Explore "Elegy on the Year 1788" by Robert Burns on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
For lords or kings I dinna mourn, / E'en let them die-for that they're born: / But oh! prodigious to reflec'! / A Towmont, sirs, is gane to wreck! / O Eighty-eight, in thy sma' space, / What dire events hae taken place! / Of what enjoyments thou hast reft us! / In what a pickle thou has left us!
The Spanish empire's tint a head, / And my auld teethless, Bawtie's dead: / The tulyie's teugh 'tween Pitt and Fox, / And 'tween our Maggie's twa wee cocks; / The tane is game, a bluidy devil, / But to the hen-birds unco civil; / The tither's something dour o' treadin, / But better stuff ne'er claw'd a middin.