Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Robert Burns (1759–1796). Poems and Songs.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.

116 . On a Scotch Bard, gone to the West Indies

A’ YE wha live by sowps o’ drink,

A’ ye wha live by crambo-clink,

A’ ye wha live and never think,

Come, mourn wi’ me!

Our billie ’s gien us a’ a jink,

An’ owre the sea!

Lament him a’ ye rantin core,

Wha dearly like a random splore;

Nae mair he’ll join the merry roar;

In social key;

For now he’s taen anither shore.

An’ owre the sea!

The bonie lasses weel may wiss him,

And in their dear petitions place him:

The widows, wives, an’ a’ may bless him

Wi’ tearfu’ e’e;

For weel I wat they’ll sairly miss him

That’s owre the sea!

O Fortune, they hae room to grumble!

Hadst thou taen aff some drowsy bummle,

Wha can do nought but fyke an’ fumble,

’Twad been nae plea;

But he was gleg as ony wumble,

That’s owre the sea!

Auld, cantie Kyle may weepers wear,

An’ stain them wi’ the saut, saut tear;

’Twill mak her poor auld heart, I fear,

In flinders flee:

He was her Laureat mony a year,

That’s owre the sea!

He saw Misfortune’s cauld nor-west

Lang mustering up a bitter blast;

A jillet brak his heart at last,

Ill may she be!

So, took a berth afore the mast,

An’ owre the sea.

To tremble under Fortune’s cummock,

On a scarce a bellyfu’ o’ drummock,

Wi’ his proud, independent stomach,

Could ill agree;

So, row’t his hurdies in a hammock,

An’ owre the sea.

He ne’er was gien to great misguidin,

Yet coin his pouches wad na bide in;

Wi’ him it ne’er was under hiding;

He dealt it free:

The Muse was a’ that he took pride in,

That’s owre the sea.

Jamaica bodies, use him weel,

An’ hap him in cozie biel:

Ye’ll find him aye a dainty chiel,

An’ fou o’ glee:

He wad na wrang’d the vera deil,

That’s owre the sea.

Farewell, my rhyme-composing billie!

Your native soil was right ill-willie;

But may ye flourish like a lily,

Now bonilie!

I’ll toast you in my hindmost gillie,

Tho’ owre the sea!