_A late spring evening two years later. The Inn at Mauchline. The room
is lamplit._
_A number of villagers are seated round the room, drinking, being
served by the landlord, and_ NELL, _now the maid of the Inn_. BURNS
_is standing on a chair, singing, all joining in every other verse_.
_Burns_:
There was three kings into the east,
Three kings both great and high;
And they hae sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn should die.
_Chorus_:
They took a plough and plough’d him down,
Put clods upon his head,
And they hae sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn was dead.
_Burns_:
But the cheerful Spring came kindly on,
And show’rs began to fall;
John Barleycorn got up again,
And sore surpris’d them all.
_Chorus_:
The sober Autumn enter’d mild,
When he grew wan and pale;
His bending joints and drooping head
Show’d he began to fail.
_Burns_:
They’ve ta’en a weapon, long and sharp,
And cut him by the knee;
Then tied him fast upon a cart,
Like a rogue for forgerie.
_Chorus_:
They wasted o’er a scorching flame
The marrow of his bones;
But a miller us’d him worst of all--
For he crush’d him ’tween two stones.
_Burns_:
And they ha’e ta’en his very heart’s blood,
And drank it round and round;
And still the more and more they drank,
Their joy did more abound.
_Chorus_:
Then let us toast John Barleycorn,
Each man a glass in hand;
And may his great posterity
Ne’er fail in old Scotland!
[_There is general acclamation and toasting._]
_Burns_ (_jumping down from his chair, a little ‘flown’_): Fill
up--fill up! John Barleycorn is Scotland’s king, and shall be so for
ever! Fill up! There’s a pretty Nell. How’s that for a song, landlord?
_The Landlord_: Very good sentiments, Robin. Let all honest men
prosper, say I.
_Burns_: Meaning, most noble landlord, all honest men to be John
Barleycorn’s liege subjects--that pay tribute, mark you. Drink up, Tam
Laurie--why so doomsday, man?
_Tam_ (_a meek, hard-driven little man_): It’s the cursed factors,
Robin. They’ll not let a man scrape supper gruel from his toil.
_Burns_: Blast and misfortune to them! Craft and fat bellies--a flea
on a dog’s tail is a respectable work of God beside a factor. A toast,
friends, fellow-citizens of Mauchline--‘To hell with all factors.’
[_The toast is drunk with enthusiasm._]
_A lean but well-to-do Farmer_: That’s all very well, but rents have to
be paid.
_Burns_: Friends--another toast--‘To hell with all rents.’
[_And again._]
_Burns_: Michael, you speak as a man the Lord prospers.
_Michael_: I speak as one who is diligent.
_Burns_: Diligent, quotha! A man left a fat inheritance and his croft
all favoured by nature, and he talks diligence. Have you sweated,
Michael, with your share always ringing on the stones, and your
breeches letting in the cold blast behind you, and your boots full
of March rain, and your belly empty, and a bare table to go home to
when dark comes, and a gap in the roof above you as wide as a lassie’s
embrace? Have you done these things, and kept the heart true steel
within you, like Tam Laurie there?
_Tam_: I’ve to quit come Tuesday week.
_Burns_: To quit, Michael--do you hear that? Do you know what quitting
means? You stand out there under the sky, and your steps may as well
go this way as that, for you have no door in the world, and a ditch to
starve in is all you can borrow. And rents must be paid. To hell with
such rents I say!
_Michael_: I’ll not listen to such heresies in the state. Respectable
houses are not safe when tongues are loose like this. But the Lord will
look to his own.
_Burns_: You put off settlement with the Lord as long as you can,
Michael Johnson--you’ll be wise.
_Michael_: They say that Mr. Armour will not be put off, though.
[BURNS _is suddenly silenced by this, and with his parting score_
MICHAEL _goes, two or three of the others following him. One or two
of the party are now asleep, two or three others talking together_,
TAM _sitting by himself. The landlord is smoking, and_ NELL _cleaning
pots_.]
_Tam_: He was always bitter to poverty. Thank you, Robin, for speaking.
_Nell_: What’s that about Mr. Armour?
_Burns_: They’ve beaten me, Nell. I’ve got to go.
_Nell_: How’s that?
_Burns_ (_sitting at a table near to us, in dejection._ NELL _comes to
him, still working. Some of the others at another table are playing
cards_): We were friends, Nell, you and I.
_Nell_: Good friends, Robin.
_Burns_: Parnassus Hill, you remember?
_Nell_: You and I, and love, and John Barleycorn--yes.
_Burns_: Then there was my Mary; she died. Then Jean came. You didn’t
scold.
