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To The Scotch Representatives In The House of Commons1

First printed in the Kilmarnock edition, 1786.

Dearest of distillation! last and best — — How art thou lost! —

Parody on Milton.

Ye Irish lords, ye knights an’ squires,

Wha represent our BRUGHS an’ SHIRES, who, burghs

An’ doucely manage our affairs prudently

In Parliament,

5 To you a simple Bardie’s pray’rs

Are humbly sent.

Alas! my roupet Muse is haerse! husky, hoarse

Your Honors’ hearts wi’ grief ’twad pierce, it would

To see her sittan on her arse

10 Low i’ the dust,

And scriechan out prosaic verse, screeching

An’ like to brust! burst

Tell them wha hae the chief direction, who have

Scotland an’ me’s in great affliction,

15 E’er sin’ they laid that curst restriction ever since

On AQUAVITAE whisky/water-of-life

An’ rouse them up to strong conviction,

An’ move their pity.

Stand forth, an’ tell yon PREMIER YOUTH

20 The honest, open, naked truth:

Tell him o’ mine an’ Scotland’s drouth, thirst

His servants humble:

The muckle devil blaw you south, great, blow

If ye dissemble!

25 Does onie great man glunch an’ gloom? any, growl, grumble

Speak out, an’ never fash your thumb! trouble yourself

Let posts an’ pensions sink or soom swim

Wi’ them wha grant ’em: who

If honestly they canna come, cannot

30 Far better want ’em. lack them

In gath’rin votes you were na slack; not lazy

Now stand as tightly by your tack:

Ne’er claw your lug, an’ fidge your back, scratch your ear, shrug

An’ hum an haw;

35 But raise your arm, an’ tell your crack tale

Before them a’.

Paint Scotland greetan owre her thrissle; weeping, over, thistle

Her mutchkin stowp as toom’s a whissle; pint-pot, empty as a whistle

An’ damn’d Excise-men in a bustle,

40 Seizin a Stell, still

Triumphant, crushan’t like a mussel,

Or laimpet shell. limpet

Then on the tither hand present her, other

A blackguard Smuggler right behint her,

45 An’ cheek-for-chow, a chuffie Vintner cheek-by-jowl, fat faced

Colleaguing join, —

Pickin her pouch as bare as Winter pocket

Of a’ kind coin.

Is there, that bears the name o’ SCOT,

50 But feels his heart’s bluid rising hot, blood

To see his poor auld Mither’s pot old mother’s

Thus dung in staves, broken in pieces

An’ plunder’d o’ her hindmost groat, last coin

By gallows knaves?

55 Alas! I’m but a nameless wight,

Trode i’ the mire out o’ sight!

But could I like MONTGOMERIES fight,

Or gab like BOSWELL, talk

There’s some sark-necks I wad draw tight, shirt-necks, would

60 An’ tye some hose well. tie

God bless your Honors! can ye see’t,

The kind, auld, cantie Carlin greet, old, jolly, wife weep

An’ no get warmly to your feet,

An’ gar them hear it, make

65 An’ tell them wi’ a patriot-heat, Scottish passion

Ye winna bear it? will not

Some o’ you nicely ken the laws, know

To round the period an’ pause,

An’ with rhetoric clause on clause

70 To mak harangues;

Then echo thro’ Saint Stephen’s wa’s Parliament’s walls

Auld Scotland’s wrangs. old, wrongs

Dempster,1 a true blue Scot I’se warran; I’ll warrant

Thee, aith-detesting, chaste Kilkerran;2 oath

75 An’ that glib-gabbet Highland Baron, quick-tongued

The Laird o’ Graham;3

An’ ane, a chap that’s damn’d auldfarran, one, shrewd

Dundass4 his name:

Erskine,5 a spunkie Norland billie; spirited Northern young man

80 True Campbells, Frederick an’ Ilay;6

An’ Livistone, the bauld Sir Willie;7 bold

An’ mony ithers, many others

Whom auld Demosthenes or Tully8 old

Might own for brithers. brothers

85 Thee sodger Hugh, my watchman stented,9 soldier, assigned (M.P.)

If Bardies e’er are represented;

I ken if that your sword were wanted, know

Ye’d lend your hand;

But when there’s ought to say anent it, about

90 Ye’re at a stand.

Arouse my boys! exert your mettle,

To get auld Scotland back her kettle! old, whisky still

Or faith! I’ll wad my new pleugh-pettle, wager, plough scraper

Ye’ll see’t or lang, before long

95 She’ll teach you, wi’ a reekan whittle, smoking knife

Anither sang. another song

This while she’s been in crankous mood, fretful

Her lost Militia fir’d her bluid; blood

(Deil na they never mair do guid, not, more, good

100 Play’d her that pliskie!) trick

An’ now she’s like to rin red-wud run stark mad

About her Whisky.

