Robert Burns

“ For thae frank, rantin, ramblin billies,
180 Feint haet o' them's ill-hearted fellows;
Except for breakin o' their timmer,
Or speakin lightly o' their limmer,
Or shootin of a hare or moor-cock,
The ne'er-a-bit they're ill to poor folk,
185But will ye tell me, master Cæsar,
Sure great folk's life's a life o' pleasure?
Nae cauld nor hunger e'er can steer them,
The very thought o''t need na fear them. ”

“ Tho' deil-haet ails them, yet uneasy;
Their days insipid, dull, an' tasteless;
210Their nights unquiet, lang, an' restless.
An'ev'n their sports, their balls an' races,
Their galloping through public places,
There's sic parade, sic pomp, an' art,
The joy can scarcely reach the heart. ”

“ Rejoic'd they werena men but dogs;
An' each took aff his several way,
Resolv'd to meet some ither day.
1786
Notes
↑ 2. The legendary King of Kyle, the central part of Ayrshire; so called from Coilus, King of Picts, whom Burns was connecting with the Old King Coile from the nursery-rhyme. ↑ 27. Cuchullin's dog in Ossian's Fingal
This work was published before January 1, 1928, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago. ”