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

O could my Muse in nervous Numbers draw,
The Merit and surprizing Feats of LAW,
Sublime like MARO she should sing the Man
Profound in Project, destin'd to command.
Inferiour Minds are stun'd to see the Maze
Of God-like Thought, where his vast Genius plays
With so much Ease; without a wrinkl'd Brow
Inimitable Plans he doth pursue.

BLEST Monarch! By indulgent Heav'n carest,
Whose Crown's of such a valu'd Gem possest,
Such were thy JOVE and PHOEBUS, antient Greece,
And such thy JASON, who brought Thee a Fleece;
A Fleece of Gold the Æmonian Hero gain'd:
France finds in Fact what's in the Fable feign'd.

HAD Fate decree'd His Birth when Time was young,
Had he in Athens or in Sparta sprung;
They who capacious Souls for Arts or Wars
Did deifie, or write their Names on Stars,
Would soon on their Olympus found a Place
For Him amongst the high immortal Race.
Not so we're taught; enough for us we know
That he's one of the first e'er shone below,
Excelling, in a present splendid Fame,
Each eterniz'd fictitious daz'ling Name
Of Gods and Demi-gods, whose Glories throng
Th'harmonious Greek and Mantuan Shepherd's Song.

LIKE a fair River wynding thro' the Plain,
Increasing by successive Springs and Rain,
Grown to a Sea, it challenges Esteem,
And Plenty broods where e'er it turns its Stream.
'Till thus unite, how vain's the useless Rill,
Falling thro' Chinks adown the naked Hill;
Long in forgotten Wilds thro' Rocks they reel,
Or in the mossie Pits their Eddies wheel.

SO all His just Ideas fertile flow,
And by their Course prolifick Riches grow;
His Patronizing vig'rous Life imparts
To Springs of Traffick and ingenious Arts,
Without Encouragement, how oft with Pain
The Mulcibers their Anvils beat in vain;
And others who in useful Crafts excel,
While unimploy'd in lonely Cots they dwell:
Warm'd into Action with his ev'ry Scheme,
Thousands with glowing Breasts at Greatness aim.

HOW great's the Strength of one superiour Soul,
Who shining thus in highest Spheres can roll?
Kings idly search for Colonies abroad,
Without a Star like Him to point the Road.
Propt by his Conduct, LOUIS lifts his Head,
And views his Kingdom flourish like a Mead.
He speaks his Will,—the numerous Wooly Tribe
Brouze amongst Vines, or glean the new shorn Glibe:
In Room of scanty Fare, these will afford
More solid Viands to the Gallick Board.
They charge their Looms, their publick Wealth advance,
And banish Canvass Cloathing out of France.

TH'imagin'd Worth of Stones, costly 'cause rare,
Trifles which merit neither Love nor Care,
And most by empty Heads and Children priz'd,
In France by his Advice become despis'd:

The glaring Peeble must no more appear
To load the fair One's Hands, her Neck or Ear.
These he'll exchange for what is really good,
And chear the industrious Poor with Cloaths and Food.
The wise European thus with Glass and Toys
The Savage Indian of his Wealth decoys.

PARISIANS wrapt in hopeful View foresee
The moving Masts come tow'ring from the Sea,
Up their own Seine, t'unload the foreign Store,
Straight from the Hatches at the Merchant's Door:
Here Thousands from all Europe's Nations come,
And make Lutetia vie with antient Rome.

MADAMOISELLES, who at Court Balls and Plays,
And Basset Tables, spent both Nights and Days,
Forget their Visits, Tea and dressing Box,
And all their pretty Accents turn on Stocks:
Hundreds grown Thousands raise such fond Desires,
The Sex, all Passion, this new Wonder fires.

THE chearfull Peasant no more now repines,
Eas'd of his Tax, with Pleasure prunes his Vines:
Soon as the East is guilded with the Dawn,
For LAW he kneels to Heav'n with uplift Hand,
Who on th'expecting Croud his Bounty pours,
Descending like great JOVE in Golden Showers.

Great SIR,—

WHILE Ships divide the Waves, as long's the Sun
From Cancer back to Capricorn shall run,
The grateful GAULS your Mem'ry will revere,
And glorious in their Annals You'll appear;
Who form'd them Banks, their sinking Credit rais'd,
Whilst Your warm Fancy in MISSISIPPI blaz'd:
When a new Paris rises in that Land,
In Parian Stone, or Brass Your Form shall stand,
Sacred to those who poorly pent at home,
At large on fertile Plains with Pleasure roam.

HOW happy's he who with Success imploys
His tow'ring Schemes, and what he reaps enjoys;
Who nobly to what's truly great aspires,
And gratifies his rational Desires:
Thus You with steady Mind serenely move
Thro' Life, and all the Joys of Life improve.

O more than Man! Once, once Your native Land,
Often, tho active, wise behind the Hand,
Had the first Offer of Your vast Ingine;
Acted by meaner Views and wrong Design,
Declin'd the golden Minute of her Fate,
Which might have made her flourish, rich and great.
Beneath her 'tis to fear or yet complain,
Her Sons are brave, and you're her Son and Friend:
Unnumber'd Herds her lofty Hills adorn,
The warmer Vales exuberant yields her Corn;
Her Seas of Fish contain a lasting Fund,
Which fills each Bay, clear River, Lake and Pond.

DARLING of SCOTS! Deign us thy matchless Aid,
So may the Powers propitious be your Guide,
In ev'ry publick spirited Design,
'Till you above with fellow Angels shine.

IN all Your Actions Greatness is confest,
Nor can Your Mind b' elated or deprest,
Above or under its own innate Worth,
By what sublimest Numbers can set forth:
Yet take from a SCOTS Muse Part of what's due,
A Muse, who but to Merit ne'er shall bow,
And's proud to make her Boast she's sung to YOU.

ALAN RAMSAY.

A Tale of Three Bonnets: 1722

Persons in the Poem

Bard, The Narrator.
Duniwhistle, Father to Bristle, Joukum, and Bawsy.
Bristle, A Man of Honour and Resolution.
Joukum, In love with Rosie.
Bawsy, A weak Brother.
Rosie, An Heiress.
Ghost, Of Duniwhistle.
Beef, Porter to Rosie.

Canto I.

BARD.
When Men of Mettle thought it Nonsence
To heed that cleping Thing ca'd Conscience;
And by free Thinking had the Knack
Of jeering ilka Word it spake:
And as a learned Author speaks,
Imploy'd it like a Pair of Breeks,
To hide their lewd and nasty Sluces,
Which eith slipt down for baith these Uses.
Then Duniwhistle worn with Years,
And gawn the Gate of his Forbears,
Commanded his three Sons to come
And wait upon him in his Room:
Bad Bristle steek the Door, and syne
He thus began:—

DUNIWHISTLE.
—Dear Bairns of mine,
I quickly maun submit to Fate,
And leave you three a good Estate,
Which has been honourably won,
And handed down frae Sire to Son,
But Clag or Claim for Ages past;
Now that ye mayna prove the last,
Here's three Permission Bonnets for ye,
Which your Grand Gutchers wore before ye;
And if ye'd hae nae Man betray ye,
Let naithing ever wile them frae ye,
But keep the Bonnets on your Heads,
And Hands frae signing foolish Deeds,
And ye shall never want sic Things
Shall gar ye be made of by Kings:
But if you ever with them part,
Fou sair ye'll for your Folly smart.
Bare-headed then ye'll look like Snools,
And dwindle down to silly Tools.
Had up your Hands, now swear and say,
As ye shall answer on a Day,—
Ye'll faithfully observe my Will,
And a' its Premisses fulfill.

