Poem by John Dun

The Deil’s Answer to His Verra Friend, Robert Burns

So, zealous Robin, stout an’ fell — 
True champion for the cause of Hell — 
Thou beats the righteous down pell-mell;—
	Sae from an’ forthy, 
That o’ a seat where Devils dwell
	There’s nane mair worthy

Gif thou gang on the gate thou’s gaun, 
Ilk fearless fiend shall by thee stan’, 
That bows aneath my high comman’:
	Sae, be ïàå frightet. 
For I shall send my helpin’ ban’
	To see thee rightet.

Thou doee as weel’s oould be expectit 
O’ ane wha’e wit lay lang neglected, 
Some godly folk your rhyme I trow
	Ca’ worthless blether; 
But be na fear’t, ye’s get your due
	When we forgether.

Sae fear’t I’m for the gospel gun: 
To see my frien’s I canna win; 
But tell sic chiels as you, my son,
	I’ll see them soon, 
An’ thee, an’ me’e hae curious fun
	Ere a’ be done.

The Endor Witch wha liv’d lang eyne 
Was a richt honest freen o’ mine. 
An’ Hainan, wha in tale shall shine
	For zeal an’ spite; 
But nane o’ them did feats like thine
	In black and white.

As Judas, too, richt bauld an’ leal, 
Wha served wi’ perfect heart the Deil, 
An’ play’d his part I’m sure as weel
	As ony breathing; 
Till ance he hanged himsel’ puir chiel,
	But that was naething.

In Hell when I read owre your sang, 
Where rhymes cam’ thund’rin’ wi’ a bang, 
Quoth I, trouth I’e see Rab or lang,
	An’ that’s be seen, 
Giff Nick should on me ride the stang
	To Aberdeen.

Now, Rab, my lad, cheer up thy saul, 
In Goechen thou shalt tent thy faul, 
An’ giff thou’s aye as stout an’ baul
	As I’m a Deil, 
Thou’s no give up till thou’e right aul’,
	Sae fare thee weel.

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