Luath
Hech, man! dear sirs! is that the gateThey waste sae mony a braw estate!Are we sae foughten an’ harass’dFor gear to gang that gate at last?
O would they stay aback frae courts,An’ please themsels wi’ country sports,It wad for ev’ry ane be better,The laird, the tenant, an’ the cotter!For thae frank, rantin, ramblin billies,Feint haet o’ them’s ill-hearted fellows;Except for breakin o’ their timmer,Or speakin lightly o’ their limmer,Or shootin of a hare or moor-cock,The ne’er-a-bit they’re ill to poor folk,
But will ye tell me, Master Caesar,Sure great folk’s life’s a life o’ pleasure?Nae cauld nor hunger e’er can steer them,The very thought o’t need na fear them.
Words in this poem
- braw a.
- Well-dressed; handsome; smart; brave; -- used of persons or their clothing, etc.; as, a braw lad.
- aback n.
- An abacus. B. Jonson.
- laird n.
- A lord; a landholder, esp. one who holds land directly of the crown. [See Lord.]
- cotter n.
- A cottager; a cottier. Burns. [LL. cotarius, cottarius, coterius. See Cot.]
- feint a.
- Feigned; counterfeit. [F. feint, p.p. of feindre to feign. See Feign.]
- limmer a.
- Limber. Holland.
- folk n.
- In Anglo-Saxon times, the people of a group of townships or villages; a community; a tribe. [AS. folc; akin to D. volk, OS. & OHG. folk, G. volk, Icel. f, Sw. & Dan. folk, Lith. pulkas crowd, and perh. to E. follow.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Luath is in the public domain. This text is taken from Poems and Songs of Robert Burns, Project Gutenberg ebook #1279; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Robert Burns, Luath, in Poems and Songs (1786–1796), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #1279, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/burns-poems/luath-3.html, id L03004.
Form and metre
Luath is 18 lines in 3 verse paragraphs. It is in rhyming couplets, 56% of the lines: octosyllabic couplets. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 89%). 97% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 8.7 syllables. 8 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 11% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in octosyllabic couplets, other poems in iambic tetrameter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 AABB gateA · estateA · harass'dB · lastB
- 2 AA----BB-- courtsA · sportsA · better · cotter · billies · fellows · timmerB · limmerB · cock · folk
- 3 --AA caesar · pleasure · themA · themA
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic tetrameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| Hech, man! dear sirs! is that the gate | 8 | ········ |
| They waste sae mony a braw estate! | 9 | ···/˘··˘/ |
| Are we sae foughten an’ harass’d | 8 | ···/˘·˘/ |
| For gear to gang that gate at last? | 8 | ········ |
| O would they stay aback frae courts, | 8 | ····˘/·· |
| An’ please themsels wi’ country sports, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| It wad for ev’ry ane be better, | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| The laird, the tenant, an’ the cotter! | 9 | ···/˘··/˘ |
| For thae frank, rantin, ramblin billies, | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| Feint haet o’ them’s ill-hearted fellows; | 9 | ·····/˘/˘ |
| Except for breakin o’ their timmer, | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| Or speakin lightly o’ their limmer, | 9 | ···/˘··/˘ |
| Or shootin of a hare or moor-cock, | 9 | ········· |
| The ne’er-a-bit they’re ill to poor folk, | 9 | ········· |
| But will ye tell me, Master Caesar, | 9 | ·····/˘/˘ |
| Sure great folk’s life’s a life o’ pleasure? | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| Nae cauld nor hunger e’er can steer them, | 9 | ···/˘···· |
| The very thought o’t need na fear them. | 9 | ·/˘······ |
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.