BRISTLE.
My worthy Father I shall strive
To keep your Name and Fame alive,
And never shaw a Saul that's dastard,
To gar Fowk tak me for a Bastard:
If e'er by me ye're disobey'd,
May Witches nightly on me ride.

JOUKUM.
Wha e'er shall dare by Force or Guile
This Bonnet aff my Head to wile,

For sic a bauld Attempt shall rue,
And ken I was begot by you.
Else may I like a Gipsie wander,
Or for my daily Bread turn Paunder.

BAWSY.
May I be jyb'd by great and sma',
And kytch'd like ony Tenis Ba',
Be the Disgrace of a' my Kin,
If e'er I with my Bonnet twin.

BARD.
Now soon as each had gi'en his Aith,
The Auld Man yielded up his Breath,
Was row'd in Linnen white as Snaw,
And to his Fathers born awa.
But scarcely he in Mools was rotten
Before his Testment was forgotten,
As ye shall hear frae future Sonnet,
How Joukum sinder'd with his Bonnet,
And bought frae's senseless Billy Bawsy,
His to propine a giglet Lassy,
While worthy Bristle, not sae doner'd,
Preserves his Bonnet and is honour'd.
Thus Caractacus did behave,
Tho' by the Fate of War a Slave;
His Body only,—for his Mind
No Roman Power could break or bend.
With Bonnet on he bauldly spake,
His Greatness gart his Fetters crack.
The Victor did his Friendship claim,
And sent him with new Glories hame.
But leave we Birss and Similie,
And to our Tale with Ardour flee.

Beyond the Hills where lang the Billies
Had bred up Queys and Kids and Fillies,
And foughten mony a bloody Battle,
With Thieves that came to lift their Cattle,
There liv'd a Lass kept Rary-shows,
And Fidlers ay about her House,
Wha at her Table fed, and ranted
With the stout Ale she never wanted.
She was a winsome Wench and waly,
And cou'd put on her Claiths fu' brawly;
Rumbled to ilka Market Town,
And drink and feight like a Dragoon:
Just sic as her wha far aff wander'd
To get her sell well Alexander'd.
Rose had a Word of meikle Siller,
Whilk brought a hantla Woers till her.
Amang the Rest young Master Jouk
She conquer'd ae Day with a Look;
Frae that Time forth he ne'er cou'd stay
At Hame to mind his Corn or Hay,
But grew a Beau, and did adorn
Himself with Fifty Bows of Corn,
Forby what he took on, to rigg
Him out with Linnings, Shoon and Wig,
Snuff-boxes, Sword-knots, Canes and Washes,
And Sweeties to bestow on Lasses,
Cou'd newest Aiths genteely swear,
And had a Course of Flaws perquire:
He drank and danc'd, and sigh'd to move
Fair Rosie to accept his Love.
After dumb Sings he thus began,
And spake his Mind to 'er like a Man.

JOUKUM.
O tack me Rosie to your Arms,
And let me revel o'er your Charms;

If ye say na, I needna care
For Rapes or Tethers made of Hair,
Penknives or Pools I winna need,
That Minute ye say na, I'm dead.
O let me ly within ye'r Breast,
And at your dainty Table feast;
Well do I like your Gowd to finger,
And sit to hear your Staneless Singer,
While on this Sun-side o' the Brae,
Belangs to you, my Limbs I lay.

ROSIE.
I own, sweet Sir, ye woo me frankly,
But a' your Courtship sars sae rankly
Of selfish Interest, that I'm fleed
My Person least imploys your Head.

JOUKUM.
What a Distinction that's you're making,
When your poor Lover's Heart is breaking?
With little Logick I can shew,
That every Thing you have is you;
Beside the Beauties of your Person,
These Beds of Flowers ye set your A--- on,
Your Claiths, your Lands, and lying Pelf,
Are ev'ry ane your very self,
And add fresh Lustre to those Graces
With which addorn'd your Saul and Face is,

ROSIE.
Ye seem to have a loving Flame
For me, and hate your native Hame;
That gars me ergh to trust ye meikle,
For fear ye shou'd prove fause and fikle.

JOUKUM.
In Troth my rugged Billy Bristle,
About his Gentries makes sic fistle,
That if a Body contradict him,
He's ready with a Durk to stick him;
That wearies me of hame I vow,
And fain wad live and die with you.

BARD.
Observing Jouk a wee Tate tipsy,
Smirking, reply'd the pauky Gypsie.

ROSIE.
I wad be very wae to see
My Lover tack the Pet and die;
Wherefore I am inclin'd to ease ye,
And do what in me lies to please ye:
But first, e'er we conclude the Paction,
You must perform some gallant Action,
To prove the Truth of what you've said,
Else I for you shall die a Maid.

JOUKUM.
My dearest Jewel gie't a Name,
That I may win baith you and Fame:
Shall I gae feight with Forrest Bulls,
Or cleave down Troops with thicker Sculls?
Or shall I dowk the deepest Sea,
And Coral pou for Beads to thee?
Penty the Pope upon the Nose,
Or pish upon a hundred Beaus?

ROSIE.
In Trouth, dear Lad, I wad be laith,
To risk your Life or do you Skaith,
Only imploy your canny Skill
To gain and rive your Father's Will,
With the Consent of Birss and Bawsy,
And I shall in my Bosom hawse ye,
Soon as the fatal Bonnets three
Are tane frae them and gi'en to me.

JOUKUM.
Which to preserve I gied my Aith,
But now the Case is Life and Death,
I must, or with the Bonnets part,
Or twin with you and break my Heart:
Sae tho the Aith we took was awfu',
To keep it now appears unlawfu':
Then, Love, I'll answer thy Demands,
And fly to fetch them to your Hands.

BARD.
The famous Jilt of Palastine,
Thus drew the Howks o'er Sampson's Een,
And gart him tell where lay his Strength,
Of which she twin'd him at the Length,
Then gied him up in Chains to rave,
And labour like a Galley Slave:
But Rosie, mind, when growing Hair
His Loss of Pith 'gan to repair,
He made of Thousands an Example,
By crushing them beneath their Temple.

CANTO II.

BARD.
The Supper Sowin-Cogs and Bannocks
Stood cooling on the Soles of Winnocks,
And cracking at the westlin Gavels
Auld Wives sat beeking of their Navels,
When Jouk his Brither Bristle found,
Fetching his Evening Wauk around
A Score of Ploughmen of his ain,
Who blythly whistled on the Plain.
Jouk three Times congeed, Bristle anes,
Then shook his Hand, and thus begins.

BRISTLE.
Wow, Brither Jouk, where hae ye been!
I scarce can trow my looking Een,
Ye'r grown sae braw; now Wierds defend me,
Gin that I hadna 'maist miskend ye.
And where gat ye that braw blew Stringing
That's at your Houghs and Shouders hinging?
Ye look as sprush as ane that's wooing,
I ferly, Lad, what ye've been doing.

JOUKUM.
My very much respected Brither,
Should we hide ought frae ane anither,
And not, when warm'd with the same Blood,
Consult ilk ane anithers good;
And be it kend t'ye my Design
Will Profit prove to me and mine.

