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Poem by John Skinner On Burns’ Address to a Louse [Note: These verses were written at the suggestion of a lady who did not like Burns’ address to the “crawlin ferlie” which he saw on a lady’s bonnet in the church of Mauchline.] A Lousie on a lady’s bonnet! Disgracefu’ dirgy! fie upon it! An’ you, forsooth, to write a sonnet On sic a theme! Guid fa’ me, man, I wad na done it For a’ your fame. Nae doubt your ballad’s wise and witty; But fowks will say it was na pretty To yoke sic twa in conjunct ditty, Them baith to hit; And ca’ you but a twa-fac’d nitty, Wi’ a’ your wit. For a’ your being a bard of note, Ye shou’d na minded sic a mote, To mak’ a warl’s wonner o’t, As ye hae dane; But past it for an orra spot, Whare’t shou’d na been. Your philosophic fitty fies, Tho’ clad in sweet poetic guise, The ladies will them a’ despise, Gin ye express The least rebaghle ony wise Upo’ their dress. When ye bemoan’d the herryt mousie, Rinning as gin’t had been frae pousie; When couter-nib down-stroy’d her housie, Ye pleas’d us a’; But thus to lilt about a lousie, Black be your fa’! What tho’ at godly Ayrshire meeting, Sic thing had happen’d past dispeeting, Was that eneugh to fa’ a writing About a story, That ladies canna hear repeating Wi’ ony glory? Its nae mows matter, man, to jibe, Your jeer-cuts at the sweet-fac’d tribe; Their charms will ay some body bribe To tak’ side wi’ them, Whan chiels like you set up to scribe O’er freely o’ them. The bonny Duchess, seil upon her! That’s heez’d you up to a’ your honour, And been to you sae braw a Donor, May say “what raiks!” And think ye’ve flung some wee dishonour At a’ the sex. Fouk wad do well to steek their een, At sights that shou’d na a’ be seen, Or whan they see, lat jokes alane, Gin they had sense; For little jokes hae aften gi’en Fell great offence. I’se warran’ ye hae read or heard, Of an ald hairum-skairum bard, Saw anes a sight was as ill-fawrd*, As your’s cou’d be; An for his sight got sma’ reward, And sae may ye. Sae, Robie Burns, tak’ tent in time, And keep mair haivins wi’ your rhyme, Else you may come to rue the crime O’ sic a sonnet, And wiss ye had ne’er seen a styme O’ Louse nor Bonnet. * “Cur aliquid vidi, cur noxia lumina feci?” – Ovid. John Skinner John Skinner's other poems:
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