Death And Dr. Hornbook. - A True Story. Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: AAABAB CCCACA AADEDE FFFCFC CCCFCF FFFGFG HIJKLK MMMNMN OPOCOC CCCACA AAAQAR AAAOAO AAAAAA MMMSMT AAACAC MMMFMF AAAAAA AAAUAU AAAAAA TTTVTA TTTATA TTTTTL MFFMFM WMMFXF OOOCOC AAAFAF TTTCTC LLLFLF LLLMLA AMAMAM CCCOCOSome books are lies frae end to end | A |
And some great lies were never penn'd | A |
Ev'n ministers they ha'e been kenn'd | A |
In holy rapture | B |
A rousing whid at times to vend | A |
And nail't wi' Scripture | B |
- | |
But this that I am gaun to tell | C |
Which lately on a night befel | C |
Is just as true's the Deil's in h ll | C |
Or Dublin city | A |
That e'er he nearer comes oursel | C |
'S a muckle pity | A |
- | |
The Clachan yill had made me canty | A |
I was na fou but just had plenty | A |
I stacher'd whyles but yet took tent ay | D |
To free the ditches | E |
An' hillocks stanes and bushes kenn'd ay | D |
Frae ghaists an' witches | E |
- | |
The rising moon began to glow'r | F |
The distant Cumnock hills out owre | F |
To count her horns with a' my pow'r | F |
I set mysel | C |
But whether she had three or four | F |
I could na tell | C |
- | |
I was come round about the hill | C |
And todlin down on Willie's mill | C |
Setting my staff with a' my skill | C |
To keep me sicker | F |
Tho' leeward whyles against my will | C |
I took a bicker | F |
- | |
I there wi' something did forgather | F |
That put me in an eerie swither | F |
An awfu' scythe out owre ae shouther | F |
Clear dangling hang | G |
A three taed leister on the ither | F |
Lay large an' lang | G |
- | |
Its stature seem'd lang Scotch ells twa | H |
The queerest shape that e'er I saw | I |
For fient a wame it had ava | J |
And then its shanks | K |
They were as thin as sharp an' sma' | L |
As cheeks o' branks | K |
- | |
Guid een quo' I Friend hae ye been mawin | M |
When ither folk are busy sawin | M |
It seem'd to mak a kind o' stan' | M |
But naething spak | N |
At length says I Friend where ye gaun | M |
Will ye go back | N |
- | |
It spak right howe My name is Death | O |
But be na fley'd Quoth I Guid faith | P |
Ye're may be come to stap my breath | O |
But tent me billie | C |
I red ye weel take care o' skaith | O |
See there's a gully | C |
- | |
Guidman quo' he put up your whittle | C |
I'm no design'd to try its mettle | C |
But if I did I wad be kittle | C |
To be mislear'd | A |
I wad nae mind it no that spittle | C |
Out owre my beard | A |
- | |
Weel weel says I a bargain be't | A |
Come gies your hand an' sae we're gree't | A |
We'll ease our shanks an' tak a seat | A |
Come gies your news | Q |
This while ye hae been mony a gate | A |
At mony a house | R |
- | |
Ay ay quo' he an' shook his head | A |
It's e'en a lang lang time indeed | A |
Sin' I began to nick the thread | A |
An' choke the breath | O |
Folk maun do something for their bread | A |
An' sae maun Death | O |
- | |
Sax thousand years are near hand fled | A |
Sin' I was to the butching bred | A |
An' mony a scheme in vain's been laid | A |
To stap or scar me | A |
Till ane Hornbook's ta'en up the trade | A |
An' faith he'll waur me | A |
- | |
Ye ken Jock Hornbook i' the Clachan | M |
Deil mak his kings hood in a spleuchan | M |
He's grown sae weel acquaint wi' Buchan | M |
An' ither chaps | S |
The weans haud out their fingers laughin | M |
And pouk my hips | T |
- | |
See here's a scythe and there's a dart | A |
They hae pierc'd mony a gallant heart | A |
But Doctor Hornbook wi' his art | A |
And cursed skill | C |
Has made them baith no worth a f t | A |