BRISTLE.
And, Brither, Trouth it much commends
Your Virtue thus to love your Friends;
It makes me blyth, for aft I said
Ye was a clever mettl'd Lad.

JOUKUM.
And sae, I hope, will ever prove,
If ye befriend me in my Love:
For Rosie, bonny, rich and gay,
And sweet as Flowers in June or May,
Her Gear I'll get, her Sweets I'll rifle,
If ye'll but yield me up a Trifle.
Promise to do't, and ye'se be free
With ony Thing pertains to me.

BRISTLE.
I lang to answer your Demand,
And never shall for Trifles stand.

JOUKUM.
Then she desires as a Propine
These Bonnets Bawsy's Yours and Mine;
And well I wat that's nae great Matter,
If I sae easily can get her.

BRISTLE.
Ha, ha! ye Judas, are ye there,
The D--- then nor she ne'er get mair.
Is that the Trifle that ye spoke of!
Wha think ye, Sir, ye make a Mock of?

Ye silly mansworn Scant-of-Grace,
Swith, let me never see your Face.
Seek my auld Bonnet aff my Head!
Faith that's a bonny ane indeed!
Require a Thing I'll part with never,
She's get as soon the Lap o'my Liver.
Vile Whore and Jad, the Woody hang her.

BARD.
This said, he said nae mair for Anger,
But curs'd and ban'd, and was na far
Frae treding Jouk amang the Glar.
While Jouk with Language glibe as Oolie,
Right pawkily kept aff a Toolie,
Well masked with a Wedder's Skin,
Altho he was a Tod within.
He hum'd and hae'd, and with a Cant
Held forth as he had been a Saint,
And quoted Texts to prove we'd better
Part with a sma' Thing for a greater.

JOUK.
Ah Brither! may the Furies rack me,
If I mean'd ill, but ye mistak me:
But gin your Bonnet's sick a Jewel,
Pray gie't or keep it, Sir, as you will,
Since your auld fashion'd Fancy rather
Inclines till't than a Hat and Feather.
But I'll go try my Brither Bawsy,
Poor Man, he's nae sae daft and sawsy,
With empty Pride to crook his Mou,
And hinder his ain good like you;
If him and me agree, ne'er doubt ye,
We'll mak the Bargain up without ye;
Syne your braw Bonnet and your Nodle
Will hardly baith be worth a Bodle.

BARD.
At this bauld Bristle's Colour chang'd,
He swore on Rose to be reveng'd;
For he began now to be flied
She'd wile the Honours frae his Head.
Syne with a stern and cankard Look
He thus reprov'd his Brother Jouk.

BRISTLE.
Thou vile Disgrace of our Forbeers,
Wha lang with valiant Dint of Weirs,
Maintain'd their Rights 'gainst a' Intrusions
Of our auld Faes the Rosycrucians,
Do'st thou design at last to catch
Us in a Girn with this base Match,
And for the hading up thy Pride,
Upon thy Breether's Riggings ride?
I'll see you hang'd and her thegither,
As high as Haman in a Tether,
E'er I with my ain Bonnet quat,
For ony borrow'd Beaver-Hat,
Whilk I, as Rosie takes the Fikes,
Maun wear, or no, just as she likes:
Then let me hear nae mair about her,
For if again ye dare to mutter
Sic vile Proposals in my Hearing,
Ye needna trust to my forbearing;
For soon my Beard will tak a Low,
And I shall crack your crazy Pow.

BARD.
This said, brave Bristle said nae mair,
But cock'd his Bonnet with an Air,
Wheel'd round with glooming Brows and muddy,
And left his Brither in a Study.

CANTO III

BARD.
Now Sol with his lang Whip gae Cracks
Upon his nighering Coosers Backs,
To gar them tak th'Olympian Brae,
With a Cart-Laid of bleezing Day;
The Country Hynd ceases to snore,
Bangs frae his Bed unlocks the Door,
His Bladder tooms, and gi'es a Rift,
Then tentily surveys the Lift,
And weary'd of his Wife and Fleas,
To their Embrace prefers his Claiths.
Scarce had the Lark forsook his Nest,
When Jouk wha had got little Rest
For thinking on his Plot and Lassie,
Gat up to gang and deal with Bawsie;
Away fast o'er the Bent he gade,
And fand him dozing in his Bed,
His Blankets crishy, foul his Sark,
His Courtains trim'd with Spiders Wark;
Soot Draps hang frae his Roof and Kiples,
His Floor was a' Tobacco Spitles;
Yet on the Antlets of a Deer
Hang mony a Claimore and Spear,
With Coat of Iron and Target trusty,
Inch thick of Dirt and unco rusty;
Enough appear'd to shaw his Billy
That he was lazy, poor and silly,
And wadna make sae great a Bustle
About his Bonnet as did Bristle.
Jouk three Times rugged at his Shouder,
Cry'd three Times laigh and three Times louder;
At Langrun Bawsy kare'd his Een,
And crys, Wha's that? What do you mean?
Then looking up he sees his Brither.

BAWSY.
Good Morrow Jouk what brings ye hither,
You're early up,—as I'm a Sinner
I seenle rise before my Dinner:
Well what's ye'r News, and how gaes a'?
Ye've been an unko Time awa.

JOUKUM.
Bawsy, I'm blyth to see you well,
For me, thank GOD, I keep my Heal:
Get up, get up, ye lazy Mart,
I have a Secret to impart,
Of which when I give you an Inkling,
It will set baith your Lugs a tinkling.

BARD.
Straight Bawsy rises, quickly dresses,
While Haste his youky Mind expresses:
Now rigg'd, and Morning-Drink brought in,
Thus did slee-gabet Jouk begin.

JOUKUM.
My worthy Brither, well I wate
O'er feckless is your wee Estate,
For sic a mickle Saul as yours,
That to Things greater higher towrs;
But ye ly loitering here at hame,
Neglectfu' baith of Wealth and Fame,
Tho', as I said, ye have a Mind
That is for higher Things design'd.

BAWSY.
That's very true, thanks to the Skies,
But how to get them there it lies.

JOUKUM.
I'll tell ye Baws,—I've laid a Plot,
That only wants your casting Vote,
And if you'll gie't, your Bread is baken;
But first accept of this Love Taken;
Here take this Gowd, and never want
Enough to gar you drink and rant;
And this is but an Arle-penny
To what I afterward design ye;
And in return I'm sure that I
Shall naithing seek that ye'll deny.

BAWSY.
And Trouth now Jouk and neither will I,
Or after never ca' me Billy;
If I refuse Wae light upon me,
This Gowd, O wow! 'tis wonder bonny.

JOUKUM.

Ay that it is,—'tis e'en the a'
That gars the Plough of Living draw:
Tis Gowd gars Sogers feight the Fiercer,
Without it preaching wad be scarcer;
'Tis Gowd that makes some great Men witty,
And puggy Lasses fair and pretty;
Without it Ladies nice wad dwindle
Down to a Wife that snoovs a Spindle.

But to the Point, and wave Digression,
I make a free and plain Confession,
That I'm in Love, and, as I said,
Demand frae you a little Aid
To gain a Bride that eith'y can
Make me fou blest, and you a Man;
Give me your Bonnet to present
My Mistress with,—and your Consent
To rive the daft auld-fashion'd Deed,
That bids ye wear it on your Head.

