The works of Allan Ramsay :: :: University of Virginia Library

Frae Northern Mountains clad with Snaw,
Where whistling Winds incessant blaw,
In time now when the Curling-stane
Slides murm'ring o'er the icy Plain,
What sprightly Tale in Verse can Yarde
Expect frae a cauld Scottish Bard,
With Brose and Bannocks poorly fed,
In Hoden Gray right hashly cled,
Skelping o'er frozen Hags with Pingle,
Picking up Peets to beet his Ingle,
While Sleet that freezes as it fa's,
Theeks as with Glass the Divot Waws
Of a laigh Hut, where sax thegither,
Ly Heads and Thraws on Craps of Heather?

Thus, Sir, of us the Story gaes,
By our mair dull and scornfu' Faes:
But let them tauk, and Gowks believe,
While we laugh at them in our Sleeve;
For we, nor barbarous nor rude,
Ne'er want good Wine to warm our Blood,
Have Tables crown'd,—and hartsome Biels,
And can in Cumin's, Don's or Steil's,

Be serv'd as plenteously and civil,
As you in London at the Devil.
You, Sir, your self wha came and saw,
Own'd that we wanted nought at a',
To make us as content a Nation,
As any is in the Creation.

This Point premis'd, my canty Muse
Cocks up her Crest without Excuse,
And scorns to screen her natural Flaws,
With If's and But's, and dull Because;
She pukes her Pens, and aims a Flight
Throu' Regions of internal Light,
Frae Fancy's Field, these Truths to bring
That you shou'd hear, and she shou'd sing.

Langsyne, when Love and Innocence
Were humane Nature's best Defence,
E'er Party-jars made Lateth less,
By cleathing't in a Monkish Dress;
Then Poets shaw'd these evenly Roads,
That lead to Dwellings of the Gods.
In these dear Days, well ken'd to Fame,
Divini Vates was their Name:
It was, and is, and shall be ay,
While they move in fair Vertue's Way.
Tho' rarely we to Stipends reach,
Yet nane dare hinder us to preach.

Believe me, Sir, the nearest Way
To Happiness, is to be gay;
For Spleen indulg'd will banish Rest
Far frae the Bosoms of the best;
Thousands a-year's no worth a Prin,
When e'er this fashous Guest gets in:
But a fair competent Estate
Can keep a Man frae looking blate,
Sae eithly it lays to his Hand
What his just Appetites demand.

Wha has, and can enjoy, O wow!
How smoothly may his Minutes flow?
A Youth thus blest with manly Frame,
Enliven'd with a lively Flame,
Will ne'er with sordid Pinch controul
The Satisfaction of his Soul.
Poor is that Mind, ay discontent,
That canna use what God has lent;
But envious girns at a' he sees,
That are a Crown richer than he's;
Which gars him pitifully hane,
And Hell's Ase-middings rake for Gain;
Yet never kens a blythsome Hour,
Is ever wanting, ever sowr.

Yet ae Extreme shou'd never make
A Man the gowden Mien forsake.
It shaws as much a shallow Mind,
And ane extravagantly blind,
If careless of his future Fate,
He daftly waste a good Estate,
And never thinks till Thoughts are vain,
And can afford him nought but Pain.
Thus will a Joiner's Shavings bleez,
Their Low will for some Seconds please;
But soon the glaring Leam is past,
And cauldrife Darkness follows fast:
While slaw the Fagots large expire,
And warn us with a lasting Fire.
Then neither, as I ken ye will,
With idle Fears your Pleasures spill,
Nor with neglecting prudent Care,
Do Skaith to your succeeding Heir.
Thus steering cannily throw Life,
Your Joys shall lasting be and rife:
Give a your Passions room to reel,
As lang as Reason guides the Wheel.

Desires, tho' ardent, are nae Crime,
When they harmoniously keep Time:
But when they spang o'er Reason's Fence,
We smart for't at our ain Expence
To recreate us we're allow'd,
But gaming deep boils up the Blood,
And gars ane at Groomporters ban
The Being that made him a Man,
When his fair Gardens, House and Lands,
Are fa'n amongst the Sharpers Hands.
A cheerfu' Bottle sooths the Mind,
Gars Carles grow canty, free and kind;
Defeats our Care, and hales our Strife,
And brawly oyls the Wheels of Life:
But when just Quantums we transgress,
Our Blessing turns the quite Reverse.

To love the bonny smiling Fair,
Nane can their Passions better ware;
Yet Love is kittle and unruly,
And shou'd move tentily and hooly:
For if it get o'er meikle Head,
'Tis fair to gallop ane to dead:
O'er ilka Hedge it wildly bounds,
And grazes on forbidden Grounds;
Where constantly, like Furies, range,
Poortith, Diseases, Death, Revenge:
To toom anes Pouch to Dunty clever,
Or have wrang'd Husband prob ane's Liver,
Or void ane's Saul out throw a Shanker;
In faith 'twad any Mortal canker.

Then wale a Virgin worthy you,
Worthy your Love and nuptial Vow:
Syne frankly range o'er a' her Charms,
Drink deep of Joy within her Arms;
Be still delighted with her Breast,
And on her Love with Rapture feast.

May she be blooming, saft and young,
With Graces melting from her Tongue;
Prudent and yielding to retain
Your Love, as well as you her ain.

Thus with your Leave, Sir, I've made free
To give Advice to ane can gi'e
As good again.—But as Mess John
Said, when the Sand tald Time was done,
“Ha'e Patience, my dear Friends a wee,
“And take ae ither Glas frae me;
“And if ye think there's Doublets due,
“I shanna bauk the like frae you.”