The Poetical Works of Robert Burns/A Dream
For other versions of this work, see A Dream (Burns).
A DREAM.
Thoughts, words and deeds, the Statute blames with reason;
But surely Dreams were ne'er indicted Treason.
But surely Dreams were ne'er indicted Treason.
[On reading, in the public papers, the Laureates Ode, with the other parade of June 4, 1786, the author was no sooner dropt asleep, than he imagined himself transported to the Birth-day Levee; and in his dreaming fancy, made the following Address.]
Guid-mornin to your Majesty!
May heaven augment your blisses,
On ev'ry new birth-day ye see;
A humble Bardie wishes!
My Bardship here, at your Levee,
On sic a day as this is,
Is sure an uncouth sight to see,
Amang thae Birth-day dresses
Sae fine this day.
May heaven augment your blisses,
On ev'ry new birth-day ye see;
A humble Bardie wishes!
My Bardship here, at your Levee,
On sic a day as this is,
Is sure an uncouth sight to see,
Amang thae Birth-day dresses
Sae fine this day.
I see ye're complimented thrang,
By many a lord an' lady;
'God save the King!' 's a cuckoo sang
That's unco easy said ay;
The Poets, too, a venal gang,
Wi' rhymes weel turn'd and ready,
Wad gar you trow ye ne'er do wrang,
But ay unerring steady,
On sic a day.
By many a lord an' lady;
'God save the King!' 's a cuckoo sang
That's unco easy said ay;
The Poets, too, a venal gang,
Wi' rhymes weel turn'd and ready,
Wad gar you trow ye ne'er do wrang,
But ay unerring steady,
On sic a day.
For me! before a Monarch's face,
Ev'n there I winna flatter;
For neither pension, post, nor place,
Am I your humble debtor:
So, nae reflection on Your Grace,
Your Kingship to bespatter;
There's monie waur been o' the Race,
And aiblins ane been better
Than You this day.
Ev'n there I winna flatter;
For neither pension, post, nor place,
Am I your humble debtor:
So, nae reflection on Your Grace,
Your Kingship to bespatter;
There's monie waur been o' the Race,
And aiblins ane been better
Than You this day.
'Tis very true, my sovereign King,
My skill may weel be doubted:
But Facts are chiels that winna ding,
An' downa be disputed:
Your Royal nest, beneath your wing,
Is e'en right reft an' clouted,
And now the third part of the string,
An' less, will gang about it
Than did ae day.
My skill may weel be doubted:
But Facts are chiels that winna ding,
An' downa be disputed:
Your Royal nest, beneath your wing,
Is e'en right reft an' clouted,
And now the third part of the string,
An' less, will gang about it
Than did ae day.
Far be't frae me that I aspire
To blame your legislation,
Or say, ye wisdom want, or fire,
To rule this mighty nation;
But, faith! I muckle doubt, my Sire,
Ye've trusted Ministration
To chaps, wha, in a barn or byre,
Wad better fill'd their station
Than courts yon day.
To blame your legislation,
Or say, ye wisdom want, or fire,
To rule this mighty nation;
But, faith! I muckle doubt, my Sire,
Ye've trusted Ministration
To chaps, wha, in a barn or byre,
Wad better fill'd their station
Than courts yon day.
And now ye've gien auld Britain peace,
Her broken shins to plaister;
Your sair taxation does her fleece
Till she has scarce a tester;
For me, thank God, my life's a lease
Nae bargain wearing faster,
Or, faith! I fear that with the geese,
I shortly boost to pasture
I'the craft some day.
Her broken shins to plaister;
Your sair taxation does her fleece
Till she has scarce a tester;
For me, thank God, my life's a lease
Nae bargain wearing faster,
Or, faith! I fear that with the geese,
I shortly boost to pasture
I'the craft some day.
I'm no mistrusting Willie Pitt,
When taxes he enlarges,
(An' Will's a true guid fallow's get,
A name not envy spairges,)
That he intends to pay your debt,
An' lessen a' your charges;
But, God's sake! let nae saving-fit
Abridge your bonie barges
An' boats this day.
When taxes he enlarges,
(An' Will's a true guid fallow's get,
A name not envy spairges,)
That he intends to pay your debt,
An' lessen a' your charges;
But, God's sake! let nae saving-fit
Abridge your bonie barges
An' boats this day.
Adieu, my Liege! may freedom geck
Beneath your high protection;
An' may Ye rax Corruption's neck,
And gie her for dissection!
