Robert Burns | Page 7

138
Weary Pund o' Tow, The
147
Wha Is that at My Bower Door?

156
What Can a Young Lassie
142
Whistle, and I'll Come to Ye, My Lad
132
Will Ye Go to the Indies, My Mary?
40
Willie Brew'd a Peck o' Maut
238
Willie's Wife
156
Ye Banks and Braes (two versions)
130
Yestreen I Had a Pint o' Wine
104

CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I BIOGRAPHY 1
0. Alloway, Mount Oliphant, and Lochlea 3
. Mossgiel 31
. Edinburgh 44
. Ellisland 58
. Dumfries 62
II INHERITANCE: LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE 69
III BURNS AND SCOTTISH SONG 90
IV SATIRES AND EPISTLES 171
V DESCRIPTIVE AND NARRATIVE POETRY 206
VI CONCLUSION 310
INDEX 325
ROBERT BURNS

BURNS
CHAPTER I
BIOGRAPHY
"I have not the most distant pretence to what the pye-coated guardians
of Escutcheons call a Gentleman. When at Edinburgh last winter, I got
acquainted at the Herald's office; and looking thro' the granary of
honors, I there found almost every name in the kingdom; but for me,
My ancient but ignoble blood
Has crept thro' scoundrels since the
flood.
Gules, purpure, argent, etc., quite disowned me. My forefathers rented
land of the famous, noble Keiths of Marshal, and had the honor to share
their fate. I do not use the word 'honor' with any reference to political
principles: _loyal_ and _disloyal_ I take to be merely relative terms in
that ancient and formidable court known in this country by the name of
'club-law.' Those who dare welcome Ruin and shake hands with Infamy,
for what they believe sincerely to be the cause of their God or their
King, are--as Mark Antony in _Shakspear_ says of Brutus and
Cassius--'honorable men.' I mention this circumstance because it threw
my Father on the world at large; where, after many years' wanderings
and sojournings, he picked up a pretty large quantity of observation and
experience, to which I am indebted for most of my pretensions to
Wisdom. I have met with few who understood Men, their manners and
their ways, equal to him; but stubborn, ungainly Integrity, and headlong,
ungovernable Irascibility, are disqualifying circumstances;
consequently, I was born, a very poor man's son."
"You can now, Sir, form a pretty near guess of what sort of Wight he is,
whom for some time you have honored with your
correspondence.
That Whim and Fancy, keen sensibility and riotous passions, may still
make him zig-zag in his future path of life is very probable; but, come
what will, I shall answer for him--the most determinate integrity and
honor [shall ever characterise him]; and though his evil star should
again blaze in his meridian with tenfold more direful influence, he may

reluctantly tax friendship with pity, but no more."
These two paragraphs form respectively the beginning and the end of a
long autobiographical letter written by Robert Burns to Doctor John
Moore, physician and novelist. At the time they were composed, the
poet had just returned to his native county after the triumphant season
in Edinburgh