Robert Burns: A play

by John Drinkwater

Then let us toast John Barleycorn,

Each man a glass in hand;

And may his great posterity

Ne’er fail in old Scotland!

[There is general acclamation and toasting.]

Burns (jumping down from his chair, a little ‘flown’): Fill up—fill up! John Barleycorn is Scotland’s king, and shall be so for ever! Fill up! There’s a pretty Nell. How’s that for a song, landlord?

The Landlord: Very good sentiments, Robin. Let all honest men prosper, say I.

Burns: Meaning, most noble landlord, all honest men to be John Barleycorn’s liege subjects—that pay tribute, mark you. Drink up, Tam Laurie—why so doomsday, man?

Tam (a meek, hard-driven little man): It’s the cursed factors, Robin. They’ll not let a man scrape supper gruel from his toil.

Burns: Blast and misfortune to them! Craft and fat bellies—a flea on a dog’s tail is a respectable work of God beside a factor. A toast, friends, fellow-citizens of Mauchline—‘To hell with all factors.’