AGNES BROWN & HER SON, ROBERT BURNS
(An imaginary discourse between the two before lunch in the year 1785)
Oh Robert yer eyes are roond like the full moon
Orbs o’ brilliant owl-like wisdom, neath yer broo
Tis thoughts o’ revolution that tears yer honest heart
Ye masit hud back, ma lad, lay off the yokin’ noo
Ah didna fache ma limmer, Ma
Yer eydent clashmaclavers
Ah spak my mind an pour it oot
The glakit skyrin’ havers.
But Lad ye ken they like yer verse
When fain, pastoral an yoking
Bit ye have caused the feathers fly
Wi all The Right o’ Women.
Ah tell ye Mam, the time will come
As come it will, for a’ that
The carlin buirdly female race
Will heed the call an a’ that
For a’ this and for a’ that
Yer daffin Robert, daffin
The crack o them that keeps thir lear
Will smile an no be laughin.
Then let them smile, I’ll hear no mou
An let them fill thir spleuchan
An sae I’ll pen just noo fur them
Such a Parcel o Rogues in a Nation.
Gie us mair o they farmin rhymes
Wee sleekit courin beastie
Sheugh they saucy houghmagandie splore
An come by fain an’ sonsie
The Fornicator is a lad’s leeze
The lasses like it laithfu
It stems fae thought ma gash mind
It does nae mean unfaithful
Ye tease me Robert gawsie
Why Should na Poor Folk mowe
If by yer gleg an’shaver howk
Lang may they tak a gude mowe!
Ha’ whar ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie?
The beastie taks ma mind
Such crambo-jingle maun trow
A crouse an guie crak find.
Ye, who yer lovely offspring eyes
With tender hopes and fears
Be blessed wi maither’s joys
And spare a maither’s tears.
Noo a’ this ram-stam gleg complainin’
Will tire us baith an mak us glunch
Come here ma Maither let’s call a truce
Sit doon an hae yer lunch.
A TRANSLATION
TRANSLATION
AGNES BROWN & HER SON ROBERT BURNS
(An imaginary discourse between the two before lunch)
Oh Robert your eyes are like the full moon
Orbs of brilliant owl-like wisdom beneath your brow
It’s the thoughts of Revolution that tears at your honest heart
You must hold back, my son, lay off the contesting now
Oh do not worry me my woman, Ma
Your diligent tittle-tattle
I speak my mind and share it out
The foolish flaunting nonsense
But Lad, you know they like your verse
When content, pastoral and contesting
But you have caused the feathers to fly
With All the Rights of Women.
Tell me tell you Ma, the time will come
As come it will, for sure
The stately old of the female sex
Will take note of the call when it comes.
For all this and all that comes to mind,
You are fooling Robert, fooling
The gossip of them that keep their learning
Will smile but will not laugh
Then let them smile, I’ll hear no more from their mouths
And let them fill up their tobacco pouches!
And tell them, I’ll write, just for them
Such a Parcel of Rouges in a Nation!
Give us more of your pastoral rhymes
Wee Sleekit courin beastie
Ditch those saucy sexual frolics
Bring contentment and comely verse forward
The Fornicator is a lad’s delight
The ladies prefer it bashful
It comes from my content and comely thoughts
It does not mean unfaithful.
You are teasing me much Robert
Why should poor folk not fornicate?
If by your smart-witted and young wag dig
Long may they talk of good love making.
Ha! Where are you going, you creeping wonder?
The beastie takes my mind
Such doggerel must believe
Merry and good chatter is a find
You, whose lovely offspring eyes
With tender hopes and fears
Be blessed with a Mother’s joys
And spare a Mother’s tears
Now all this headstrong smart-witted complaining
Will tire us both and make us look sullen
Come to me Mother, let’s call a truce
Sit down and lets have some lunch.
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