A DREAM. Robert Burns Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T91548 Burns, Robert, 1759-1796. POEMS, CHIEFLY IN THE SCOTTISH DIALECT, BY ROBERT BURNS. Kilmarnock printed by John Wilson, M,DCC,LXXXVI. 1786 pp. 79-86. 240p.; 8⁰.

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A DREAM . Thoughts , words and deeds , the Statute blames with reason ; But surely Dreams were ne'er indicted Treason .

ON READING , IN THE PUBLIC PAPERS , THE LAUREATE'S ODE , WITH THE OTHER PARADE OF JUNE 4th , 1786 , THE AUTHOR WAS NO SOONER DROPT ASLEEP , THAN HE IMAGINED HIMSELF TRANSPORTED TO THE BIRTHDAY LEVEE ; AND , IN HIS DREAMING FANCY , MADE THE FOLLOWING ADDRESS .

I. GUID-MORNIN to your MAJESTY ! May heaven augment your blisses , On ev'ry new Birth-day ye see , A humble Bardie wishes ! My Bardship here , at your Levee , On sic a day as this is , Is sure an uncouth sight to see , Amang thae Birth-day dresses Sae fine this day . II . I see ye're complimented thrang , By many a lord an' lady ; " God save the King " 's a cukoo sang That's unco easy said ay : The Poets too , a venal gang , Wi' rhymes weel-turn'd an' ready , Wad gar you trow ye ne'er do wrang , But ay unerring steady , On sic a day . III . For me ! before a Monarch's face , Ev'n there I winna flatter ; For neither Pension , Post , nor Place , Am I your humble debtor : So , nae reflection on YOUR GRACE , Your Kingship to bespatter ; There's monie waur been o' the Race , And aiblins ane been better Than You this day . IV . 'Tis very true , my sovereign King , My skill may weel be doubted ; But Facts are cheels that winna ding , An' downa be disputed : Your royal nest , beneath Your wing , Is e'en right reft an' clouted , And now the third part o' the string , An' less , will gang about it Than did ae day . V. Far be't frae me that I aspire To blame your Legislation , Or say , ye wisdom want , or fire , To rule this mighty nation ; But faith ! I muckle doubt , my SIRE , Ye've trusted 'Ministration , To chaps , wha , in a barn or byre , Wad better fill'd their station Than courts yon day . VI . And now Ye've gien auld Britain peace , Her broken shins to plaister ; Your fair taxation does her fleece , Till she has scarce a tester : For me , thank God , my life's a lease , Nae bargain wearing faster , Or faith ! I fear , that , wi' the geese , I shortly boost to pasture I' the craft some day . VII . I'm no mistrusting Willie Pit , When taxes he enlarges , ( An' Will's a true guid fallow's get , A Name not Envy spairges ) That he intends to pay your debt , An' lessen a' your charges ; But , G — d-sake ! let nae saving-fit Abridge your bonie Barges An' Boats this day . VIII . Adieu , my LIEGE ! may Freedom geck Beneath your high protection ; An' may Ye rax Corruption's neck , And gie her for dissection ! But since I'm here , I'll no neglect , In loyal , true affection , To pay your QUEEN , with due respect , My fealty an' fubjection This great Birth-day . IX . Hail , Majesty most Excellent ! While Nobles strive to please Ye , Will Ye accept a Compliment , A simple Bardie gies Ye ? Thae bonie Bairntime , Heav'n has lent , Still higher may they heeze Ye In bliss , till Fate some day is sent , For ever to release Ye Frae Care that day . X. For you , young Potentate o' W — , I tell your Highness fairly , Down Pleasure's stream , wi' swelling sails , I'm tauld ye're driving rarely ; But some day ye may gnaw your nails , An' curse your folly sairly , That e'er ye brak Diana's pales , Or rattl'd dice wi' Charlie By night or day . XI . Yet aft a ragged Cowte's been known , To mak a noble Aiver ; So , ye may dousely fill a Throne , For a' their clish-ma-claver : There , Him at Agincourt wha shone , Few better were or braver ; And yet , wi' funny , queer Sir Sir John Falstaff , Vide Shakespeare . John , He was an unco shaver For monie a day . XII . For you , right rev'rend O — — , Nane sets the lawn-sleeve sweeter , Altho' a ribban at your lug Wad been a dress compleater : As ye disown yon paughty dog , That bears the Keys of Peter , Then swith ! an' get a wife to hug , Or trouth ! ye'll stain the Mitre Some luckless day , XIII . Young , royal TARRY-BREEKS , I learn , Ye've lately come athwart her ; A glorious Alluding to the Newspaper account of a certain royal Sailor's Amour . Galley , stem and stern , Weel rigg'd for Venus barter ; But first hang out that she'll discern Your hymeneal Charter , Then heave aboard your grapple airn , An' , large upon her quarter , Come full that day . XIV . Ye lastly , bonie blossoms a' , Ye royal Lasses dainty , Heav'n mak you guid as weel as braw , An' gie you lads a plenty : But sneer na British-boys awa ; For King's are unco scant ay , An' German-Gentles are but sma' , They're better just than want ay On onie day . XV. God bless you a' ! consider now , Ye're unco muckle dautet ; But ere the course o' life be through , It may be bitter sautet : An' I hae seen their coggie fou , That yet hae tarrow't at it , But or the day was done , I trow , The laggen they hae clautet Fu' clean that day .