Complete Songs Of Robert Burns - online book

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Tune : AuId Sir Symon [Pills to Purge Melancholy, 1719, iii. p. 143.]
Sir Wisdom's a fool when he's fou ;
Sir Knave is a fool in a session, He's there but a prentice I trow,
But I am a fool by profession.
My grannie she bought me a beuk, An* I held awa to the school;
I fear I my talent misteuk,
But what will ye hae of a fool ?
For drink I would venture my neck;
A hizzie 's the half of my craft; But what could ye other expect
Of ane that's avowedly daft ?
I ance was tied up like a stirk
For civilly swearing and quaffing ;
I ance was abus'd i' the kirk For towsing a laSs i' my daffin.
Poor Andrew that tumbles for sport Let naebody name wi' a jeer :
There's even, I'm tauld, i' the Court A tumbler ca'd the Premier.
Observ'd ye yon reverend lad Mak faces to tickle the mob ;
He rails at our mountebank squad,— It's rivalship just i' the job !
And now my conclusion I'll tell, For faith ! I'm confoundedly dry;
The chiel that's a fool for himgel, Gude Lord! he's far dafter than I.
[No. 249.]
Then niest outspak a raucle carlin, Wha kent fu' weel to cleek the sterlin; For mony a pursie she had hooked, An' had in mony a well been douked. Her love had been a Highland laddie, But weary fa' the waefu' woodie! Wi' Sighs an' sobs she thus began To wail her braw John Highlandman:—