BAWSY.
O gosh! O gosh! Then, Jouk, have at her,
If that be a' 'tis nae great Matter.

JOUKUM.
These granted, she demands nae mair
To let us in her Riches skair;
Nor shall our Herds as heretofore,
Rin aff with ane anither's Store,
Nor ding out ane anither's Harns,
When they forgether amang the Karns;
But freely may drive up and down,
And sell in ilka Market Town
Belongs to Her,—which soon ye'll see,
If ye be wise, belang to me;
And when that happy Day shall come,
My honest Bawsy there's my Thumb,
That while I breath I'll ne'er beguile ye,
Ye'se baith get Gowd and be a Bailly.

BAWSY.
Faith, Jouk, I see but little Skaith
In breaking of a senseless Aith,

That is impos'd by doited Dads,
(To please their Whims) on thoughtless Lads.
My Bonnet! welcome to my Bonnet,
And meikle good may ye mak on it.
Our Father's Will, I'se make nae Din,
Tho Rosie shou'd apply't behin.
But say, does Billy Bristle ken
This your Design to make us Men?

JOUKUM.
Ay that he does, but the stiff Ass
Bears a Heart-hatred at the Lass,
And rattles out a hantla Stories
Of Blood and Dirt and antient Glories,
Meaning fool Feuds that us'd to be
Between ours and her Family;
Bans like a Blockhead that he'll ne'er
Twin with his Bonnet for a'er Gear;
But you and I conjoyn'd can ding him,
And, by a Vote, to Reason bring him:
If we stand closs, 'tis unko eith
To rive the Test'ment spite o's Teeth,
And gar him ply, for a' his Clavers,
To lift his Bonnet to our Beavers.

BAWSY.
Then let the Doof delight in drudging;
What Cause have we to tent his grudging?
Tho' Rosie's Flocks feed on his Fells,
If you and I be well our sells.

BARD.

Thus Jouk and Bawsy were agree'd,
And Birss maun yield, it was decreed.

Thus far I've sung, in Highland Strains,
Of Jouk's Amours, and pawky Pains
To gain his Ends with ilka Brither,
Sae opposite to ane anither;
Of Bristle's hardy Resolutions,
And Hatred to the Rosicrucians;
Of Bawsy put in Slav'ry Neck-fast,
Selling his Bonnet for a Breakfast.
What follows on't, of Gain or Skaith,
I'se tell when we have tane our Breath.

CANTO IV.

BARD.
Now soon as e'er the Will was torn,
Jouk, with twa Bonnets on the Morn,
Frae Fairyland fast bang'd away,
The Prize at Rosie's Feet to lay;
Wha sleely when he did appear,
About his Success 'gan to speer.

JOUKUM.
Here, bonny Lass, your humble Slave
Presents you with the Things ye crave,
The riven Will and Bonnets twa,
Which makes the Third worth nought ava.
Our Power gi'en up, now I demand
Your promis'd Love, and eke your Hand.

BARD.
Rose smil'd to see the Lad outwitted,
And Bonnets to the Flames committed.
Immediately an awfu' Sound,
As ane wad thought, raise frae the Ground;
And syne appear'd a stalwart Ghaist,
Whase stern and angry Looks amaist
Unhool'd their Sauls,—shaking, they saw
Him frae the Fire the Bonnets draw:
Then came to Jouk, and, with twa Drugs,
Encreas'd the Length of baith his Lugs;
And said,

GHAIST.
Be a' thy days an Ass,
And Hackney to this cunning Lass:
But for these Bonnets, I'll preserve them,
For Bairns unborn, that will deserve them.

BARD.
With that he vanished'd frae their Een,
And left poor Jouk wi' Breeks not clean,
He shakes while Rosie rants and capours,
And ca's the Vision nought but Vapours;
Rubs o'er his Cheeks and Gab wi' Reem,
Till he believes't to be a Dream:
Syne to her Closet leads the Way,
To soup him up with Usquabae.

ROSIE.
Now, bonny Lad, ye may be free
To handle ought pertains to me;
And e'er the Sun, tho' he be dry,
Has driven down the Westlin Sky,

To drink his Wamefu' of the Sea,
There's be but ane of you and me.
In Marriage ye shall hae my Hand;
But I maun hae the sole Command
In Fairyland to saw and plant,
And to send there for ought I want.

BARD.
Ay, ay, crys Jouk, all in a Fire,
And stiff'ning into strong Desire.

JOUKUM.
Come hast thee, let us sign and seal;
And let my Billies gae to the D---.

BARD.

Here it wad make o'er lang a Tale,
To tell how meikle Cakes and Ale,
And Beef, and Brose, and Gryce and Geese,
And Pyes a running o'er wi' Creesh,
Was serv'd upon the Wedding-table,
To make the Lads and Lasses able
To do, ye ken what we think Shame
(Tho' ilk ane does't) to gie't a Name.

But true it is, they soon were buckled,
And soon she made poor Jouk a Cuckold,
And play'd her bawdy Sports before him,
With Chiels that car'd na Tippence for him;
Beside a Rosicrucian Trick
She had of Dealing with Auld-Nick;

And when ere Jouk began to grumble,
Auld Nick in the niest Room wad rumble.
She drank, and fought, and spent her Gear
With Dice, and selling o' the Mear.
Thus living like a Belzi's Get,
She ran her sell sae deep in Debt
By borrowing Money at a' Hands,
That yearly Income of her Lands
Scarce paid the Interest of her Bands.
Jouk, ay ca'd wise behind the Hand,
The Daffine of his Doings fand:
O'er late he now began to see
The Ruin of his Family:
But, past Relief, lar'd in a Midding,
He's now oblig'd to do her Bidding.
Away, with strict Command, he's sent
To Fairyland to lift the Rent,
And with him mony a Catterpillar
To rug frae Birss and Bawsy Siller;
For her braid Table maun be serv'd,
Tho' Fairy-fowk shou'd a' be starv'd.
Jouk thus surrounded with his Guards,
Now plunders Hay-stacks, Barns and Yards,
They drive the Nowt frae Bristle's Fald,
While he can nought but ban and scald.

BRISTLE.
Vile Slave to a Hissy, ill begotten,
By many Dads, with Claps half rotten.
Were't no for Honour of my Mither,
I shou'd na think ye were my Brither.

JOUKUM.
Dear Brither, why this rude Reflection?
Learn to be gratefu' for Protection;

The Peterenians, Bloody Beasts,
That gar Fowk lik the Dowps of Priests
Else on a Brander, like a Haddock,
Be broolied, sprowling, like a Padock.
These Monsters, lang or now had come
With Faggots, Taz, and Tuck o' Drum,
And twin'd you of your Wealth and Lives
Syne, without speering, m--- your Wives,
Had not the Rosicrucians stood
The Bulwarks of your Rights and Blood;
And yet, forsooth, ye girn and grumble,
And, with a Gab unthankfu', mumble
Out mony a black unworthy Curse,
When Rosie bids ye draw your Purse;
When she's sae generously content
With not aboon Thirty per Cent.

