Robert Burns Poems

Back to Poems Page

HERE Holy Willie’s sair worn clay
Taks up its last abode;
His saul has ta’en some other way,
I fear, the left-hand road.


Stop! there he is, as sure’s a gun,
Poor, silly body, see him;
Nae wonder he’s as black’s the grun,
Observe wha’s standing wi’ him.


Your brunstane devilship, I see,
Has got him there before ye;
But haud your nine-tail cat a wee,
Till ance you’ve heard my story.


Your pity I will not implore,
For pity ye have nane;
Justice, alas! has gi’en him o’er,
And mercy’s day is gane.


But hear me, Sir, deil as ye are,
Look something to your credit;
A coof like him wad stain your name,
If it were kent ye did it.

Email This Poem to a Friend

Previous Poem | Next Poem

View Robert Burns:  Poems | Quotes | Biography | Books

Copyright © 2006 - 2010 Famous Poets And Poems . com. All Rights Reserved.
The Poems and Quotes on this site are the property of their respective authors. All information has been
reproduced here for educational and informational purposes.