Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/To Robert Burns

To Robert Burns.

There was an impression abroad during one period of Burns' career, that his rustic manners were assumed, and that the statement of his being a plain, untutored ploughman was a mere trick of the trade.

 

"'Tis education makes the genius bright."

Rab, when ye crack about the nine,And how to you they hae been kin',By helpin' ay your day to shine      Wi' weel waled wordies,Then ye work up a tale o'er fine      For Scottish worthies.

Though prints, newspapers, and reviews,Frae time to time may still you rooze,And say ye're heaven-taught, and your views      Are unco fair,And a' your ain, gi'en by the muse      On banks o' Ayr.

In faith, for a' the sough you've madeI doubt ye are some sleeket bladeThat never handled shool, or spade,      Or huik, or plough,But, for bauld ends, would hae that said      For praise to you.

You've surely noticed this yoursel'—Afore we read we ay maun spell,An' till cock-chuckie brak' the spell      Whar he is hidden,He canna craw a momin' knell      Upo' the middin.

If grain ye t'ither month did saw,Ye ken, a while 'twas smoored in snaw, An' simmer suns maun gar that blaw     Which now is breerin',Ere autumn's yellowed leaf can shaw     Ought hae't for shearin'.

Nae learnèd Frenchifièd scrap,Through Mauchline's furrows ere could saep,Nor, winnowing i' your barn, escape     A bland o' Latin;Sae a' your wark's been put to gap—     Your bread's been baken.

You've yoked your horse ahint your cart,Sae tak' advice, its weel your pairtTo own what solid lore ye lear't     And whare were bred.There's nane now born maister o' art,     Or manna fed.

I'm no for riving aff your browThe laurel folks hae thocht your due,But gin a while you left the plough     T' 'tend the college,Why should you smore the thing that's true,     Wi' a' your knowledge? 1787.