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

The Sun just o'er the Hills was peeping,
The Hynds arising, Gentry sleeping,
The Dogs were barking, Cocks were crawing,
Night-drinking Sots counting their Lawing;
Clean were the Roads, and clear the Day,
When forth a Falconer took his Way,
Nane with him but his she Knight errant,
That acts in Air the bloody Tyrant;
While with quick Wing, fierce Beek and Claws,
She breaks divine and humane Laws;
Ne'er pleas'd, but with the Hearts and Livers
Of Peartricks, Teals, Moor-powts and Plivers;
Yet is she much esteem'd and dandl'd,
Clean lodg'd, well fed, and saftly handl'd.

156

Reason for this need be nae Wonder,
Her Parasites share in the Plunder.
Thus sneaking Rooks about a Court,
That make Oppression but their Sport,
Will praise a paughty bloody King,
And hire mean Hackney-Poets to sing
His Glories; while the Deel be licket
He e'er attempt but what he sticket.

So, Sir, as I was gawn to say,
This Falconer had tane his Way
O'er Calder-moor; and gawn the Moss up,
He there forgather'd with a Gossip:
And wha was't, trow ye, but the Deel,
That had disguis'd himsell sae weel
In humane Shape, sae snug and wylie;
Jude took him for a Burrlie-baillie:
His cloven Cloots were hid with Shoon,
A Bonnet coor'd his Horns aboon:
Nor spat he Fire, or Brimstone rifted,
Nor awsome glowr'd; but cawmly lifted
His Een and Voice, and thus began,
Good Morning t'ye, honest Man,
Ye're early out:—How far gae ye
This Gate?—I'm blyth of Company—
What Fowl is that, may ane demand,
That stands sae trigly on your Hand?
“Wow Man! quoth Juden, where won ye?
“The like was never speer'd at me!
“Man, 'tis a Hawk, and e'en as good
“As ever flew, or wore a Hood.”
Friend, I'm a Stranger, quoth auld Symmie,
I hope ye'll no be angry wi' me;
The Ignorant maun ay be speering
Questions, till they come to a Clearing.
Then tell me mair—What do ye wi't?
Is't good to sing? or good to eat?

157

“For neither, answer'd simple Juden;
“But helps to bring my Lord his Food in:
“When Fowls start up that I wad hae,
“Straight frae my Hand I let her gae;
“Her Hood tane aff, she is not langsome
“In taking Captives, which I ransome
“With a Dow's Wing, or Chicken's leg.”
Trowth, quoth the Deel, that's nice! I beg
Ye'll be sae kind, as let me see
How this same Bird of yours can flee.
“T'oblige ye, Friend, I winna stand.“—
Syne loos'd the Falcon frae his Hand.
Unhooded, up she sprang with Birr,
While baith stood staring after her.
But how d'ye get her back? said Nick.
“For that, quoth Jude, I have a Trick.
“Ye see this Lure,—it shall command
“Her upon Sight down to my Hand.”
Syne twirl'd it thrice, with whieu-whieu-whieu—
And straight upon't the Falcon flew.
As I'm a Sinner! crys the Deel,
I like this Pastime wonder weel;
And since ye've been sae kindly free,
To let her at my Bidding flee,
I'll entertain ye in my Gate.—
Mean time it was the Will of Fate,
A hooded Friar (ane of that Clan
Ye have descriv'd by Father Gawin,
In Master-keys) came up; good Saul!
Him Satan cleek'd up by the Spaul,
Whip'd aff his Hood, and without mair,
Ga'e him a Toss up in the Air.
High flew the Son of Saint Loyola,
While startled Juden gave a Hola!

158

Bumbaz'd with Wonder, still he stood,
The Ferly had 'maist crudled his Blood,
To see a Monk mount like a Facon,
He 'gan to doubt if he was wakin:
Thrice did he rub his Een to clear;
And having master'd part o's Fear,
“His Presence be about us a'!
“He cries, the like I never saw:
“See, see! he like a Lavrock tours—
“He'll reek the Starns in twa 'r three Hours!
“Is't possible to bring him back?”
For that, quoth Nick, I have a Knack;
To train my Birds, I want na Lures,
Can manage them as ye do your's:
And there's ane coming, hie gate, hither,
Shall soon bring down the haly Brither.

This was a fresh young Landwart Lass,
With Cheeks like Cherries, Een like Glass;
Few Coats she wore, and they were kilted,
And (John come kiss me now) she lilted.
As she skift o'er the Benty Knows,
Gawn to the Bught to milk the Ews;
Her in his Hand slee Belzie hint up,
As eith as ye wad do a Pint-Stoup,
Inverted, wav'd her round his Head:
Whieu,—whieu,—he whistled, and with Speed
Down, quick as shooting Starns, the Priest
Came souse upon the Lass's Breast.

The Moral of this Tale shews plainly
That carnal Minds attempt but vainly
Aboon this laigher Warld to mount,
While Slaves to Satan.

The reverend Anthony Gawin, formerly a Spanish Roman Catholick Priest, now an Irish Protestant Minister, who hath lately wrote three Volumes on the Tricks and Whoredoms of the Priests and Nuns; which Book he names Master-keys to Popery.