_Nell_: I knew they would come. I told you I was not for wedding.
_Burns_: Jean is a mother.
_Nell_: You?
_Burns_: Yes.
_Nell_: You’ll wed her then, so why grieve? She’s good, and she’s
comely.
_Burns_: I love her, Nell, and I’d be proud of her. But I’m not to wed
her.
_Nell_: But that’s not honest, Robin.
_Burns_: They won’t let me.
_Nell_: Who won’t?
_Burns_: That’s what Michael meant. Mr. Armour. He’s forbidden it. I’m
not genteel enough. He says I’m profligate. He’s right I dare say. But
that, it’s bitter, that. He’d rather have his girl be shamed alone than
be shamed by wedding me. And I can’t pay as I’m ordered (_he shows her
a paper_), so it’s jail or leaving Scotland. John Barleycorn is all
now. Fill my pot, Nell.
[NELL _does so, and brings it to him_.]
_Nell_: What will you do?
_Burns_: I came here to forget it. I’m going. Jamaica--that’s a world’s
journey off, Nell. Jean, and Scotland--I’m losing both.
[_He sings._]
O thou pale Orb, that silent shines,
While care-untroubled mortals sleep!
Thou seest a wretch that inly pines,
And wanders here to wail and weep!
With Woe I nightly vigils keep,
Beneath thy wan, unwarming beam;
And mourn, in lamentation deep,
How life and love are all a dream.
[_As he is ending the song, three men come to the door. One is_ JAMES
ARMOUR, JEAN’S _father, another a_ FACTOR, _and with them is_ HOLY
WILLIE. _The_ FACTOR _goes to the counter and drinks._]
_Armour_: So you can sing in the midst of the desolation you’ve caused.
_Burns_: It was no happy song, Mr. Armour.
_Armour_: There’s a warrant coming down the road for you.
_Burns_: But I cannot pay, I told you. I’ll work for Jean, but you’ll
not let me.
_Armour_: I will not. I want no creeping seducer for a son-in-law.
_Burns_: That’s--I’ll not say what it is, Mr. Armour. Ask Jean. She
loves me. We’re proud of it, if you would let us be.
_Armour_: Proud of it, you Barbary sheep! The girl’s a scandal to my
name, but she’s not for you. Let her be proud of it alone.
_Holy Willie_: I told you of this, young man. I preached the light to
you.
_Burns_: Good counsel from you would corrupt the saints, minister. Why
won’t you let me wed Jean, Mr. Armour?
_Armour_: I came to give no reasons, Robert Burns. I came to see you
knew the choice rightly. You can pay, or you can feel handcuffs, or you
can go where you’ll never offend honest Scots eyes with the sight of
you more.
_Holy Willie_: And whichever you choose, you’ll first do penance in
kirk for an incontinent sinner. It is the kirk’s will.
_Burns_: Let him that is without sin, minister--but let that go.
Again, Mr. Armour, I ask it in good faith, let me take Jean to church.
There’ll be no penance in that, but hope and goodwill, I promise it.
_Armour_: You’ve no virtue, but if you were made of it, I’ld say no
still. You’ve not rank enough for the Armours.
_Burns_: Rank, rank, rank! Then destroy her and destroy me, and ask
your holy friend here to pray God to show you your own black and proud
and silly heart. Fill up my pot, Nell.
[_As she does so, the_ FACTOR _is about to leave, but seeing_ TAM
LAURIE, _goes across to him_.]
_The Factor_: Have you found that money, Laurie?
_Tam_: It’s not for finding.
_The Factor_: It’s for spending, it seems.
_Tam_: I’ve had but two pots, and not to my score.
_The Factor_: Tuesday week then. I hope you’ll have joy of your travels.
_Tam_: It’s a poor thing to fleer at a man that’s beaten.
_Burns_ (_crossing, pot in hand_): A dirty thing, Master Factor, a
thing that makes old Nickie-ben laugh down among the sulphur the
minister is so fond of gabbing about. And before I’m gone, I’ll stand
up and prophesy among you. Mr. Armour, you’re a little man, in a little
place, and for your peddling bit of dignity and self-esteem you’ll
break your girl’s heart and ruin me. Minister, you’ll sit on the Lord’s
right hand till He turns round and catches you there. And you, Factor,
will sit on a lord’s right hand till he turns round and finds your
fingers in his pocket. And you’re all upright pillars of repute, praise
the Lord, Amen. And Tam here is a pauper, and I’m forfeit, and before
the God that you blaspheme with your devil’s work, we’ll take our
chance at the day of judgment against the lot of you. He’ll have mercy
on us, for we are sinners, but I doubt he’ll take no notice of you at
all, and you’ll find it a wide place to wander in and learn your lesson.
