Back to Index

Epitaph on Holy Willie

by Robert Burns, 1785

Here Holy Willie's sair worn clay
  Taks up its last abode;
His saul has ta'en some other way,
  I fear, the left-hand road.

Stop! there he is, as sure's a gun,
  Poor, silly body, see him;
Nae wonder he's as black's the grun,
  Observe wha's standing wi' him.

Your brunstane devilship, I see,
  Has got him there before ye;
But haud your nine-tail cat a wee,
  Till ance you've heard my story.

Your pity I will not implore,
  For pity ye have nane;
Justice, alas! has gi'en him o'er,
  And mercy's day is gane.

But hear me, Sir, deil as ye are,
  Look something to your credit;
A coof like him wad stain your name,
  If it were kent ye did it.

Published in Poems and Songs of Robert Burns

Any corrections or public domain poems I should have here? Email me at poems (at) this domain.