No Churchman am I


No churchman am I for to rail and to write, No Statesman nor Soldier to plot or to fight, No sly Man of business contriving a snare, For a big-belly'd bottle's the whole of my care. The Peer I don't envy, I give him his bow; I scorn not the Peasant, tho' ever so low; But a club of good fellows, like those that are here, And a bottle like this, are my glory and care. Here passes the Squire on his brother - his horse; There Centum per Centum, the Cit with his purse; But see you the Crown how it waves in the air, There a big-belly'd bottle still eases my care. The wife of my bosom, alas! she did die; For sweet consolation to church I did fly; I found that old Solomon proved it fair, That a big-belly'd bottle's a cure for all care. I once was persuaded a venture to make; A letter inform'd me that all was to wreck; But the pursy old landlord just waddl'd up stairs, With a glorious bottle that ended my cares. 'Life's cares they are comforts' - a maxim laid down By the Bard, what d'ye call him, that wore the black gown; And faith I agree with th' old prig to a hair; For a big-belly'd bottle's a heav'n of care.
Then fill up a bumper and make it o'erflow, And honours masonic prepare for to throw; May ev'ry true Brother of th' Compass and Square Have a big-belly'd bottle when harass'd with care.

Listen

Phil McKee

About this work

This is a song by Robert Burns. It was written in 1782 and is read here by Phil McKee.

Themes for this song

drink brotherhood religion

Skip to top

BBC © 2014 The BBC is not responsible for the content of external sites. Read more.

This page is best viewed in an up-to-date web browser with style sheets (CSS) enabled. While you will be able to view the content of this page in your current browser, you will not be able to get the full visual experience. Please consider upgrading your browser software or enabling style sheets (CSS) if you are able to do so.