BRISTLE.
Damn you and her! tho' now I'm blae
I'm hopefu' yet to see the Day,
I'll gar ye baith repent that e'er
Ye reav'd by Force, away, my Gear
Without, or Thanks, or making Price,
Or ever speering my Advice

JOUKUM.
Peace Gowk, we naithing do at a',
But by the Letter of the Law:
Then nae mair with your Din torment us,
Gowling like ane non compos mentis,
Else Rosie issue may a Writ,
To ty ye up baith Hand and Fit,
And dungeon ye, but Meat or Drink,
Till ye be starv'd, and die in Stink.

BARD.

Thus Jouk and Bristle when they met,
With sick braw Language ither tret.
Just Fury glows in Bristle's Veins;
And tho' his Bonnet he retains,
Yet on his Crest he may not cock it,
But in a Coffer closs maun lock it.
Bareheaded thus, he e'en knocks under,
And lets them drive away the Plunder.
Sae have I seen, beside a Tower,
The King of Brutes obliged to cour;
And, on his Royal Paunches, thole
A Dwerf to prog him with a Pole;
While he wad shaw his Fangs and rage
With bootless Brangling in his Cage.

Now follows that we take a Peep
Of Bawsy looking like a Sheep,
By Bristle hated and despis'd,
By Jouk and Rose as little priz'd.

Soon as the Horse had heard his Brither
Joukum and Rose were prick'd thegither,
Away he scours o'er Hight and How,
Fow fidgen fain what e'er he dow,
Counting what Things he now did mister,
That wad be gi'en him by his Sister.
Like shallow Bards wha think they flee,
Because they live Sax Stories high,
To some poor lifeless Lucubration
Prefixes fleeching Dedication,
And blythly dream they'll be restor'd
To Ale-house-Credit by my Lord.
Thus Bawsy's Mind in Plenty row'd,
While he thought on his promis'd Gowd
And Baillyship, which he with Fines
Wad make like the West-India's Mines;
Arrives, with future Greatness dizy,
Ca's, where's Mest Jouk?—

BEEF.
—Mest Jouk is bisy.

BAWSY.
My Lady Rose is she at Leasure?

BEEF.
No, Sir, my Lady's at her Pleasure.

BAWSY.
I wait for Her or Him, go shew;

BEEF.
And pray ye, Master, wha are you?

BAWSY.
Upo' my Saul this Porter's sawsy;
Sirra, go tell my Name is Bawsy,
Their Brither wha made up the Marriage.

BEEF.
And sae I thought by your daft Carriage.
Between your Houghs gae clap your Gelding,
Swith hame and feast upon a Spelding,
For there's nae Room beneath this Roof
To entertain a simple Coof,
The like of you that nane can trust,
Wha to your ain have been unjust.

BARD.

This said, he dadded too the Yet,
And left poor Bawsy in a Fret,
Wha loudly gowld and made a Din,
That was o'er-heard by a' within.
Quoth Rose to Jouk, Come let's away,
And see wha's yon makes a this Fray.
Away they went, and saw the Creature
Sair runkling ilka silly Feature
Of his dull Phiz, with Girns and Glooms,
Stamping and biting at his Thumbs.
They tented him a little while,
Then came full on him with a Smile,
Which soon gart him forget the Torture
Was rais'd within him by the Porter.
Sae will a sucking Weanie yell,
But shake a Rattle or a Bell,
It hads its Tongue—Let that alane,
It to its Yamering faws again:
Lilt up a Sang, and streight its seen
To laugh with Tears into its Een.
Thus eithly anger'd, eithly pleas'd,
Weak Bawsy lang they tantaliz'd,
With Promises right wide extended,
They ne'er perform'd nor e'er intended:
But now and then when they did need him,
A Supper and a Pint they gied him;
That done, they have nae mair to say,
And scarcely ken him the neist Day.
Poor Follow now this mony a Year,
With some faint Hope, and Routh of Fear,
He has been wrestling with his Fate,
A Drudge to Joukum and his Mate;
While Bristle saves his manly Look,
Regardless baith of Rose and Jouk,
Mantains right quietly yond the Kairns
His Honour, Conscience, Wife and Bairns.

Jouk and his Rumblegare Wife
Drive on a drunken, gaming Life,
'Cause Sober they can get nae Rest
For Nick and Duniwhistle's Ghaist,
Wha in the Garrets aften tooly,
And shore them with a bloody Guly.

Thus have I sung in hamelt Rhime,
A Sang that scorns the Teeth of Time;
Yet modestly I hide my Name,
Admiring Virtue mair than Fame.
But tent ye wha despise Instruction,
And gives my Wark a wrang Construction,
Frae hind my Courtain, mind I tell ye,
I'll shoot a Satyre thro' your Belly:
But wha with Havins jees his Bonnet,
And says, Thanks t'ye for your Sonnet,
He shanna want the Praises due
To Generosity. Adieu.

FINIS

From Fables and Tales [1722]

Bag-pipes no Musick:

A SATYRE on Scots Poetry. An Epistle to Mr. STANHOPE.

As Dryden justly term'd Poetick Sound,
A pacing Pegasus on Carpet G[r]ound,
Roscommon's nervous Sense your Verses yield
A Courser bounding o'er the furrow'd Field:
The Track pursue,—that thinking Scots may see
The comprehensive English Energy.
Scotch Moggy may go down at Aberdeen,
Where Bonnets, Bag-pipers, and Plaids are seen;
But such poor Gear no Harmony can sute,
Much fitter for a Jew's Trump than a Lute.
Low Bells, not Lyres, the Highland Cliffs adorn,
Macklean's loud halloo, or Mackgregor's Horn.
Sooner shall China yield to Earthen Ware,
Sooner shall Abel teach a singing Bear,
Than English Bards let Scots torment the'r Ear.
Who think their rustick Jargon to explain,
For anes is once, lang, long, and two is twain,
Let them to Edinburgh foot it back,
And add their Poetry to fill their Pack,
While you the Fav'rite of the tuneful Nine,
Make English Deeds in English Numbers shine.
Leave Ramsay's Clan to follow their own Ways,
And while they mumble Thistles, wear the Bays.

John Couper. Oxford, Novemb. 4. 1720

Grubstreet nae Satyre.

In Answer to Bagpipes no Musick. An Epistle to the Umquhile John Cowper, late Kirk-Treasurer's Man of Edinburgh; now his Ghaist studying Poetry at Oxford, for the Benefit of E. Curl.

DEAR John, what ails ye now? ly still:
Hout Man! What need ye take it ill
That Allan buried ye in Rhime,
May be a Start afore ye'r Time?
He's nathing but a shire daft Lick,
And disna care a Fidle-stick,
Altho your Tutor Curl and ye
Shou'd serve him sae in Elegy.

DOUP down doild Ghaist, and dinna fash us
With Carpet Ground, and nervous Clashes;
Your Grubstreet Jargon Dryden wounds,
When mixt with his Poetick Sounds.
You pace on Pegasus! Take Care,
He'll bound o'er furrow'd Fields of Air,
And fling ye headlong frae the Skies,
Never a second Time to rise:
With sic a Fa, alake! ye'll e'en a'
Dash into Sherds like broken China.
China and Men the same Fate skair,
Ah me! baith bruckle Earthen Ware.

LANG serv'd ye in a mettl'd Station,
The foremost Beegle of our Nation,
For scenting out the yeilding Creature,
Wha us'd to play at Whats-the-matter:
But now, O fy for Shame to trudge,
Mun Curle's poor Hackney scribling Drudge,
To fill his Pack, while you, right fair,
Gain Title braw! His singing Bear.