An’ Lord! if ance they pit her till’t, once, put her to it

Her tartan petticoat she’ll kilt, tuck up

105 An’ durk an’ pistol at her belt, blade

She’ll tak the streets,

An’ rin her whittle to the hilt, run her knife, handle

I’ the first she meets!

For God-sake, Sirs! then speak her fair,

110 An’ straik her cannie wi’ the hair, stroke, carefully

An’ to the Muckle House repair, great Parliament

Wi’ instant speed,

An’ strive, wi’ a’ your Wit an’ Lear, knowledge

To get remead.

115 Yon ill-tongu’d tinkler, Charlie Fox,10 gypsy

May taunt you wi’ his jeers an’ mocks;

But gie him’t het, my hearty cocks! give him it hot

E’en cowe the cadie! subdue, rascal

An’ send him to his dicing box

120 An’ sportin lady.

Tell yon guid bluid of auld Boconnock’s,11 good blood, old

I’ll be his debt twa mashlum bonnocks, mixed meal bannocks

An’ drink his health in auld Nanse Tinnock’s12 old

Nine times a-week,

125 If he some scheme, like tea an’ winnocks, windows

Wad kindly seek. would

Could he some commutation broach,

I’ll pledge my aith in guid braid Scotch, oath, good broad

He needna fear their foul reproach need not

130 Nor erudition,

Yon mixtie-maxtie, queer hotch-potch, mixed up

The Coalition.

Auld Scotland has a raucle tongue; old, rough

She’s just a devil wi’ a rung; bludgeon

135 An’ if she promise auld or young old

To tak their part,

Tho’ by the neck she should be strung,

She’ll no desert.

And now, ye chosen FIVE AND FORTY,

140 May still your Mither’s heart support ye; mother’s

Then, tho’ a Minister grow dorty, haughty

An’ kick your place,

Ye’ll snap your fingers, poor an’ hearty,

Before his face.

145 God bless your Honors, a’ your days,

Wi’ sowps o’ kail and brats o’ claes, sups of broth, coarse cloth

In spite o’ a’ the thievish kaes, jackdaws

That haunt St. Jamie’s! parliament

Your humble Bardie sings an’ prays,

150 While Rab his name is.

POSTSCRIPT

Let half-starv’d slaves in warmer skies,

See future wines, rich-clust’ring, rise;

Their lot auld Scotland ne’er envies, old

But, blythe and frisky,

155 She eyes her freeborn, martial boys

Tak aff their Whisky. drink down

What tho’ their Phoebus kinder warms, sun

While Fragrance blooms and Beauty charms!

When wretches range, in famish’d swarms,

160 The scented groves,

Or hounded forth, dishonor arms

In hungry droves.

Their gun’s a burden on their shouther; shoulder

They downa bide the stink o’ powther; do not, gun powder

165 Their bauldest thought’s a hank’ring swither boldest, uncertain doubt

To stan’ or rin,

Till skelp – a shot – they’re aff, a’ throw’ther, crack, off, pell-mell

To save their skin.

But bring a SCOTCHMAN frae his hill, from

170 Clap in his cheek a Highlan gill, gill (measure)

Say, such is royal GEORGE’S will,

An’ there’s the foe!

He has nae thought but how to kill no

Twa at a blow. two

175 Nae cauld, faint-hearted doubtings tease him; no cold

Death comes, wi’ fearless eye he sees him;

Wi’ bluidy han’ a welcome gies him; bloody hand, gives

An’ when he fa’s, falls

His latest draught o’ breathin lea’es him leaves

180 In faint huzzas.

Sages their solemn een may steek eyes, close

An’ raise a philosophic reek, smoke

An’ physically causes seek,

In clime an’ season;

185 But tell me Whisky’s name in Greek:

I’ll tell the reason.

