The Beauties of Burn's Poems/Death and Doctor Hornbook
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For other versions of this work, see Death and Doctor Hornbook.
Death and Doctor Hornbook,
A TRUE STORY.
Some books are lies frae end to end,
And some great lies were never penn'd;
Ev'n Ministers they hae been ken'd,
In holy rapture,
A rousing whid, at times, to vend,
And nailt wi' Scripture.
And some great lies were never penn'd;
Ev'n Ministers they hae been ken'd,
In holy rapture,
A rousing whid, at times, to vend,
And nailt wi' Scripture.
But this that I am gaun to tell,
Which lately on a night befel,
Is just as true's the Diel's in hell,
Or Dublin-city:
That e'er he nearer comes oursel
's a muckle pity.
Which lately on a night befel,
Is just as true's the Diel's in hell,
Or Dublin-city:
That e'er he nearer comes oursel
's a muckle pity.
The Clachan yill had made me canty,
I wasna fou, but just had plenty;
I stacher'd whyles, but yet took tent ay
To free the ditches;
And hillocks, stanes, and bushes, kent ay
Frae ghaists and witches.
I wasna fou, but just had plenty;
I stacher'd whyles, but yet took tent ay
To free the ditches;
And hillocks, stanes, and bushes, kent ay
Frae ghaists and witches.
The rising moon began to glowr
The disrant Cumnock hills out-owre;
To count her horns, wi' a' my pow'r,
I set mysel;
But whether she had three or four,
I coudna tell
The disrant Cumnock hills out-owre;
To count her horns, wi' a' my pow'r,
I set mysel;
But whether she had three or four,
I coudna tell
I was come round about the hill,
And todlin down on Willie's mill,
Setting my staff wi' a' my skill,
To keep me sicker;
The' leeward whiles, against my will,
I took a bicker.
And todlin down on Willie's mill,
Setting my staff wi' a' my skill,
To keep me sicker;
The' leeward whiles, against my will,
I took a bicker.
I there wi' something did forgather,
That pat me in an eerie swither;
An awfu' scythe, out-owre ae shouther,
Clear dangling hang;
A three-taed leister on the ither
Lay, large and lang.
That pat me in an eerie swither;
An awfu' scythe, out-owre ae shouther,
Clear dangling hang;
A three-taed leister on the ither
Lay, large and lang.
It's stature seem'd lang Scotch ells twa,
The queerest shape that e'er I saw,
For fient a wame it had at ava;
And then it's shanks,
They were as thin, and sharp, and sma,
As cheeks o' branks.
The queerest shape that e'er I saw,
For fient a wame it had at ava;
And then it's shanks,
They were as thin, and sharp, and sma,
As cheeks o' branks.
Gude-een, quoʻI, Friend, hae ye been mawin,
When ither folk are busy sawin[1]?
It seem'd to mak a kind o' stan',
But naething spak:
At length says I, Friend, whare ye gaun?
Will ye gae back?
When ither folk are busy sawin[1]?
It seem'd to mak a kind o' stan',
But naething spak:
At length says I, Friend, whare ye gaun?
Will ye gae back?
It spak right howe—My name is Death—
But bena floyd.—Quoth I, Gude faith
Ye're maybe come to stap my breath!
But tent me, billie;
I red ye weel tak care o' skaith,
See, there's a gully!
But bena floyd.—Quoth I, Gude faith
Ye're maybe come to stap my breath!
But tent me, billie;
I red ye weel tak care o' skaith,
See, there's a gully!
Gudeman, quo' he, put up your whittle,
I'm no design'd to try its mettle;
But if I did, it was be kittle
To be mislear'd,
I wadina mind it, no that spittle
Out-owre my beard.
I'm no design'd to try its mettle;
But if I did, it was be kittle
To be mislear'd,
I wadina mind it, no that spittle
Out-owre my beard.
Weel, weel, says I, a bargain be't;
Come, gies your hand, and sae we're greet;
We'll ease our shanks and tak a seat:
Come gies your news;
This while[2] ye hae been mony a gate,
At mony a house.