[_Outside is heard the sound of music and song, coming from a band of
Beggars passing along the road._]
_Burns_ (_going to the window, and looking out_): Listen to
them--vagabonds, unwashed, thieves perhaps, and kiss who kiss can. But
they’re free, and they’re honester than your sort, righter commanders.
(_Opening the door._) Come in, come in--a pot apiece for a song, my
hearties--come and teach the gentlemen to say their grace.
[_The Beggars crowd at the door._]
_Armour_: You think we’ll stay with you and your dirty rapscallions. By
your leave--
[_He_, _the_ FACTOR, _and_ HOLY WILLIE _move to go_.]
_Burns_: No, no--persuade them friends. (TAM _and the others_, NELL
_and the_ LANDLORD _assisting, hold them back, while_ BURNS _cries to
the Beggars_.) Come in--come in--serve them, Nell, my dear, full pots
all round.
[_He locks the door, and_ NELL _hands round the full pots_.]
_Armour_: This shall be a case for the Justice.
_Burns_: Justice is a blind wench, Mr. Armour--and it would be a bonny
jest for the parish, wouldn’t it? I think we shall swallow it. Now, you
jolly beggars, drink and sing.
[_The_ FIRST BEGGAR, _an old man in soldier’s rags, a girl in his
arms, sings_.]
I am a son of Mars, who have been in many wars,
And show my cuts and scars wherever I come;
This here was for a wench, and that other in a trench,
When welcoming the French at the sound of the drum.
Lal de daudle, etc.
And now tho’ I must beg with a wooden arm and leg
And many a tatter’d rag hanging over my limbs,
I’m as happy with my wallet, my bottle, and my callet,
As when I us’d in scarlet to follow a drum.
Lal de daudle, etc.
[_He is followed, after drinking and laughter, by the girl in his
arms, who sings._]
I once was a maid, tho’ I cannot tell when,
And still my delight is in proper young men;
Some one of a troop of dragoons was my daddie,
No wonder I’m fond of a sodger laddie.
Sing, Lal de lal, etc.
The first of my loves was a swaggering blade,
To rattle the thundering drum was his trade;
His leg was so tight, and his cheek was so ruddy,
Transported I was with my sodger laddie.
Sing, Lal de lal, etc.
But the godly old chaplain left him in the lurch,
The sword I forsook for the sake of the church;
He ventur’d the soul, and I risket the body,
’Twas then I prov’d false to my sodger laddie.
Sing, Lal de lal, etc.
Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified sot,
The regiment at large for a husband I got;
From the gilded spontoon to the fife I was ready,
I askèd no more but a sodger laddie.
Sing, Lal de lal, etc.
And now I have lived--I know not how long,
And still I can join in a cup and a song;
But whilst with both hands I can hold the glass steady,
Here’s to thee, my hero, my sodger laddie.
Sing, Lal de lal, etc.
[_Then comes a dark, tragic woman, who has been sitting apart._]
A Highland lad my love was born,
The lalland laws he held in scorn;
But he still was faithfu’ to his clan,
My gallant, braw John Highlandman.
_Chorus_
Sing hey my braw John Highlandman!
Sing ho my braw John Highlandman!
There’s not a lad in a’ the lan’
Was match for my John Highlandman.
With his philibeg an’ tartan plaid,
An’ guid claymore down by his side,
The ladies’ hearts he did trepan,
My gallant, braw John Highlandman.
Sing hey, etc.
They banish’d him beyond the sea,
But ere the bud was on the tree,
Adown my cheeks the pearls ran,
Embracing my John Highlandman.
Sing hey, etc.
But, och! they catch’d him at the last,
And bound him in a dungeon fast;
My curse upon them every one,
They’ve hang’d my braw John Highlandman.
Sing hey, etc.
And now a widow, I must mourn
The pleasures that will ne’er return;
Nae comfort but a hearty can,
When I think on John Highlandman.
Sing hey, etc.
[_As she finishes, the_ FIRST BEGGAR, _leaving his doxy, goes up to
her and sings_.]
Let me ryke up to dight that tear,
And go wi’ me and be my dear,
An’ then your every care and fear
May whistle owre the lave o’t.
_Chorus_
I am a fiddler to my trade,
An’ a’ the tunes that e’er I play’d,
The sweetest still to wife or maid,
Was whistle owre the lave o’t.