SCOTLAND, my auld, respected Mither! old, mother

Tho’ whyles ye moistify your leather, moisten, vagina

Till whare ye sit on craps o’ heather crops

190 Ye tine your dam, lose your water

Freedom and whisky gang thegither, go together

Tak aff your dram! raise up your glass

The extended title which conveys the notion of self-mocking very minor prophetic biblical lamentation and political tract is given, by the parodic use in Milton, an added impulse to see the poem, despite its manifest political content, as laughing and lightweight. Surely the poet, unlike Adam for Eve, is not grieving for a fallen Scotland (Paradise Lost, Book IX, ll. 896–901)? The political, economic occasion for the poem was the Wash Act brought in by English pressure in 1784 to prevent what they considered preferential treatment to the Scottish distilling industry. This had not only severe effects on the Scottish whisky industry but was in breach of the terms of the Union and, for Burns, another symptom of the London Parliament’s, at best, indifference to Scottish needs. By the time the poem appeared the injustice seemed, as Burns’s footnote suggests, to have been corrected: ‘This was wrote before the Act anent the Scotch Distilleries of session 1786; for which Scotland and the Author return their most grateful thanks.’

In February, 1789, the matter flared up again. On this occasion Burns chose for the second time to send a pseudonymous letter to the Edinburgh Evening Courant on the 9th February. The occasion for his first letter had been his request for compassion for the fallen House of Stuart along with his risky defence of the American Revolution as akin to the British events of 1688. This second letter was signed John Barleycorn and purports, remarkably, to be written on behalf of the Scottish Distillers to William Pitt who, at the time of composition, appears to be about to fall from power due to the Regency Bill as an antidote to the King’s madness. The letter is based on the Scottish Distillers’ alleged mutual sense of falling with Pitt from power and prosperity to exclusion and poverty. There is also an extraordinary parallel made with King Nebuchadnezzar which is implicitly to be read as Burns’s own sense of sharing Pitt’s exile. The letter also repeats the poem’s allegations of political injustice to Scotland:

But turn your eyes, Sir, to the tragic scenes of our fate. An ancient nation that for many ages had gallantly maintained the unequal struggle for independence with her much more powerful neighbour, at last agrees to a union which should ever after make them one people. In consideration of certain circumstances, it was solemnly covenanted that the Former should always enjoy a stipulated alleviation of her share of the public burdens, particularly in that branch of the revenue known by the name of the Excise.

This just priviledge has of late given great umbrage to some invidious powerful individuals of the more potent half of the Empire, and they have spared no wicked pains, under insidious pretexts to subvert, what they yet too much dreaded the spirit of their ancient enemies openly to attack.

By this conspiracy we fell; nor did we alone suffer, our Country was deeply wounded. A number of, we will say it, respectable characters largely engaged in trade where we were not only useful but absolutely necessary to our Country in her dearest interest; we, with all that was near and dear to us, were sacrificed without remorse, to the Infernal Deity of Political Expediency (Letter, 311).

Burns’s second intrusion into The Courant is as seriously meant in national and political terms as his first. The poem, also invoking Pitt, depends on laughter but the comic tone is one that both covertly asserts Burns’s satirising superiority to his subject and his ability to give tangible witness to the economic distresses caused by the whisky tax. As well as the machinations of the London Parliament and the betrayals of Scotland therein by her forty-five Commons representatives, he also speculates on the degree to which available Scottish talent could be employed to the Nation’s benefit. Not least, running through the poem, are insinuations of ancestral Scottish violence resurrecting itself again to put right political injustice.

The poem begins with the ironic comment that, whilst Irish Lords were allowed to represent Scotland in Parliament, the elder sons of Scottish Peers were not. He then craftily invokes his coarse, arse-in-the-dust muse. As well as the tactical self-denigration of his muse, this allows the poet to distance himself in the wings, putting the muse centre stage. But, at l. 55, this somewhat transparent mask drops and he speaks, again, ironically, self-denigratorily, as himself.

Ll. 13–54 invoke the muse to have the courage to tell the truth about establishment censure by revealing the social dereliction caused by the related excesses of the Excisemen and the Smugglers. He also looks to specifically Ayrshire heroes (See The Vision) such as the military Montgomery and the writerly Boswell to save Mother Scotland from dereliction. We get the first suggestion of reactive violence (ll. 59–60), with a vengeful image of choking restriction perpetrated by the poet on his nation’s enemies.