But since I'm here, I'll no neglect,
In loyal, true affection,
To pay your Queen, with due respect,
My fealty an' subjection
This great Birth-day.
Beneath your high protection;
An' may Ye rax Corruption's neck,
And gie her for dissection!
But since I'm here, I'll no neglect,
In loyal, true affection,
To pay your Queen, with due respect,
My fealty an' subjection
This great Birth-day.
Hail, Majesty most Excellent!
While nobles strive to please Ye,
Will Ye accept a compliment
A simple Bardie gies Ye?
Thae bonny bairntime Heav'n has lent,
Still higher may they heeze ye
In bliss, till Fate some day is sent,
For ever to release Ye
Frae care that day.
While nobles strive to please Ye,
Will Ye accept a compliment
A simple Bardie gies Ye?
Thae bonny bairntime Heav'n has lent,
Still higher may they heeze ye
In bliss, till Fate some day is sent,
For ever to release Ye
Frae care that day.
For you, young Potentate o' Wales,
I tell your Highness fairly,
Down Pleasure's stream, wi' swelling sails
I'm tauld ye're driving rarely;
But some day ye may gnaw your nails,
An' curse your folly sairly,
That ere ye brak Diana's pales,
Or rattl'd dice wi' Charlie
By night or day.
I tell your Highness fairly,
Down Pleasure's stream, wi' swelling sails
I'm tauld ye're driving rarely;
But some day ye may gnaw your nails,
An' curse your folly sairly,
That ere ye brak Diana's pales,
Or rattl'd dice wi' Charlie
By night or day.
Yet aft a ragged cowt's been known
To mak a noble aiver;
Sae, ye may doucely till a Throne,
For a' their clish-ma-claver:
There, Him at Agincourt wha shone,
Few better were or braver;
And yet, wi' funny, queer Sir John,
He was an unco shaver
For monie a day.
To mak a noble aiver;
Sae, ye may doucely till a Throne,
For a' their clish-ma-claver:
There, Him at Agincourt wha shone,
Few better were or braver;
And yet, wi' funny, queer Sir John,
He was an unco shaver
For monie a day.
For you, right rev'rend Osnaburg,
Nane sets the lawn-sleeve sweeter,
Altho' a ribban at your lug
Wad been a dress completer:
As ye disown yon paughty dog
That bears the Keys of Peter,
Then, swith! an' get a wife to hug,
Or, trouth! ye'll stain the Mitre
Some luckless day.
Nane sets the lawn-sleeve sweeter,
Altho' a ribban at your lug
Wad been a dress completer:
As ye disown yon paughty dog
That bears the Keys of Peter,
Then, swith! an' get a wife to hug,
Or, trouth! ye'll stain the Mitre
Some luckless day.
Young, royal Tarry Breeks, I learn,
Ye've lately come athwart her;
A glorious galley, stem and stern,
Weel rigg'd for Venus' barter;
But first hang out, that she'll discern
Your hymeneal charter,
Then heave aboard your grapple airn
An', large upon her quarter,
Come full that day.
Ye've lately come athwart her;
A glorious galley, stem and stern,
Weel rigg'd for Venus' barter;
But first hang out, that she'll discern
Your hymeneal charter,
Then heave aboard your grapple airn
An', large upon her quarter,
Come full that day.
Ye, lastly, bonie blossoms a',
Ye royal Lasses dainty,
Heav'n mak you guid as weel as braw,
An' gie you lads a-plenty:
But sneer na British boys awa',
For Kings are unco scant ay;
An' German Gentles are but sma',
They're better just than want ay
On onie day.
Ye royal Lasses dainty,
Heav'n mak you guid as weel as braw,
An' gie you lads a-plenty:
But sneer na British boys awa',
For Kings are unco scant ay;
An' German Gentles are but sma',
They're better just than want ay
On onie day.
God bless you a'! consider now
Ye're unco muckle dautet;
But, ere the course o' life be through,
It may be bitter sautet:
An' I hae seen their coggie fou,
That yet hae tarrow't at it;
But or the day was done, I trow,
The laggen they hae clautet
Fu' clean that day.
Ye're unco muckle dautet;
But, ere the course o' life be through,
It may be bitter sautet:
An' I hae seen their coggie fou,
That yet hae tarrow't at it;
But or the day was done, I trow,
The laggen they hae clautet
Fu' clean that day.