O Rabbie, I hae seen the day

Written by Susi Briggs, poet

A very old pair of glasses, with one glass lens missing, lies on an old wooden table. An old leather case is in two halves behind them. The lighting is quite low in the photograph.

Robert Burns was a young man of 18 years old when Tibby spurned his affections; his response was to write a scathing poem about her motives. ‘Tibby’ was Isabella Steven of Littlehill Farm, near Lochlea where Burns’s father farmed from 1777. For hundreds of years Tibby has been immortalised as though she looked down her nose at him and rejected his affections because of money.

Burns was well known among the lassies for his affectionate and poetic nature. You could call him a rogue or call him a romantic. You could argue he was both. I felt inspired tae let Tibby have her say after all those years of being immortalised by the bard as a stuck-up quine. After all, there’s always more than one side to a story. Especially when it comes to lost love and rejection.

O Rabbie, I hae seen the day

© Susi Briggs

O Rabbie, I hae seen the day
Ye wad hae me sigh
Wi words laced wi promise love
But trowth, I care’t na by

Aye, I saw ye on the moor
I geck at ye noo, no cos yer poor
Ye treated me like yin o yer h--rs
And I canna thole the lies

I cam hame on Sunday last
By then glamour’s spell became uncast
Severin ties o tender past
And trowth, o that care I

I doot na man,that ye maun think
Ye lost yer chairm, fer I hae clink
But it’s no fer gowd that I shrink
My love fer it tae die

Puir hurt Rabbie, greetin the dark
I pity that lass doon at yon park
Awa and tak her in the sark
And trowth, I care’t na by

Blame me Rabbie, fer haein gear
Girn and scrieve o love nae mair
Ten hale verses tae say ye dinna care?
I’ll wager that’s a lie.

Yer pride’s been dunted, no yer hert
Fer me, a lassie chose anither airt
Awa and play wounded in the dirt
Etter yer reasons as tae why

It’s no the money that maks me mean
It’s the flirtin ye dae on the scene
So whit if I decided I am a Queen
And look sae prood and high

Spectacles owned by Isabella Steven, with a leather case, 1777 | Object number: 3.4008

Tibby, I hae seen the day

by Robert Burns, 1788

O Tibby, I hae seen the day,
Ye wadna been sae shy;
For laik o’ gear ye lightly me,
But, trowth, I care na by.

Yestreen I met you on the moor,
Ye spak na, but gaed by like stour;
Ye geck at me because I’m poor,
But fient a hair care I.

When coming hame on Sunday last,
Upon the road as I cam past,
Ye snufft and ga’e your head a cast -
But trowth I care’t na by.

I doubt na, lass, but ye may think,
Because ye hae the name o’ clink,
That ye can please me at a wink,
Whene’er ye like to try.

But sorrow tak’ him that’s sae mean,
Altho’ his pouch o’ coin were clean,
Wha follows ony saucy quean,
That looks sae proud and high.

Altho’ a lad were e’er sae smart,
If that he want the yellow dirt,
Ye’ll cast your head anither airt ,
And answer him fu’ dry.

But, if he hae the name o’ gear,
Ye’ll fasten to him like a brier,
Tho’ hardly he, for sense or lear,
Be better than the kye .

But, Tibby, lass, tak’ my advice:
Your daddie’s gear maks you sae nice;
The deil a ane wad speir your price,
Were ye as poor as I.

There lives a lass beside yon park,
I’d rather hae her in her sark,
Than you wi’ a’ your thousand mark;
That gars you look sae high.

An original handwritten Burns manuscript, with annotations, written in dark ink on now-yellowing paper.

‘Tibby, I hae seen the day’, 1788 | Object number: 3.6288

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