GUDEWIFE,I MIND it weel in early date,
When I was bardless, young, and blate,
An first could thresh the barn,
Or haud a yokin at the pleugh;
An, tho forfoughten sair eneugh,
Yet unco proud to learn:
When first amang the yellow corn
A man I reckond was,
An wi the lave ilk merry morn
Could rank my rig and lass,
Still shearing, and clearing
The tither stooked raw,
Wi claivers, an haivers,
Wearing the day awa.
Een then, a wish, (I mind its powr),
A wish that to my latest hour
Shall strongly heave my breast,
That I for poor auld Scotlands sake
Some usefu plan or book could make,
Or sing a sang at least.
The rough burr-thistle, spreading wide
Amang the bearded bear,
I turnd the weeder-clips aside,
An spard the symbol dear:
No nation, no station,
My envy eer could raise;
A Scot still, but blot still,
I knew nae higher praise.
But still the elements o sang,
In formless jumble, right an wrang,
Wild floated in my brain;
Till on that harst I said before,
May partner in the merry core,
She rousd the forming strain;
I see her yet, the sonsie quean,
That lighted up my jingle,
Her witching smile, her pawky een
That gart my heart-strings tingle;
I firèd, inspired,
At every kindling keek,
But bashing, and dashing,
I fearèd aye to speak.
Health to the sex! ilk guid chiel says:
Wi merry dance in winter days,
An we to share in common;
The gust o joy, the balm of woe,
The saul o life, the heaven below,
Is rapture-giving woman.
Ye surly sumphs, who hate the name,
Be mindfu o your mither;
She, honest woman, may think shame
That yere connected with her:
Yere wae men, yere nae men
That slight the lovely dears;
To shame ye, disclaim ye,
Ilk honest birkie swears.
For you, no bred to barn and byre,
Wha sweetly tune the Scottish lyre,
Thanks to you for your line:
The marled plaid ye kindly spare,
By me should gratefully be ware;
Twad please me to the nine.
Id be mair vauntie o my hap,
Douce hingin owre my curple,
Than ony ermine ever lap,
Or proud imperial purple.
Farewell then, lang hale then,
An plenty be your fa;
May losses and crosses
Neer at your hallan ca!R. BURNS.March, 1787