The poem is, thus, both an analysis of post-Union Scottish distress and a thesis about Scottish resurrection based on the available Scottish greatness. In a letter he wrote to Bruce Campbell on November 13th, 1788 he included the poem which he hoped would be passed to James Boswell, thus procuring him an introduction to the great writer:

There are few pleasures my late will-o’-wisp character has given me, equal to that of having seen many of the extraordinary men, the heroes of Wit and Literature in my Country; and as I had the honour of drawing my first breath in almost the same Parish with Mr Boswell, my pride Plumes itself on the connection. To crouch in the train of meer, stupid Wealth & Greatness, except where the commercial interests of worldly Prudence find their account in it, I hold to be Prostitution in any one that is not born a Slave; but to have been acquainted with a man such as Mr Boswell, I would hand down to my Posterity, as one of the honours of their Ancestor (Letter 284).

Boswell received and endorsed the letter (13th Nov 1788, ‘Mr Robert Burns the Poet expressing very high sentiments of me’) but made no attempts to meet Burns. Burns’s need for redemptive Scottish Heroes, ancestral and contemporary, certainly chose the wrong man in that sycophantic, anglophile prose genius. Also this poem’s programme puts together a misalliance of talents who Burns then thought were the rhetorical equals of Demosthenes and Tully, whose eloquence would cause the triumph of Scotland at Saint Stephens, the then site of Parliament. Ll. 73–81 list the candidates allegedly worthy of this task.

That this é lite legal, political corps would co-operate to save Scotland was to prove for Burns the wildest of hopes. By 1795, as his brilliant poem The Dean of Faculty reveals, Scotland was tearing itself apart with the brilliant radical Henry Erskine outvoted and ejected from office by Robert Dundas. Henry Dundas, as Pitt’s ferociously repressive Home Secretary, was running a fatwah against his radical countrymen.

From ll. 85–100 we have images of Scottish outrage spilling into weapons bearing anarchy with echoes of recent Jacobite incursion. Pitt, auld Boconnocks, is praised for his new methods of taxation. ‘Commutation’ (l. 121) refers to his 1784 Commutation Act which diverted tax from tea to windows. Fox, at this time is still for Burns merely a licentious nuisance. After another invocation of Scottish capacity for violence, he ends by requesting the 45 MPs to support their Nation. His actual hopes of their doing so is summed up in a brilliantly ironic last stanza where he envisages these pursy placemen subsisting on the diet and in the rags of Scottish peasantry among the temptations of St James’s in London.

This level of irony is sustained in the quite brilliantly subtle seven-stanza Postscript which Burns adds to the poem. Carol McGuirk suggests that this should be read as the Poet’s first address to Parliament. On the face of it, derived from Enlightenment theories that national character is the product of climate and environment, the poem seems to be a celebration of Scottish machismo and militarism over the cowardice inherent to the wine drinking peasantry of warmer climes. This apparent celebration of Scottish militarism is, however, immediately, devastatingly undercut. Ll. 163–74 are an astonishingly compressed denunciation of the savage, self-destructive consequences to the unaware Highlanders of their post-Culloden integration into British Imperial armies. Equally dark for Scotland is the fact that the feminine part of the nation (ll. 181–3) has degenerated to an incontinent crone. Thus, the ultimate toast (ll. 185–6) is the blackest irony.

N.B. Stanza 15 here is not included in Kinsley. There is also a variation in the last stanza.

1 This was written before the Act anent the Scotch Distilleries of session 1786; for which Scotland and the Author return their most grateful thanks. R.B.

1 George Dempster, mentioned in The Vision.

2 Sir Adam Ferguson.

3 James Graham, Son of the Duke of Montrose.

4 Henry Dundas, Viscount Melville.

5 Thomas Erskine, M.P., brother of Henry Erskine.

6 Frederick Campbell and Ilay Campbell.

7 Sir William Cunninghame of Livingston.

8 Classical rhetorical orators – colloquial for Cicero.

9 Hugh Montgomerie, Earl of Eglinton.

10 Leader of the Whig Opposition.

11 An allusion to William Pitt’s grandfather, Robert.

12 A worthy old Hostess of the Author’s in Mauchline, where he sometimes studies Politics over a glass of guid auld Scotch Drink. R.B.