But bless me wi’ your heav’n o’ charms,
And while I kittle hair on thairms,
Hunger, cauld, and a’ sic harms,
May whistle owre the lave o’t.
I am, etc.
[_At the conclusion she sinks into his arms, and there is an
altercation between the two Beggar women, the_ OLD BEGGAR _quieting
them, and then there are cries from all to_ BURNS.]
Now, Master, a song for a song, a taste of your quality, good liquor
makes good tunes, a song, a song!
_Burns_ (_leaps on to the table with_): Here’s for you, then, my
hearties.
[_And sings._]
I am a Bard of no regard,
Wi’ gentle folks, an’ a’ that:
But Homer-like, the glowrin byke,
Frae town to town I draw that.
_Chorus_
For a’ that, an’ a’ that,
An’ twice as muckle’s a’ that;
I’ve lost but ane, I’ve twa behin’,
I’ve wife eneugh for a’ that.
Great love I bear to a’ the fair,
Their humble slave, an’ a’ that;
But lordly will, I hold it still
A mortal sin to thraw that.
For a’ that, etc.
Their tricks an’ craft ha’e put me daft,
They’ve ta’en me in, and a’ that;
But clear your decks, and here’s the Sex!
I like the jades for a’ that.
_Chorus_
For a’ that, an’ a’ that,
And twice as muckle’s a’ that;
My dearest bluid, to do them guid,
They’re welcome till’t for a’ that.
[_This is received with an uproar of acclamation. The doxy climbs up
on to the table beside_ BURNS, _and shouts above the din_, ‘A chorus,
a chorus, and then for the road!’ _and they sing in chorus_.]
A fig for those by law protected!
Liberty’s a glorious feast!
Courts for cowards were erected,
Churches built to please the priest.
Life is all a variorum,
We regard not how it goes;
Let them cant about decorum
Who have characters to lose.
[_The Beggars depart, to the music that brought them_, BURNS
_exchanging farewells as they pass through the door. The villagers
follow them, except one lying in a drunken sleep on the floor._ BURNS,
ARMOUR, HOLY WILLIE, _the_ FACTOR, TAM, _the_ LANDLORD, _and_ NELL
_are all that remain. The room is now in confusion, filled with
fumes, the floor stained with liquor, tankards lying about, a litter
of straw and oddments of rags left by the Beggars._]
_Burns_: And that, your reverences, is life too. They’ll all come to
the Day of Judgment with the rest of us. Miserable sinners, God bless
them. Is there anyone to say God bless you, think you?
_Armour_: Let us pass.
_Burns_: Aye, in a moment. That tune has just put another rhyme to
shape--I’ld have you hear it before you go.
_Holy Willie_: You heard what Mr. Armour told you. There’s a warrant
coming this way. Now for the reckoning.
_The Landlord_ (_coming forward_): Aye, the reckoning.
_Burns_ (_his hand going uselessly to his pockets_): Yes, landlord. How
much is it?
_The Landlord_: Four shillings and a penny.
_Burns_: Four--not a penny even. There now. Wouldn’t one of you
gentlemen--?
_Holy Willie_: For shame, young man.
_Burns_: It was a good mumming, worth it surely. Mr. Armour, it would
be an act of grace--a soul might almost be saved for four shillings and
a penny.
_The Landlord_: Let it be, let it be. I’d have none of their pence.
Wipe it out, Nell.
[NELL _cleans the slate_.]
_Burns_: That’s honour for you, true bred out of Elysium. I have it all
in my head now. You with your rank and your rents and your holy purses
and your grand little airs, listen.
[_To the tune of_ ‘I am a bard of no regard,’ _he sings, in a passion
of conviction now_.]
Is there, for honest poverty,
That hings his head, and a’ that?
The coward-slave, we pass him by,
We dare be poor for a’ that!
For a’ that, and a’ that,
Our toils obscure, and a’ that,
The rank is but the guinea’s stamp,
The man’s the gowd for a’ that!
Ye see yon birkie, ca’d a lord,
Wha struts, and stares, and a’ that;
Though hundreds worship at his word,
He’s but a cuif for a’ that:
For a’ that, and a’ that;
His ribband, star, and a’ that,
The man of independent mind
He looks and laughs at a’ that!
Then let us pray that come it may--
(As come it will for a’ that)
That Sense and Worth, o’er a’ the earth,
May bear the gree, and a’ that;
For a’ that, and a’ that,
It’s comin’ yet for a’ that,
That man to man, the world o’er,
Shall brothers be for a’ that!
[_While he sings, a man of bearing and authority has come in and taken
a seat quietly at the back, unobserved. He now comes forward._]
_Burns_: Mr. Hamilton. A respectful good-even to you.
