ON A SCOTCH BARD GONE TO THE WEST INDIES. 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. 181-184. 240p.; 8⁰.

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ON A SCOTCH BARD GONE TO THE WEST INDIES . A' Ye wha live by sowps o' drink , A' ye wha live by crambo-clink , A' ye wha live and never think , Come , mourn wi' me ! Our billie's gien us a' a jink , An' owre the Sea . Lament him a' ye rantan core , Wha dearly like a random-splore ; Nae mair he'll join the merry roar , In social key ; For now he's taen anither snore , An' owre the Sea ! The bonie lasses weel may wiss him , And in their dear petitions place him : The widows , wives , an' a' may bless him , Wi' tearfu' e'e ; For weel I wat they'll sairly miss him That's owre the Sea ! O Fortune , they hae room to grumble ! Hadst thou taen aff some drowsy bummle , Wha can do nought but fyke an' fumble , 'Twad been nae plea ; But he was gleg as onie wumble , That's owre the Sea ! Auld , cantie KYLE may weepers wear , An' stain them wi' the saut , saut tear : 'Twill mak her poor , auld heart , I fear , In flinders flee : He was her Laureat monie a year , That's owre the Sea ! He saw Misfortune's cauld Nor-west Lang-mustering up a bitter blast ; A Jillet brak his heart at last , Ill may she be ! So , took a birth afore the mast , An' owre the Sea . To tremble under Fortune's cummock , On scarce a bellyfu' o' drummock , Wi' his proud , independant stomach , Could ill agree ; So , row't his hurdies in a hammock , An' owre the Sea . He ne'er was gien to great misguidin , Yet coin his pouches wad na bide in ; Wi' him ' it ne'er was under hidin ; He dealt it free : The Muse was a' that he took pride in , That's owre the Sea . Jamaica bodies , use him weel , An' hap him in a cozie biel : Ye'll find him ay a dainty chiel , An' fou o' glee : He wad na wrang'd the vera Diel , That's owre the Sea . Fareweel , my rhyme-composing billie ! Your native soil was right ill-willie ; But may ye flourish like a lily , Now bonilie ! I'll toast you in my hindmost gillie , Tho' owre the Sea !