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Oh, that I had ne'er been
married,
I wad never had nae care
Now I've gotten wife and bairns,
They cry Crowdie! ever mair.
Crowdie ance, crowdie
twice,
Three times crowdie in a day
Gill ye crowdie ony mair,
Ye'll crowdie a' my meal away.
Quoting the stanzas as an
old ballad in a letter to his friend, Mrs. Dunlop, in December, 1795,
the poet Burns wrote:—"There had much need to be many pleasures annexed
to the states of husband and father, for, God knows, they have many
peculiar cares. I cannot describe to you the anxious, sleepless hours
these ties frequently give me. I see a train of helpless little folks;
me and my exertions all their stay; and on what a brittle thread does
the life of man hang! If I am nipt off at the command of Fate, even in
all the rigour of manhood, as I am — such things happen every day —
Gracious God! what would become of my little flock? 'Tis here that I
envy your people of fortune. A father on his death-bed, taking an
everlasting leave of his children, has indeed woe enough; but the man of
competent fortune leaves his sons and daughters independency and
friends: while I—but I shall run distracted if I think any longer on the
subject!" So might we all. Then, away with it, and let us have a more
lightsome spring. |