_Gavin Hamilton_: Well sung, Robert. A new one?
_Burns_: Yes, Mr. Hamilton.
_Hamilton_: I hear of trouble.
_Burns_: These gentlemen could tell you.
_Hamilton_: No doubt. They would find it an agreeable narrative. I know
them.
_Holy Willie_: I’ll trouble you, Mr. Hamilton, to keep your offensive
observations to yourself.
_Hamilton_: But why, when I part with them so suitably in your company?
[_A_ SHERIFF’S OFFICER _comes in_.]
_The Officer_: Are you Robert Burns?
_Burns_: I am.
_The Officer_ (_serving a warrant_): In the King’s name.
_Hamilton_: What is this?
_Burns_: I’m a ruined man, Mr. Hamilton. Mr. Armour’s daughter--I can’t
pay--and he won’t let me wed her as I would.
_Armour_: He will not. And he will bid you good-night.
[_He goes_, HOLY WILLIE _and the_ FACTOR _with him_.]
_Hamilton_ (_taking the warrant, and speaking to the_ OFFICER): Perhaps
you could keep this till to-morrow afternoon?
_The Officer_: If Mr. Hamilton asks me to.
_Hamilton_: You may bring it to my house.
_The Officer_: Certainly, sir.
[_He goes._]
_Hamilton_: Robert, you’re a fool.
_Burns_: I believe you, Mr. Hamilton.
_Hamilton_: But I’m not going to see you destroyed by men of that
tonnage. We must consider.
_Burns_: I had a fancy, but there’s no time now.
_Hamilton_: What was it?
_Burns_: If I could print some of my rhymes, and you and some like you,
Mr. Hamilton, could get a little interest for me--
_Hamilton_: Good. Yes. Come to-morrow morning. We’ll talk of it. What
was that factor fellow doing here?
_Burns_: Tam Laurie there.
_Hamilton_: O, it’s you.
_Tam_: I’m sorry to say it is, Mr. Hamilton.
_Hamilton_: Rent?
_Tam_: A week come Tuesday.
_Hamilton_: Yes. I think I might change his mind. Good-night, Robert.
_Burns_: Good-night, Mr. Hamilton.
_The Landlord_: I suppose, Mr. Hamilton (_going to the slate_), let me
see, four shillings and a penny--
[_But_ HAMILTON _has gone_.]
_The Landlord_: No, quite so--not four shillings and a penny.
_Burns_: Never mind, landlord, when I’m laureate crowned, you shall
supply the nectar.
_The Landlord_: Aye, and I’ll be more than four shillings and a penny
out on that I take it. (_Waking the sleeping man._) Now then, John
Anderson, bed-time.
_Burns_: Good-night, landlord. Good-night, Nell. (_He kisses her._)
Come along, Tam. John Anderson, my jo, John, get up.
_John_ (_lifting himself, as uncertain as his speech_): I was sleeping
with the seven kings, and the Beast of the Apocalypse. I’m getting too
old to be called before the sunrise.
_Burns_: Come with us my jo, John--we’ll take you home.
_John_: But I don’t wish to go home. There will only be a wifely
exhortation, and I’m troubled by the seven Beasts of the Apocalypse.
_Burns_: This way. Take an arm, Tam.
[_He sings._]
John Anderson, my jo, John,
When we were first acquent;
Your locks were like the raven,
Your bonnie brow was brent;
But now your brow is beld, John,
Your locks are like the snaw;
But blessings on your frosty pow,
John Anderson, my jo.
John Anderson, my jo, John,
We clamb the hill thegither;
And mony a canty day, John,
We’ve had wi’ ane anither:
Now we maun totter down, John,
And hand in hand we’ll go;
And sleep thegither at the foot,
John Anderson, my jo.
[_They go down the road together._]
_The Landlord_: Good-night, lass. Lock the door. Leave chores till the
morning.
_Nell_: Good-night, Mr. Lomas.
[_The_ LANDLORD _goes_.]
[NELL _puts a little of the confusion to rights, goes to the door,
opens it and looks down the road. She comes into the room, leaving the
door open, and, moving about, sings._]
O whistle, and I’ll come to you, my lad,
O whistle, and I’ll come to you, my lad:
Tho’ father and mother and a’ should gae mad,
O whistle, and I’ll come to you, my lad.
[_She stands looking at the door for a moment. Then she goes to it,
closes and locks it, and puts out the lamp. She goes out by the
candlelight of the stairway door, and leaves the scene in darkness,
and the music continues as_
THE CURTAIN FALLS