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Poem by Robert Burns


Lines on an Interview with Lord Daer


This wot ye all whom it concerns,
I, Rhymer Robin, alias Burns,
    October twenty-third,
A neer to be forgotten day,
Sae far I sprachled up the brae,
    I dinnerd wi a Lord.

Ive been at drunken writers feasts,
Nay, been bitch-fou mang godly priests,
    Wi revrence be it spoken!
Ive even joind the honourd jorum,
When mighty Squireships of the quorum
    Their hydra drouth did sloken.

But wi a Lord-stand out my shin;
A Lord-a Peer-an Earls son,
    Up higher yet, my bonnet!
And sic a Lord!-lang Scotch ells twa,
Our Peerage he oerlooks them a,
    As I look oer my sonnet.

But O for Hogarths magic powr!
To show Sir Bardies willyart glowr,
    And how he stard and stammerd,
When govin, as if led wi branks,
An stumpin on his ploughman shanks,
    He in the parlour hammerd.

I sidling shelterd in a nook,
An at his Lordship stealt a look,
    Like some portentous omen;
Except good sense and social glee,
An (what surprised me) modesty,
    I marked nought uncommon.

I watchd the symptoms o the Great,
The gentle pride, the lordly state,
    The arrogant assuming;
The fient a pride, nae pride had he,
Nor sauce, nor state that I could see,
    Mair than an honest ploughman.

Then from his lordship I shall learn
Henceforth to meet with unconcern
    One rank as weels another;
Nae honest worthy man need care
To meet with noble youthful Daer,
    For he but meets a brother.



                      Robert Burns


Robert Burns's other poems:
  1. Mark Yonder Pomp
  2. By Allan Stream
  3. Theres News, Lasses
  4. Scroggam
  5. Theres a Youth in This City


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