pugachevV
Joined: 16 Jan 2003 Posts: 2295
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Posted: Wed Feb 12, 2003 4:08 pm Post subject: Ode to a louse |
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I notice that our good friend Nana, who apparently does not recognise a decent poem when he sees it, felt it necessary to expunge this very famous poem, when it was posted by the iconoclastic obelix on another forum. This offends my literary susceptibilities and so I will publish it here with credit given to the author.
I should add that even the godless Russians appreciated Burns' talents and wit, even if the God fearing Americans don't.
Robert Burns (1759-1796)
TO A LOUSE, ON SEEING ONE ON A LADY�S BONNET AT CHURCH
Ha! whare ye gaun, ye crowlan 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, creepan, 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;
Whare 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, towrin height
O' Miss's bonnet.
My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose out,
As plump an' grey as onie grozet:
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 surpriz'd to spy
You on an auld wife's flainen toy;
Or aiblins some bit duddie boy,
On's wylecoat;
But Miss's fine Lunardi, fye!
How daur ye do't?
O Jenny, dinna toss your head,
An' set your beauties a' abread!
Ye little ken what cursed speed
The blastie's makin!
Thae winks and finger-ends, I dread,
Are notice takin!
O wad some Pow'r the giftie gie us
To see oursels as others see us!
It wad frae monie a blunder free us,
An' foolish notion:
What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us,
And ev'n Devotion! |
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