not know, but more I understand
I understand his great appeal, the fact he’s still the toast
Of poetry and Scots worldwide, the one we honour most
I understand why lassies liked his houghmagandy ways
His tributes must have turned their heads, their celibacy swayed
My love is like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June:
My love is like the melody
That’s sweetly played in tune.
How fair thou art, my bonnie lass,
So deep in love am I;
And I will love thee still, my dear,
Till all the seas gang dry.
Who among us lassies here could such a lad resist
A bugger, yes, in many ways but a bugger with a twist
He understood his frailties, his penchant for the dames
He even wrote, confessed herein, his womanising name
Ye jovial boys who love the joys
The blissful joy of lovers;
Yet dare avow with dauntless brow
When th’ bonny lass discovers
Pray draw near and lend an ear
And welcome in a Prater
For I’ve lately been on quarantine
A proven fornicator
Now, for those words, we’d have to say, he must have been a cad
Until we read of other deeds and learn he wasn’t bad
Weak, oh yes, in many ways and that’s part of his charm
Our heroes loved because of faults and desire to do no harm
He unifies the common man, the common woman too
For who among us can lay claim to perfection? Me? Or you?
Rabbie owned his faults, and more, he gave us all permission
To be the weak but still aspire to fulfil our lifetime’s mission
I winna blaw about mysel
As ill I like my fauts to tell;
But friends, an folk that wish me well,
They sometimes roose me;
Tho I maun own, as monie still
As far abuse me.
There’s ae wee faut they whyles lay to me,
I like the lasses – Gude forgie me!
For monies a plack they wheedle frae me
At dance or fair;
Maybe some ither things they gie me,
They weel can spare.
I’ll move on now from faults he owned
At least he owned them well
He didn’t brag about pussy …..cats
On gold and wealth, he did not dwell
In fact, when young and bachelor
He formed a club of brothers
Diversion, relief for weary men
Worn down by life of labour
The rules were few, admittance clear
Young men of honest hearts
No dirty, mean or self-conceited
Welcome in these parts
A lover too of fairer sex
Of one or more professed
No miserly, mean-spirited
Good men and nothing less
Such aspirations filled his work
His ode unto a mouse
Reveals compassion at his heart
And even to that louse
That crawled on haughty head of one
She who sat with airs and graces
While beastie ventured where it ought not
On ladylike at praises
And as for Rabbie, spying this
This heresy, ye gods!
An infestation out of place
He was not lost for words
O wad some Power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as ithers see us!
It wad frae mony a blunder free us,
An’ foolish notion:
What airs in dress an’ gait wad lea’e us, An’ ev’n devotion!
How many here can honestly say
Hand on heart from all
There’s not a certain satisfaction
When the mighty, pride-filled fall
In demographics of this land
Oor Rab would be at base
And a huge percentage round the globe
Are also in that place
Could it be that Rabbie Burns
Is seen as common link
A working man, salt of the earth
But a man of words who thinks
And knows that women, mice and men
And even worst of louse
Deserve some recognition
A job, a meal, a house
If he were here this day, today
He’d even take his words to Twitter
He’d fire off some grand one-liners
Sad! But not orange, weird and bitter
He’d fight the fight, he’d walk the talk
That’s recognised worldwide
And side by side, he’d stand by men
And women with gay pride
He’d fight for justice, liberty
He’d watch the bastions fall
I know this, perhaps you do
Oor Rabbie got it all
Then let us pray that come it may
As come it will for a’ that
That sense and worth o’er a’the earth
Shall bear the gree for a’ that
For a’ that and a’ that
It’s comin’ yet for a’ that
That man to man the world o’er
shall brithers be for a’ that.
That’s fighting talk with full intent
That’s action writ right there
A man, okay, who liked some skirt
But a man who, first, was fair
He felt the hunger, saw the need
Espied the traitors, knew their greed
Condemned the lorded fealty to power o’er us
He knew! And wrote this chorus
What force or guile could not subdue,
Thro’ many warlike ages,
Is wrought now by a coward few
For hireling traitor wages.
The English steel we could disdain,
Secure in valour’s station.
But English gold has been our bane,
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation.
“oh would that I had seen the day
when treason thus could sell us
my ain grey head had laid in clay
with Bruce and noble Wallace
But pith and pow’r to my last hour
I’ll make this declaration
we are bought and sold for English gold
such a parcel of rogues in the nation
And put to verse some words for Bruce
To rouse a nation’s spirit
Self-governance and self-determined
Oh rousing’s written in it!
Wha will be a traitor knave
wha can fill a coward’s grave
wha sae base as be a slave
let him turn and flee
Wha for Scotland’s king and law
Freedom’s sword will strongly draw.
Freeman stand, or freeman fa’
let him follow me.
Rabbie knew what we all know
That common man is screwed
He penned it then, long years ago
And still, by fuck, it’s true
A working man, a man of hope
Of weakness, born to land
In nature and experience
A man who took a stand
To die upon a bed so young
Not a fiver to his name
But to live forever in hearts and minds
That shall be his claim to fame
A man of words, a man of soul
Knew education’s worth
And elevated Scots worldwide
By virtue of his birth
So to this day, in January
In the year of 2017
The wisdom of that poet then
Holds good, for truth is seen
I understand though never knew
The man behind the words
So here’s tae Rabbie, tae Scotland’s bard
May our souls, he always stir
Ladies and gentlemen, lads and lassies,
Charge your glasses please
To the Immortal Memory of Robert Burns!
Who got up aff his knees!
Is that a gauntlet I see before me? The gloves are aff.
scottishmomus 