But, John, Wha taught ye ilka Name,
That shines sae bonnily in Fame,
Rosecommon, Stanhope, Ramsay, Dryden,
Wha Back of winged Horse cou'd ride on?
A' them we ken; but wha the D---
Bad you up Hill Parnassus speel.

YOU Ramsay make a feckfu' Man,
Ringleader of a hearty Clan:
Goodfaith it sets ye well to fear him,
For gin ye etle anes to steer him,
He'll gloom ye dead;—in Rustick Phrase
He'll gar his Thistles rive your Bays.

PATE BIRNIE. Kinghorn, 16th November, 1720.

From The British Journal: March 9, 1723

Translation of the Aeneid, X, 693–6.

Firm as the Bass when thund'ring Tempests roar,
And furious Waves come cracking on its Sides,
While Hills inferior sink upon the Shore,
It in its height and strong Foundation prides.
Such is the Man whose Godlike Spirit rises
Amidst a Hurricane of Wayward Fate,
He stands immov'd, while his brave Soul despises
Those Shocks of Chance which Makes the Vulgar fret.

From The Tea-Table Miscellany [1724–29]

DEDICATION

[TO Ilka lovely British Lass]

TO Ilka lovely British Lass,
Frae Ladys Charlote, Anne, and Jean,
Down to ilk bonny singing Bess,
Wha dances barefoot on the Green.

Dear Lasses,

Your most humble Slave,
Wha ne'er to serve ye shall decline;
Kneeling wad your Acceptance crave,
When he presents this sma' Propine.

Then take it kindly to your Gare,
Revive it with your tunefu' Notes:
Its Beauties will look sweet and fair,
Arising saftly through your Throats.

The Wanton wee Thing will rejoice,
When tented by a sparkling Eye,
The Spinnet tinkling with her Voice,
It lying on her lovely knee.

While Kettles dringe on Ingles dure,
Or Clashes stays the lazy Lass,
Thir Sangs may ward you frae the sowr,
And gayly vacant Minutes pass.

E'en while the Tea's fill'd reeking round,
Rather than plot a tender Tongue,
Treat a' the circling Lugs wi' Sound,
Syne safely sip when ye have sung.

May Happiness had up your Hearts,
And warm you lang with loving Fires,
May Powers propitious play their Parts
In matching you to your Desires.

A. RAMSAY. Edinr. January 1. 1724.

A Scots Cantata

[_]

The Tune after an Italian Manner. Compos'd by Signior LORENZO BOCCHI

Recitative

Blate Jonny faintly teld fair Jean his Mind,
Jeany took Pleasure to deny him lang
He thought her Scorn came frae a Heart unkind,
Which gart him in Despair tune up this Sang.

Air

O bonny Lassie, since 'tis sae,
That I'm despis'd by thee,
I hate to live; but O I'm wae,
And unko sweer to die.

Dear Jeany, think what dowy Hours
I thole by your Disdain;
Ah! should a Breast sae saft as yours
Contain a Heart of Stane.

Recitative

These tender Notes did a' her Pity move,
With melting Heart she listned to the Boy;
O'ercome she smil'd, and promis'd him her Love:
He in Return thus sang his rising Joy.

Air

Hence frae my Breast, contentious Care,
Ye've tint the Power to pine,
My Jeany's good, my Jeany's fair,
And a' her Sweets are mine.
O spread thine Arms and gi'e me Fowth
Of dear enchanting Bliss,
A thousand Joys around thy Mouth,
Gi'e Heaven with ilka Kiss.

The TOAST.

[_]

To the Tune of, Saw ye my PEGGY .

Come let's ha'e mair Wine in,
Bacchus hates Repining,
Venus loos na Dwining,
Let's be blyth and free.
Away with dull here t'ye, Sir,
Ye'r Mistress --- gi'es her,
We'll drink her Health wi' Pleasure,
Wha's belov'd by thee.

Then let --- warm ye,
That's a Lass can charm ye,
And to Joys alarm ye,
Sweet is she to me.
Some Angel ye wad ca' her,
And never wish ane brawer,
If ye bare-headed saw her,
Kiltet to the Knee.

--- a dainty Lass is,
Come let's join our Glasses,
And refresh our Hauses,
With a Health to thee.
Let Coofs their Cash be clinking,
Be Statesmen tint in thinking,
While we with Love and Drinking,
Give our Cares the Lie.

[_]

N.B.—The first Blank to be supply'd with the Toaster's Name, the two last with the Name of the Toast.

A South-Sea Sang.

[_]

Tune of, For our lang biding here.

When we came to London Town,
We dream'd of Gowd in Gowpings here,
And rantinly ran up and down,
In rising Stocks to by a Skair:
We daftly thought to row in Rowth,
But for our Daffine pay'd right dear;
The lave will fare the war in Trouth,
For our lang biding here.

But when we fand our Purses toom,
And dainty Stocks began to fa',
We hang our Lugs, and wi' a Gloom,
Girn'd at Stockjobbing ane and a'.

If ye gang near the South-Sea House,
The Whillywha's will grip ye'r Gear,
Syne a' the lave will fare the war,
For our lang biding here.

Hap me with thy Petticoat.

O Bell, thy Looks have kill'd my Heart,
I pass the Day in Pain,
When Night returns I feel the Smart,
And wish for thee in vain.
I'm starving cold, while thou art warm,
Have Pity and incline,
And grant me for a Hap that charm-
ing Petticoat of thine.

My ravish'd Fancy in Amaze,
Still wanders o'er thy Charms,
Delusive Dreams ten thousand Ways,
Present thee to my Arms.
But waking think what I endure,
While cruel you decline
Those Pleasures which can only cure
This panting Breast of mine.

I faint, I fail, and wildly rove,
Because you still deny
The just Reward that's due to Love,
And let true Passion die.
Oh! turn, and let Compassion seise
That lovely Breast of thine;
Thy Petticoat could give me Ease,
If thou and it were mine.

Sure Heaven has fitted for Delight
That beauteous Form of thine,
And thour't too good its Law to slight,
By hindring the Design.
May all the Powers of Love agree,
At length to make thee mine,
Or loose my Chains, and set me free
From ev'ry Charm of thine.

Fy gar rub her o'er wi' Strae.

Gin ye meet a bonny Lassie,
Gie 'er a Kiss and let her gae,
But if ye meet a dirty Hussy,
Fy gar rub her o'er wi' Strae.

[_]

[The rest is, with slight differences of spelling and punctuation, identical with lines 33–60 of To the Ph--- an Ode (S.T.S., Vol. I, pp. 224–225).]

THE CORDIAL

[_]

To the Tune of, Where shall our Goodman ly.

He.
Where wad bonny Ann ly,
Alane nae mair ye maun ly;
Wad ye a Good-man try?
Is that the Thing ye're laking?

She.
Can a Lass sae young as I,
Venture on the Bridal-Tye,
Syne down with a Good-man lye?
I'm fleed he keep me waking.

He.
Never judge until ye try,
Mak me your Goodman, I
Shanna hinder you to ly,
And sleep till ye be weary.

She.
What if I shou'd waking ly
When the Hoboys are gawn by,
Will ye tent me when I cry,
My Dear, I'm faint and iry?

He.
In my Bosom thou shall ly,
When thou wakrife art or dry,
Healthy Cordial standing by,
Shall presently revive thee.