Come, gies your hand, and sae we're greet;
We'll ease our shanks and tak a seat:
Come gies your news;
This while[2] ye hae been mony a gate,
At mony a house.
Ay, ay! quo he, and shook his head,
It's e'en a lang, lang time indeed,
Sin' I began to nick the thread,
And choke the breath:
Fock maun do something for their bread,
And she maun Death.
It's e'en a lang, lang time indeed,
Sin' I began to nick the thread,
And choke the breath:
Fock maun do something for their bread,
And she maun Death.
Six thousand years are nearhand fled,
Sin' I was to the batching bred;
And mony a scheme in vain's been laid
To stap or scar me;
Till ane Hornbook's[3] taen up the trade,
And faith he'll waur me.
Sin' I was to the batching bred;
And mony a scheme in vain's been laid
To stap or scar me;
Till ane Hornbook's[3] taen up the trade,
And faith he'll waur me.
Ye ken Jock Hornbook i' the Clachan,
Deit mak his king's-hood in a splenchan!
He's grown sae weel acquaint wi' Guchan[4],
And ither chaps,
The weans had cut their fingers, laughin,
And pouk my hips.
Deit mak his king's-hood in a splenchan!
He's grown sae weel acquaint wi' Guchan[4],
And ither chaps,
The weans had cut their fingers, laughin,
And pouk my hips.
See here's a scythe, and there's dart,
They hae pierc'd mony a gallant heart,
But Doctor Hornbook, wi' his art
And cursed skill,
Has made them baith no worth a f—t.
Damn'd haet they'll kill.
They hae pierc'd mony a gallant heart,
But Doctor Hornbook, wi' his art
And cursed skill,
Has made them baith no worth a f—t.
Damn'd haet they'll kill.
'Twas but yestreen, nae farther gane,
I threw a noble dart at ane,
Wi' less, I'm sure, I've hundreds slain;
But deil-ma-care,
It just play'd dirt on the bane,
But did nae mair.
I threw a noble dart at ane,
Wi' less, I'm sure, I've hundreds slain;
But deil-ma-care,
It just play'd dirt on the bane,
But did nae mair.
Hornbook wag by, wi' ready art
And had sae fortified the part
That when I looked to my dart,
It was sae blunt,
Fient haet o't wad hae pierce the heart
О'a kail-runt.
And had sae fortified the part
That when I looked to my dart,
It was sae blunt,
Fient haet o't wad hae pierce the heart
О'a kail-runt.
I drew my scythe in-sic a fury,
I near-hand cowpit wi' my hurry:
But yet the bauld Apothecary
Withstood the shock:
I might as weelhae tried a quarry
O' hard whin-rock.
I near-hand cowpit wi' my hurry:
But yet the bauld Apothecary
Withstood the shock:
I might as weelhae tried a quarry
O' hard whin-rock.
Ev'n them he canna get attended,
Altho' their face he ne'er had kend it,
Just-in a kail-blade, and send it,
As soon's he smells't,
Baith their disease, and what will mend it,
At ance be tells't.
Altho' their face he ne'er had kend it,
Just-in a kail-blade, and send it,
As soon's he smells't,
Baith their disease, and what will mend it,
At ance be tells't.
And then o' doctors' saws and whittlss,
Of a' dimensions, shapes, and mettles,
A' kinds o' boxes, mugs, and bottles,
He's sure to hae:
Their Latin names as fast he rattles,
As A, B, C.
Of a' dimensions, shapes, and mettles,
A' kinds o' boxes, mugs, and bottles,
He's sure to hae:
Their Latin names as fast he rattles,
As A, B, C.
Calces o' fossils, earths, and trees;
True sal-marinum o' the seas;
The farina of beans and pease;
He hast in plenty;
Aqua-fontis, what you please,
He can content ye.
True sal-marinum o' the seas;
The farina of beans and pease;
He hast in plenty;
Aqua-fontis, what you please,
He can content ye.
