To A Louse
On Seeing One On A Lady's Bonnet, At Church
By Robert
Burns, Scotsman, in 1786
Ha! whaur ye
gaun, ye crowlin ferlie?
Your impudence
protects you sairly;
I canna say but
ye strunt rarely,
Owre gauze and
lace;
Tho', faith! I
fear ye dine but sparely
On sic a place.
Ye ugly,
creepin, blastit wonner,
Detested,
shunn'd by saunt an' sinner,
How daur ye set
your fit upon her-
Sae fine a
lady?
Gae somewhere
else and seek your dinner
On some poor
body.
Swith! in some
beggar's haffet squattle;
There ye may
creep, and sprawl, and sprattle,
Wi' ither
kindred, jumping cattle,
In shoals and
nations;
Whaur horn nor
bane ne'er daur unsettle
Your thick
plantations.
Now haud you
there, ye're out o' sight,
Below the
fatt'rels, snug and tight;
Na, faith ye
yet! ye'll no be right,
Till ye've got
on it-
The verra
tapmost, tow'rin height
O' Miss'
bonnet.
My sooth! right
bauld ye set your nose out,
As plump an'
grey as ony groset:
O for some
rank, mercurial rozet,
Or fell, red
smeddum,
I'd gie you sic
a hearty dose o't,
Wad dress your
droddum.
I wad na been
surpris'd to spy
You on an auld
wife's flainen toy;
Or aiblins some
bit dubbie boy,
On's
wyliecoat;
But Miss' fine
Lunardi! fye!
How daur ye
do't?
O
Jeany, dinna
toss your head,
An' set your
beauties a' abread!
Ye little ken
what cursed speed
The blastie's
makin:
Thae winks an'
finger-ends, I dread,
Are notice
takin.
O wad some
Power the giftie gie us
To see oursels
as ithers see us!
It wad frae
mony a blunder free us,
An' foolish
notion:
What airs in
dress an' gait wad lea'e us,
An' ev'n devotion!
|