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Index

No Churchman Am I

 

Burns Original

Standard English Translation

No churchman am I for to rail and to write,
No statesman nor soldier to plot or to fight,
No sly man of business contriving a snare,
For a big-belly'd bottle's the whole of my care.

The peer I don't envy, I give him his bow;
I scorn not the peasant, tho' ever so low;
But a club of good fellows, like those that are here,
And a bottle like this, are my glory and care.

Here passes the squire on his brother - his horse,
There centum per centum, the cit with the purse,
But see you The Crown, how it waves in the air?
There a big-belly'd bottle still eases my care.

The wife of my bosom, alas! she did die;
For sweet consolation to church I did fly;
I found that old Solomon proved it fair,
That a big-belly'd bottle's a cure for all care.

I once was persuaded a venture to make;
A letter inform'd me that all was to wreck;
But the pursy old landlord just waddled up stairs,
With a glorious bottle that ended my cares.

'Life's cares they are comforts' - a maxim laid down
By the Bard, what d'ye call him? that wore the
black gown;
And faith I agree with th' old prig to a hair:
For a big-belly'd bottle's a heav'n of a care.

A STANZA ADDED IN A MASON LODGE

Then fill up a bumper and make it o'erflow,
And honours Masonic prepare for to throw:
May ev'ry true Brother of the Compass and Square
Have a big-belly'd bottle, when harass'd with care

No churchman am I for to rail and to write,
No statesman nor soldier to plot or to fight,
No sly man of business contriving a snare,
For a big-bellied bottle is the whole of my care.


The peer I do not envy, I give him his bow;
I scorn not the peasant, though ever so low;
But a club of good fellows, like those that are here,
And a bottle like this, are my glory and care.


Here passes the squire on his brother - his horse,
There centum per centum, the citizen with the purse,
But see you The Crown, how it waves in the air?
There a big-bellied bottle still eases my care.


The wife of my bosom, alas! she did die;
For sweet consolation to church I did fly;
I found that old Solomon proved it fair,
That a big-bellied bottle's a cure for all care.


I once was persuaded a venture to make;
A letter informed me that all was to wreck;
But the pursy old landlord just waddled up stairs,
With a glorious bottle that ended my cares.

'Life's cares they are comforts' - a maxim laid down
By the Bard, what do you call him? that wore the
black gown;
And faith I agree with the old prig to a hair:
For a big-bellied bottle's a heaven of a care.



Then fill up a bumper and make it overflow,
And honours Masonic prepare for to throw:
May every true Brother of the Compass and Square
Have a big-bellied bottle, when harassed with care!

 

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