Robert Burns: A play

by John Drinkwater

We twa hae run about the braes,

And pou’d the gowans fine;

But we’ve wander’d mony a weary foot

Sin’ auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,

For auld lang syne,

We’ll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet,

For auld lang syne.

Burns (as the song fades away): Do you hear that? They’re singing my song—they’re taking me out into the world with them. The darlings!

[Again he relapses into his quietness for a moment. Then in the distance is heard the pipes of a Scots regiment on march.]