Epigrams by Robert Burns
The Poet’s Choice
I murder hate, by field or flood,
Though glory’s name may screen us;
In wars at hame I’ll spend my blood,
Life-giving wars of Venus.
The Jeities that I adore,
Are social peace and plenty;
I’m better pleased to make one more,
Than be the death of twenty.
On a Celebrated Ruling Elder
Here souter Hood in death does sleep;—
To h-ll, if he’s gane thither,
Satan, gie him thy gear to keep,
He’ll haud it weel thegither.
On John Dove
Innkeeper of Mauchline
Here lies Johnny Pidgeon;
What was his religion?
Wha e’er desires to ken,
To some other warl’
Maun follow the carl,
For here Johnny Pidgeon had nane!
Strong ale was ablution—
Small beer, persecution,
A dram was MEMENTO MORI:
But a full flowing bowl
Was the saving his soul,
And port was celestial glory.
On Andrew Turner
In se’enteen hunder an’ forty-nine,
Satan took stuff to mak’ a swine,
And cuist it in a corner;
But wilily he chang’d his plan,
And shaped it something like a man.
And ca’d it Andrew Turner.
On a Scotch Coxcomb
Light lay the earth on Billy’s breast,
His chicken heart so tender;
But build a castle on his head,
His skull will prop it under.
On Grizzel Grim
Here lies with death auld Grizzel Grim.
Lineluden’s ugly witch;
O death, how horrid is thy taste,
To lie with such a b——!
On a Wag in Mauchline
Lament him, Mauchline husbands a’,
He aften did assist ye;
For had ye stayed whole years awa,
Your wives they ne’er had missed ye.
Ye Mauchline bairns, as on ye pass
To school in bands thegither,
O tread ye lightly on his grass—
Perhaps he was your father.
Epitaph on W
Stop, thief! dame Nature cried to Death,
As Willie drew his latest breath;
You have my choicest model ta’en;
How shall I make a fool again?
On a Suicide
Earth’d up here lies an imp o’ hell,
Planted by Satan’s dibble—
Poor silly wretch, he’s damn’d himsel’
To save the Lord the trouble.