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Poem by Robert Burns


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No churchman am I for to rail and to write,
No statesman nor soldier to plot or to fight,
No sly man of business contriving a snare,
For a big-bellied bottles the whole of my care.

The peer I dont envy, I give him his bow;
I scorn not the peasant, tho ever so low;
But a club of good fellows, like those that are there,
And a bottle like this, are my glory and care.

Here passes the squire on his brother-his horse;
There centum per centum, the cit with his purse;
But see you the Crown how it waves in the air?
There a big-bellied bottle still eases my care.

The wife of my bosom, alas! she did die:
For sweet consolation to church I did fly;
I found that old Solomon proved it fair,
That the big-bellied bottles a cure for all care.

I once was persuaded a venture to make;
A letter informd me that all was to wreck;
But the pursy old landlord just waddled up stairs
With a glorious bottle that ended my cares.

Lifes cares they are comforts, a maxim laid down
By the bard, what dye call him? that wore the black gown,
And, faith, I agree with th old prig to a hair,
For a big-bellied bottles a heavn of a care.

        (Added in a Mason Lodge)

Then fill up a bumper, and make it oerflow,
And honours masonic prepare for to throw;
May every true brother of the compass and square
Have a big-bellied bottle when harassd with care.

1782

Robert Burns


Robert Burns's other poems:
  1. John Bushbys Lamentation. Third Ballad
  2. The Heron Ballads. First Ballad
  3. The Election. Second Ballad
  4. An Excellent New Song. Fourth Ballad (May 1796)
  5. When Guildford Good Our Pilot Stood


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