The Brigs Of Ayr（6 / 9）
fit only for a doited monkish race,
or frosty maids forsworn the dear embrace,
or cuifs of later times, wha held the notion,
that sullen gloom was sterling, true devotion:
fancies that our guid brugh denies protection,
and soon may they expire, unblest wi' resurrection!”
auld brig
“o ye, my dear-remember'd, ancient yealings,
were ye but here to share my wounded feelings!
ye worthy proveses, an' mony a bailie,
wha in the paths o' righteousness did toil aye;
ye dainty deacons, and ye douce conveners,
to whom our moderns are but causey-cleaners
ye godly councils, wha hae blest this town;
ye godly brethren o' the sacred gown,
wha meekly gie your hurdies to the smiters;
and (what would now be strange), ye godly writers;
a' ye douce folk i've borne aboon the broo,
were ye but here, what would ye say or do?
how would your spirits groan in deep vexation,
to see each melancholy alteration;
and, agonising, curse the time and place
when ye begat the base degen'rate race!
nae langer rev'rend men, their country's glory,
in plain braid scots hold forth a plain braid story;
nae langer thrifty citizens, an' douce,
meet owre a pint, or in the council-house;
but staumrel, corky-headed, graceless gentry,
the herryment and ruin of the country;
men, three-parts made by tailors and by barbers, ↑返回顶部↑
or frosty maids forsworn the dear embrace,
or cuifs of later times, wha held the notion,
that sullen gloom was sterling, true devotion:
fancies that our guid brugh denies protection,
and soon may they expire, unblest wi' resurrection!”
auld brig
“o ye, my dear-remember'd, ancient yealings,
were ye but here to share my wounded feelings!
ye worthy proveses, an' mony a bailie,
wha in the paths o' righteousness did toil aye;
ye dainty deacons, and ye douce conveners,
to whom our moderns are but causey-cleaners
ye godly councils, wha hae blest this town;
ye godly brethren o' the sacred gown,
wha meekly gie your hurdies to the smiters;
and (what would now be strange), ye godly writers;
a' ye douce folk i've borne aboon the broo,
were ye but here, what would ye say or do?
how would your spirits groan in deep vexation,
to see each melancholy alteration;
and, agonising, curse the time and place
when ye begat the base degen'rate race!
nae langer rev'rend men, their country's glory,
in plain braid scots hold forth a plain braid story;
nae langer thrifty citizens, an' douce,
meet owre a pint, or in the council-house;
but staumrel, corky-headed, graceless gentry,
the herryment and ruin of the country;
men, three-parts made by tailors and by barbers, ↑返回顶部↑