Robbie bloody Burns, the writer of the biggest load of rubbish ever, tries to muscle in on my birthday every year. And what's all this rubbish about Burn's Night? All the false bonhomie by English (and deep fried Mars bar munching Scottish) people over a so called poet that they have never studied or have absolutely no interest in whatsoever.
Here's part of a poem written in 1789
Expect na, sir, in this narration,
A fleechin, fleth'rin Dedication,
To roose you up, an' ca' you guid,
An' sprung o' great an' noble bluid,
Because ye're surnam'd like His Grace-
Perhaps related to the race:
Then, when I'm tir'd-and sae are ye,
Wi' mony a fulsome, sinfu' lie,
Set up a face how I stop short,
For fear your modesty be hurt.
This may do-maun do, sir, wi' them wha
Maun please the great folk for a wamefou;
For me! sae laigh I need na bow,
For, Lord be thankit, I can plough;
And when I downa yoke a naig,
Then, Lord be thankit, I can beg;
Sae I shall say-an' that's nae flatt'rin-
It's just sic Poet an' sic Patron.
Inspiring isn't it? I prefer reading spam. At least you can understand most of it.
1 comment:
aahhh... well, you see, you are not the only one! Serena (who, may I remind you, is 7 years old) hast to memorise Jean de la Fontaine fables for school!!! I mean, come on!!! With all the stuff they could be memorising...Don't get me wrong, they are beautiful, if you can understand them!! But 17th century poetry is hard to retain in a little Barbie-ridden brain like hers, I suppose... ;o)
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