Forbye some new, uncommon weapons,
Urinus spiritus o' capons;
Or mite-horn shavings, filings, scrapings,
Distill'd per se;
Sal alkali o' midge-tail clippings,
And mony mae
Urinus spiritus o' capons;
Or mite-horn shavings, filings, scrapings,
Distill'd per se;
Sal alkali o' midge-tail clippings,
And mony mae
Waes me for Johnny God's hole[5] new,
Quoth I, if that thae news be true!
His braw calf-ward. whare gowans grew
Sae white and bonny,
Nae doubt they'll rive it wi' the plow;
They'll ruin Johnny!
Quoth I, if that thae news be true!
His braw calf-ward. whare gowans grew
Sae white and bonny,
Nae doubt they'll rive it wi' the plow;
They'll ruin Johnny!
The creature grain'd an eldritch laugh,
And says, Ye needa yoke the plough,
Kirkyards will soon be till'd enough,
Tak ye nae fear:
They'll a' be treach'd wi' mony a sheugh,
In twa-three year.
And says, Ye needa yoke the plough,
Kirkyards will soon be till'd enough,
Tak ye nae fear:
They'll a' be treach'd wi' mony a sheugh,
In twa-three year.
Whare I kill'd ane a fair strae death,
By loss o' blude, or want o' breath,
This night I'ın free to tak my aith,
That Hornbook's skill
Has clad a score i' their last claith,
By drap and pill.
By loss o' blude, or want o' breath,
This night I'ın free to tak my aith,
That Hornbook's skill
Has clad a score i' their last claith,
By drap and pill.
An honest, wabster to his trade,
Wha's wife's twa nieves were scarce weel-bred,
Gat tippence worth to mend her head,
When it was sair;
The wife slade cannie to her bed,
But ne'er spak mair!
Wha's wife's twa nieves were scarce weel-bred,
Gat tippence worth to mend her head,
When it was sair;
The wife slade cannie to her bed,
But ne'er spak mair!
A countra Laird had taen the bats,
Or some curmurring in his gats,
His only son for Hornbook sets,
And pays him well;
The lad, for twa gude gimmer pets,
Was Laird himsel.
Or some curmurring in his gats,
His only son for Hornbook sets,
And pays him well;
The lad, for twa gude gimmer pets,
Was Laird himsel.
A bonny lase, ye ken her name,
Some in-brewn drink had hov'd her wame,
She trusts hersel, to hide the shame,
In Hornbook's care:
Horn sent her aff to her lang hame,
To hide it there.
Some in-brewn drink had hov'd her wame,
She trusts hersel, to hide the shame,
In Hornbook's care:
Horn sent her aff to her lang hame,
To hide it there.
That's just a swatch of Hornbook's way;
Thus goes he on from day to day,
Thus does he poison, kill, and slay,
An's weel paid for't:
Yet stops me of my lawfu' prey,
Wi' his d-n'd dirt.
Thus goes he on from day to day,
Thus does he poison, kill, and slay,
An's weel paid for't:
Yet stops me of my lawfu' prey,
Wi' his d-n'd dirt.
But hark! I'll tell you o' a plot,
Tho' dinna ye be speaking o't,
I'll nail the self-conceited sot
As dead's a herrin;
Neist time we meet, I'll wad a groat,
He gets his fairin,
Tho' dinna ye be speaking o't,
I'll nail the self-conceited sot
As dead's a herrin;
Neist time we meet, I'll wad a groat,
He gets his fairin,
But just as he began to tell,
The auld kirk hammer strak the bell,
Some wee short hour ayont the twal,
Which rais'd us baith.
I took the way that pleas'd mysel.
And see did Death.
The auld kirk hammer strak the bell,
Some wee short hour ayont the twal,
Which rais'd us baith.
I took the way that pleas'd mysel.
And see did Death.
- ↑ This reincourter happened in Seed-time, 1785,
- ↑ An epidemical fever was then raging in that country.
- ↑ This Gentleman, Dr. Hornbook, is professionably a brother of the Sovereign Order of the Ferula; but, by intuition and inspiration, is at once an Apothecary, Surgeon, and Physician.
- ↑ Buchan's Domestic Medicines
- ↑ The Grave-digger.