She.
To your Will I then comply,
Join us, Priest, and let me try
How I'll wi' a Goodman ly,
Wha can a Cordial give me.

ALLAN-WATER:

Or, My Love Annie's very bonny.

What Numbers shall the Muse repete?
What Verse be found to praise my Annie?
On her ten thousand Graces wait,
Each Swain admires, and owns she's bonny.

Since first she trode the happy Plain,
She set each youthful Heart on Fire,—
Each Nymph does to her Swain complain,
That Annie kindles new Desire.

This lovely Darling dearest Care;
This new Delight, this charming Annie,
Like Summer's Dawn, she's fresh and fair,
When Flora's fragrant Breezes fan ye.
All Day the am'rous Youths conveen,
Joyous they sport and play before her;
All Night, when she no more is seen,
In blessful Dreams they still adore her.

Among the Crowd Amyntor came,
He look'd, he loov'd, he bow'd to Annie;
His rising Sighs express his Flame,
His Words were few, his Wishes many.
With Smiles the lovely Maid replied,
Kind Shepherd why should I deceive ye?
Alas! your Love must be deny'd,
This destin'd Breast can ne'er relieve ye.

Young Damon came, with Cupid's Art,
His Whiles, his Smiles, his Charms beguiling,
He stole away my Virgin-Heart,
Cease, poor Amyntor, cease bewailing.
Some brighter Beauty you may find,
On yonder Plain the Nymphs are many,
Then chuse some Heart that's unconfin'd,
And leave to Damon his own Annie.

To L. M. M.

[_]

Tune, Rantin roaring Willie.

O Mary! thy graces and glances,
Thy smiles so inchantingly gay,
And thoughts so divinely harmonious,
Clear wit and good humour display.
But say not thoul't imitate angels
Ought farrer, tho' scarcely, ah me!
Can be found equalizing thy merit,
A match amongst mortals for thee.

Thy many fair beauties shed fires
May warm up ten thousand to love,
Who desparing, may fly to some other,
While I may despair, but ne'er rove.
What a mixture of sighing and joys
This distant adoring of thee,
Gives to a fond heart too aspiring,
Who loves in sad silence like me?

Thus looks the poor beggar on treasure,
And shipwreck'd on landskips on shore:
Be still more divine, and have pity;
I die soon as hope is no more.
For, Mary , my soul is thy captive,
Nor loves, nor expects, to be free;
Thy beauties are fetters delightful,
Thy slavery's a pleasure to me.

This is not mine ain House.

This is not mine ain house,
I ken by the rigging o't;
Since with my love I've changed vows,
I dinna like the bigging o't.

For now that I'm young Robie's bride,
And mistriss of his fire-side,
Mine ain house I'll like to guide,
And please me with the trigging o't.

Then farewell to my father's house,
I gang where love invites me;
The strictest duty this allows,
When love with honour meets me.
When Hymen moulds us into ane,
My Robie's nearer than my kin,
And to refuse him were a sin,
Sae lang's he kindly treats me.

When I'm in mine ain house,
True love shall be at hand ay
To make me still a prudent spouse,
And let my man command ay;
Avoiding ilka cause of strife,
The common pest of married life,
That makes ane wearied of his wife,
And breaks the kindly band ay.

My Dady forbad, my Minny forbad.

When I think on my lad,
I sigh and am sad,
For now he is far frae me.
My daddy was harsh,
My minny was warse,
That gart him gae yont the sea,
Without an estate,
That made him look blate;
And yet a brave lad is he.
Gin safe he come hame,
In spite of my dame,
He'll ever be welcome to me.

Love speers nae advice
Of parents o'er wise,
That have but ae bairn like me,
That looks upon cash,
As naithing but trash,
That shackles what shou'd be free.
And tho' my dear lad
Not ae penny had,
Since qualities better has he;
Abiet I'm an heiress,
I think it but fair is,
To love him, since he loves me.

Then, my dear Jamie,
To thy kind Jeanie,
Haste, haste thee in o'er the sea,
To her wha can find
Nae ease in her mind,
Without a blyth sight of thee.
Tho' my dady forbad,
And my minny forbad,
Forbidden I will not be;
For since thou alone
My favour hast won,
Nane else shall e'er get it for me.

Yet them I'll not grieve,
Or without their leave,
Gi'e my hand as a wife to thee:
Be content with a heart,
That can never desert,
Till they cease to oppose or be.
My parents may prove
Yet friends to our love,
When our firm resolves they see;
Then I with pleasure
Will yield up my treasure,
And a' that love orders to thee.

[O steer her up, and had her gawn]

[_]

Tune, Steer her up, and had her gawn.

O steer her up, and had her gawn,
Her mither's at the mill, jo;
But gin she winna tak a man,
E'en let her tak her will, jo.
Pray thee, lad, leave silly thinking,
Cast thy cares of love away;
Let's our sorrows drown in drinking,
'Tis daffin langer to delay.

See that shining glass of claret,
How invitingly it looks;
Take it aff, and let's have mair o't,
Pox on fighting, trade and books.
Let's have pleasure while we're able,
Bring us in the meikle bowl,
Plac't on the middle of the table,
And let wind and weather gowl.

Call the drawer, let him fill it
Fou, as ever it can hold:
O tak tent ye dinna spill it,
'Tis mair precious far than gold.
By you've drunk a dozen bumpers,
Bacchus will begin to prove,
Spite of Venus and her Mumpers,
Drinking better is than love.

Clout the Caldron.

Have you any pots or pans,
Or any broken chandlers?
I am a tinkler to my trade,
And newly come frae Flanders.

As scant of siller as of grace,
Disbanded, we've a bad-run;
Gar tell the lady of the place,
I'm come to clout her caldron.
Fa adrie, didle, didle, &c.

Madam, if you have wark for me,
I'll do't to your contentment,
And dinna care a single flie
For any man's resentment;
For, lady fair, tho' I appear
To every ane a tinkler,
Yet to your sell I'm bauld to tell,
I am a gentle jinker.
Fa adrie, didle, didle, &c.

Love Jupiter into a swan
Turn'd for his lovely Leda;
He like a bull o'er meadows ran,
To carry aff Europa.
Then may not I, as well as he,
To cheat your Argos blinker,
And win your love like mighty Jove,
Thus hide me in a tinkler.
Fa adrie, didle, didle, &c.

Sir, ye appear a cunning man,
But this fine plot you'll fail in,
For there is neither pot nor pan
Of mine you'll drive a nail in.
Then bind your budget on your back,
And nails up in your apron,
For I've a tinkler under tack
That's us'd to clout my caldron.
Fa adrie, didle, didle, &c.

The Malt-Man.

The malt-man comes on Munday,
He craves wonder sair,
Cries, dame, come gi'e me my siller,
Or malt ye sall ne'er get mair.
I took him into the pantry,
And gave him some good cock-broo,
Syne paid him upon a gantree,
As hostler wives should do.

When malt-men come for siller,
And gaugers with wands o'er soon,
Wives, tak them a' down to the cellar,
And clear them as I have done.
This bewith, when cunzie is scanty,
Will keep them frae making din,
The knack I learn'd frae an auld aunty,
The snackest of a' my kin.

The malt-man is right cunning,
But I can be as slee,
And he may crack of his winning,
When he clears scores with me:
For come when he likes, I'm ready;
But if frae hame I be,
Let him wait on our kind lady,
She'll answer a bill for me.

