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Robert Burns - A Dream
Work rating: Medium

Guid-Mornin` to our Majesty! 
May Heaven augment your blisses 
On ev`ry new birth-day ye see, 
A humble poet wishes. 
My bardship here, at your Levee 
On sic a day as this is, 
Is sure an uncouth sight to see, 
Amang thae birth-day dresses 
Sae fine this day. 

I see ye`re complimented thrang, 
By mony a lord an` lady; 
"God save the King" `s a cuckoo sang 
That`s unco easy said aye: 
The poets, too, a venal gang, 
Wi` rhymes weel-turn`d an` ready, 
Wad gar you trow ye ne`er do wrang, 
But aye unerring steady, 
On sic a day. 

For me! before a monarch`s face 
Ev`n there I winna flatter; 
For neither pension, post, nor place, 
Am I your humble debtor: 
So, nae reflection on your Grace, 
Your Kingship to bespatter; 
There`s mony waur been o` the race, 
And aiblins ane been better 
Than you this day. 

`Tis very true, my sovereign King, 
My skill may weel be doubted; 
But facts are chiels that winna ding, 
An` downa be disputed: 
Your royal nest, beneath your wing, 
Is e`en right reft and clouted, 
And now the third part o` the string, 
An` less, will gang aboot it 
Than did ae day.^1 

Far be`t frae me that I aspire 
To blame your legislation, 
Or say, ye wisdom want, or fire, 
To rule this mighty nation: 
But faith! I muckle doubt, my sire, 
Ye`ve trusted ministration 
To chaps wha in barn or byre 
Wad better fill`d their station 
Than courts yon day. 

And now ye`ve gien auld Britain peace, 
Her broken shins to plaister, 
Your sair taxation does her fleece, 
Till she has scarce a tester: 
For me, thank God, my life`s a lease, 
Nae bargain wearin` faster, 
Or, faith! I fear, that, wi` the geese, 
I shortly boost to pasture 
I` the craft some day. 

I`m no mistrusting Willie Pitt, 
When taxes he enlarges, 
(An` Will`s a true guid fallow`s get, 
A name not envy spairges), 
That he intends to pay your debt, 
An` lessen a` your charges; 
But, God-sake! let nae saving fit 
Abridge your bonie barges 
An`boats this day. 

Adieu, my Liege; may freedom geck 
Beneath your high protection; 
An` may ye rax Corruption`s neck, 
And gie her for dissection! 
But since I`m here, I`ll no neglect, 
In loyal, true affection, 
To pay your Queen, wi` due respect, 
May fealty an` subjection 
This great birth-day. 

Hail, Majesty most Excellent! 
While nobles strive to please ye, 
Will ye accept a compliment, 
A simple poet gies ye? 
Thae bonie bairntime, Heav`n has lent, 
Still higher may they heeze ye 
In bliss, till fate some day is sent 
For ever to release ye 
Frae care that day. 

For you, young Potentate o`Wales, 
I tell your highness fairly, 
Down Pleasure`s stream, wi` swelling sails, 
I`m tauld ye`re driving rarely; 
But some day ye may gnaw your nails, 
An` curse your folly sairly, 
That e`er ye brak Diana`s pales, 
Or rattl`d dice wi` Charlie 
By night or day. 

Yet aft a ragged cowt`s been known, 
To mak a noble aiver; 
So, ye may doucely fill the throne, 
For a`their clish-ma-claver: 
There, him^2 at Agincourt wha shone, 
Few better were or braver: 
And yet, wi` funny, queer Sir John,^3 
He was an unco shaver 
For mony a day. 

For you, right rev`rend Osnaburg, 
Nane sets the lawn-sleeve sweeter, 
Altho` a ribbon at your lug 
Wad been a dress completer: 
As ye disown yon paughty dog, 
That bears the keys of Peter, 
Then swith! an` get a wife to hug, 
Or trowth, ye`ll stain the mitre 
Some luckless day! 

Young, royal Tarry-breeks, I learn, 
Ye`ve lately come athwart her- 
A glorious galley,^4 stem and stern, 
Weel rigg`d for Venus` barter; 
But first hang out, that she`ll discern, 
Your hymeneal charter; 
Then heave aboard your grapple airn, 
An` large upon her quarter, 
Come full that day. 

Ye, lastly, bonie blossoms a`, 
Ye royal lasses dainty, 
Heav`n mak you guid as well as braw, 
An` gie you lads a-plenty! 
But sneer na British boys awa! 
For kings are unco scant aye, 
An` German gentles are but sma`, 
They`re better just than want aye 
On ony day. 

Gad bless you a`! consider now, 
Ye`re unco muckle dautit; 
But ere the course o` life be through, 
It may be bitter sautit: 
An` I hae seen their coggie fou, 
That yet hae tarrow`t at it. 
But or the day was done, I trow, 
The laggen they hae clautit 
Fu` clean that day.
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