Vulgar words in Robert Burns - How To Know Him (Page 1)
This book at a glance
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[hussy] She may gae to--France for me!'
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No--stretch a point to catch a plack; [small coin] Abuse a brother to his back; Steal thro' the winnock frae a whore, [window from] But point the rake that takes the door: * * * * * Be to the poor like ony whunstane, [any whinstone] And haud their noses to the grunstane; [hold, grindstone] Ply ev'ry art o' legal thieving; No matter--stick to sound believing.
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Learn three-mile pray'rs, an' half-mile graces, Wi' weel-spread looves, an' lang, wry faces; [palms] Grunt up a solemn, lengthen'd groan, And damn a' parties but your own; I'll warrant them ye're nae deceiver, A steady, sturdy, staunch believer.
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[young hussy's] I daur you try sic sportin', [dare] As seek the foul Thief ony place, [Devil] For him to spae your fortune!
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There, at Vienna, or Versailles, He rives his father's auld entails; [splits] Or by Madrid he takes the rout, To thrum guitars and fecht wi' nowt; [fight with bulls] Or down Italian vista startles, [courses] Whore-hunting amang groves o' myrtles; Then bouses drumly German water, [muddy] To make himsel' look fair and fatter, And clear the consequential sorrows, Love-gifts of Carnival signoras.
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The men cast out in party matches, [quarrel] Then sowther a' in deep debauches: [solder] Ae night they're mad wi' drink and whoring, [One] Neist day their life is past enduring.
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Here stands a shed to fend the show'rs, [keep off] An' screen our country gentry; There racer Jess an' twa-three whores Are blinkin' at the entry.
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Sir Violino, with an air That show'd a man o' spunk, [spirit] Wish'd unison between the pair, An' made the bottle clunk To their health that night.
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[poke] 'See, here's a scythe, and there's a dart-- They hae pierc'd mony a gallant heart; But Doctor Hornbook, wi' his art And cursed skill, Has made them baith no worth a fart; Damn'd haet they'll kill.
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'That's just a swatch o' Hornbook's way; [sample] Thus goes he on from day to day, Thus does he poison, kill an' slay, An's weel pay'd for't; Yet stops me o' my lawfu' prey Wi' his damn'd dirt.
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Thou comes--they rattle i' their ranks At ither's arses!
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[spies] An' bake them up in brunstane pies [brimstone] For poor damn'd drinkers.