The Kilmarnock edition begins with four lines supposedly from an anonymous poet, wholly appropriate to the image Burns wished to project to his readers. They are, in all probability, his own composition. In his Preface, Burns coyly suggests that he does not have ‘all the advantages of learned art’ in poetry – when, in fact, he is a master craftsman in poetic form and metre. He goes on to explain that his poetry is the product of Nature’s influence on him. This projected persona is captured perfectly in the quatrain. The possibility that Burns wrote these lines was first suggested by the highly distinguished American scholar, Professor Carol McGuirk, in her excellent Robert Burns: Selected Poems (Penguin, 1993). A search of known anonymous poetry for the 18th century did not trace a potential author other than Burns. The lines are a hand-in-glove portrayal of Burns’s self-projection of himself as a poet.
The Twa Dogs: A Tale
First printed in the Kilmarnock edition, 1786.
’Twas in that place o’ Scotland’s isle
That bears the name of auld King COIL, old, Kyle
Upon a bonie day in June, bonny
When wearing thro’ the afternoon,
5 Twa Dogs, that were na thrang at hame, two, not busy, home
Forgather’d ance upon a time. met by chance, once
The first I’ll name, they ca’d him Caesar, called
Was keepet for his Honor’s pleasure: kept
His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs, ears
10 Shew’d he was nane o’ Scotland’s dogs; none
But whalpet some place far abroad, pupped
Whare sailors gang to fish for Cod. where, go
His locked, letter’d, braw brass-collar
Shew’d him the gentleman an’ scholar;
15 But tho’ he was o’ high degree,
The fient a pride na pride had he; fiend, no
But wad hae spent an hour caressan, would have
Ev’n wi’ a Tinkler-gipsey’s messan; mongrel
At Kirk or Market, Mill or Smiddie, smithy
20 Nae tawtied tyke, tho’ e’er sae duddie, matted cur, so ragged
But he wad stan’t, as glad to see him, would have stood
An’ stroan’t on stanes an’ hillocks wi’ him. pissed, stones
The tither was a ploughman’s collie,
A rhyming, ranting, raving billie, fellow/character
25 Wha for his friend an’ comrade had him, who
And in his freaks had Luath ca’d him,
After some dog in Highland Sang,1
Was made lang syne, Lord knows how lang. long ago
He was a gash an’ faithfu’ tyke, wise, dog
30 As ever lap a sheugh or dyke! leapt, ditch, stone wall
His honest, sonsie, baws’nt face friendly, white marks
Ay gat him friends in ilka place; always got, every
His breast was white, his touzie back shaggy
Weel clad wi’ coat o’ glossy black; well covered
35 His gawsie tail, wi’ upward curl, fine/full
Hung owre his hurdies wi’ a swirl. over, buttocks
Nae doubt but they were fain o’ ither, no, fond of each other
And unco pack an’ thick thegither; kept secrets/confidential
Wi’ social nose whyles snuff’d an’ snowcket; whiles, sniffed
40 Whyles mice an’ moudiewurks they howcket; whiles, moles, dug for
Whyles scour’d awa’ in lang excursion, whiles, long
An’ worry’d ither in diversion;
Till tir’d at last wi’ monie a farce, many
They sat them down upon their arse,
45 An’ there began a lang digression long
About the lords o’ the creation.
CAESAR
I’ve aften wonder’d, honest Luath, often
What sort o’ life poor dogs like you have;
An’ when the gentry’s life I saw,
50 What way poor bodies liv’d ava. at all
Our Laird gets in his racked rents, extortionate
His coals, his kane, an’ a’ his stents: payments in kind, dues
He rises when he likes himsel;
His flunkies answer at the bell; servants
55 He ca’s his coach; he ca’s his horse; calls
He draws a bonie, silken purse, carries
As lang’s my tail, whare thro’ the steeks, long as, where, stiches
The yellow, letter’d Geordie keeks. guinea (King’s head) peeps
Frae morn to een it’s nought but toiling, from, evening, nothing
60 At baking, roasting, frying, boiling;
An’ tho’ the gentry first are steghan, cramming
Yet ev’n the ha’ folk fill their peghan hall (servants), stomach
Wi’ sauce, ragouts, an sic like trashtrie, such like rubbish
That’s little short o’ downright wastrie: wastage
65 Our Whipper-in, wee, blastit wonner, small, blasted wonder
Poor, worthless elf, it eats a dinner,
Better than onie Tenant-man any
His Honor