Damn'd haet they'll kill | C |
- | |
'Twas but yestreen nae farther gaen | M |
I threw a noble throw at ane | M |
Wi' less I'm sure I've hundreds slain | M |
But deil ma care | F |
It just play'd dirl on the bane | M |
But did nae mair | F |
- | |
Hornbook was by wi' ready art | A |
And had sae fortified the part | A |
That when I looked to my dart | A |
It was sae blunt | A |
Fient haet o't wad hae pierc'd the heart | A |
Of a kail runt | A |
- | |
I drew my scythe in sic a fury | A |
I near hand cowpit wi' my hurry | A |
But yet the bauld Apothecary | A |
Withstood the shock | U |
I might as weel hae tried a quarry | A |
O' hard whin rock | U |
- | |
Ev'n them he canna get attended | A |
Although their face he ne'er had kend it | A |
Just sh in a kail blade and send it | A |
As soon's he smells't | A |
Baith their disease and what will mend it | A |
At once he tells't | A |
- | |
And then a' doctor's saws and whittles | T |
Of a' dimensions shapes an' mettles | T |
A' kinds o' boxes mugs an' bottles | T |
He's sure to hae | V |
Their Latin names as fast he rattles | T |
As A B C | A |
- | |
Calces o' fossils earths and trees | T |
True sal marinum o' the seas | T |
The farina of beans and pease | T |
He has't in plenty | A |
Aqua fortis what you please | T |
He can content ye | A |
- | |
Forbye some new uncommon weapons | T |
Urinus spiritus of capons | T |
Or mite horn shavings filings scrapings | T |
Distill'd per se | T |
Sal alkali o' midge tail clippings | T |
And mony mae | L |
- | |
Waes me for Johnny Ged's Hole now | M |
Quo' I If that thae news be true | F |
His braw calf ward whare gowans grew | F |
Sae white and bonie | M |
Nae doubt they'll rive it wi' the plew | F |
They'll ruin Johnie | M |
- | |
The creature grain'd an eldritch laugh | W |
And says Ye need na yoke the plough | M |
Kirkyards will soon be till'd eneugh | M |
Tak ye nae fear | F |
They'll a' be trench'd wi' mony a sheugh | X |
In twa three year | F |
- | |
Whare I kill'd ane a fair strae death | O |
By loss o' blood or want of breath | O |
This night I'm free to tak my aith | O |
That Hornbook's skill | C |
Has clad a score i' their last claith | O |
By drap an' pill | C |
- | |
An honest wabster to his trade | A |
Whase wife's twa nieves were scarce weel bred | A |
Gat tippence worth to mend her head | A |
When it was sair | F |
The wife slade cannie to her bed | A |
But ne'er spak mair | F |
- | |
A countra laird had ta'en the batts | T |
Or some curmurring in his guts | T |
His only son for Hornbook sets | T |
An' pays him well | C |
The lad for twa guid gimmer pets | T |
Was laird himsel | C |
- | |
A bonnie lass ye kend her name | L |
Some ill brewn drink had hov'd her wame | L |
She trusts hersel to hide the shame | L |
In Hornbook's care | F |
Horn sent her aff to her lang hame | L |
To hide it there | F |
- | |
That's just a swatch o' Hornbook's way | L |
Thus goes he on from day to day | L |
Thus does he poison kill an' slay | L |
An's weel paid for't | M |
Yet stops me o' my lawfu' prey | L |
Wi' his d mn'd dirt | A |
- | |
But hark I'll tell you of a plot | A |
Though dinna ye be speaking o't | M |
I'll nail the self conceited sot | A |
As dead's a herrin' | M |
Niest time we meet I'll wad a groat | A |
He gets his fairin' | M |
- | |
But just as he began to tell | C |
The auld kirk hammer strak' the bell | C |
Some wee short hour ayont the twal | C |
Which rais'd us baith | O |
I took the way that pleas'd mysel' | C |
And sae did Death | O |
Robert Burns
(1)
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