Bonny BESSY.

[_]

Tune, Bessy's Haggies.

Bessy 's beauties shine sae bright,
Were her many vertues fewer,
She wad ever give delight,
And in transport make me view her.

Bonny Bessy, thee alane
Love I, naithing else about thee;
With thy comeliness I'm tane,
And langer cannot live without thee.

Bessy 's bosom's saft and warm,
Milk-white fingers still employ'd,
He who takes her to his arm,
Of her sweets can ne'er be cloy'd.
My dear Bessy, when the roses
Leave thy cheek, as thou grows aulder,
Vertue, which thy mind discloses,
Will keep love frae growing caulder.

Bessy 's tocher is but scanty,
Yet her face and soul discovers
These inchanting sweets in plenty
Must intice a thousand lovers.
It's not money, but a woman
Of a temper kind and easy,
That gives happiness uncommon,
Petted things can nought but teez ye.

The Quadruple Alliance.

[_]

Tune, Jocky blyth and gay.

Swift , Sandy, Young, and Gay,
Are still my heart's delight,
I sing their sangs by day,
And read their tales at night.
If frae their books I be,
'Tis dullness then with me;
But when these stars appear,
Jokes, smiles and wit shine clear.

Swift with uncommon stile,
And wit that flows with ease,
Instructs us with a smile,
And never fails to please.
Bright Sandy gladly sings
Of heroes, Gods, and kings:
He well deserves the bays,
And every Briton's praise.

While thus our Homer shines:
Young with Horacian flame,
Corrects these false designs
We push in love of fame.
Blyth Gay in pawky strains,
Makes villains clowns and swains
Reprove, with biting leer,
Those in a higher sphere.

Swift, Sandy, Young, and Gay,
Long may you give delight;
Let all the dunces bray,
You're far above their spite:
Such, from a malice sour,
Write nonsense, lame and poor,
Which never can succeed,
For, who the trash will read?

The Complaint

To B. I. G.

[_]

To the Tune of, When absent, &c.

When absent from the Nymph I love,
I'd fain shake off the Chains I wear;
But whilst I strive these to remove,
More Fetters I'm oblig'd to bear.

My captiv'd Fancy Day and Night
Fairer and fairer represents
Bellinda form'd for dear Delight,
But cruel Cause of my Complaints.

All Day I wander through the Groves,
And sighing hear from ev'ry Tree
The happy Birds chirping their Loves,
Happy compar'd with lonely me.
When gentle sleep with balmy Wings
To Rest fan's ev'ry weary'd Wight,
A thousand Fears my Fancy brings,
That keep me watching all the Night.

Sleep flies, while like the Godess fair,
And all the Graces in her Train,
With melting Smiles and killing Air
Appears the Cause of all my Pain.
A while my Mind delighted flies,
O'er all her Sweets with thirling Joy,
Whilst Want of Worth makes Doubts arise,
That all my trembling Hopes destroy.

Thus while my Thoughts are fix'd on her,
I'm all o'er Transport and Desire:
My Pulse beats high, my Cheeks appear
All Roses, and mine Eyes all Fire.
When to my self I turn my View,
My Veins grow chill, my Cheek look wan:
Thus whilst my Fears my Pains renew,
I scarcely look or move a Man.

The young Lass contra auld Man.

The Carle he came o'er the Croft,
And his Beard new shaven,
He look'd at me, as he'd been daft,
The Carl trows that I wad hae him.

Howt awa I winna hae him!
Na forsooth I winna hae him!
For a' his Beard new shaven,
Ne'er a Bit will I hae him.

A siller Broach he gae me niest,
To fasten on my Curtchea nooked,
I wor'd a wi upon my Breast;
But soon alake! the Tongue o't crooked;
And sae may his, I winna hae him.
Na forsooth, I winna hae him!
An twice a Bairn's, a Lass's Jest;
Sae ony Fool for me may hae him.

The Carle has na Fault but ane;
For he has Land and Dollars Plenty;
But wae's me for him! Skin and Bane
Is no for a plump Lass of Twenty.
Howt awa, I winna hae him,
Na forsooth, I winna hae him,
What signifies his dirty Riggs,
And Cash without a Man with them.

But shou'd my canker'd Dady gar
Me take him 'gainst my Inclination,
I warn the Fumbler to beware,
That Antlers dinna claim their Station.
Howt awa, I winna hae him!
Na forsooth, I winna hae him!
I'm flee'd to crack the haly Band,
Sae Lawty says, I shou'd na hae him.

SONG

[Up Stairs, down Stairs]

[_]

To the Tune of, Jenny beguil'd the Webster.

The auld Chorus.

Up Stairs, down Stairs,
Timber Stairs fear me.
I'm laith to lie a' Night my lane,
And Johny's bed sae near me.

O Mither dear, I 'gin to fear,
Tho' I'm baith good and bony,
I winna keep; for in my Sleep
I start and dream of Johny.
When Johny then comes down the Glen,
To woo me, dinna hinder;
But with Content gi' your Consent;
For we twa ne'er can sinder.

Better to marry, than miscarry;
For Shame and Skaith's the Clink o't,
To thole the Dool, to mount the Stool,
I downa 'bide to think o't;
Sae while 'tis Time, I'll shun the Crime,
That gars poor Epps gae whinging,
With Hainches fow, and Een sae blew,
To a' the Bedrals bindging.

Had Eppy's Apron bidden down,
The Kirk had ne'er a kend it;
But when the Word's gane thro' the Town,
Alake! how can she mend it.
Now Tam, maun face the Minister,
And she maun mount the Pillar;
And that's the Way that they maun gae,
For poor Folk has nae Siller.

Now ha'd ye'r Tongue, my Daughter young,
Replied the kindly Mither,
Get Johny's Hand in haly Band,
Syne wap ye'r Wealth together.
I'm o' the Mind, if he be kind,
Ye'll do your Part discreetly;
And prove a Wife, will gar his Life,
And Barrel run right sweetly.

Sleepy Body, drowsy Body.

I

Somnolente,
Quaeso repente,
Vigila, vive, me tange.
Somnolente, quaeso, &c

II

Cum me ambiebas,
Videri volebas
Amoris negotiis aptus;
Sed factus maritus,
Es semisopitus,
Et semper à somnio captus.

III

O sleepy Body,
And drowsy Body,
O wiltuna waken, and turn thee:
To drivel and drant,
While I sigh and gaunt,
Gives me good Reason to scorn thee.

IV

When thou shouldst be kind,
Thou turns sleepy and blind,
And snoters and snores far frae me.
Wae Light on thy Face,
Thy drowsy Embrace
Is enough to gar me betray thee.

SONG

[Busk ye, busk ye, my bony Bride]

To the tune of

Busk ye, busk ye, my bony Bride;
Busk ye, busk ye, my bony Marrow;
Busk ye, busk ye, my bony Bride,
Busk and go to the Braes of Yarrow
There will we sport and gather Dew,
Dancing while Lavrock[s] sing the Morning;
There learn frae Turtles to prove true;
O Bell, ne'er vex me with thy Scorning.

To Westlin Breezes Flora yields,
And when the Beams are kindly warming,
Blythness appears o'er all the Fields,
And Nature looks mair fresh and charming.
Learn frae the Burns that trace the mead,
Tho' on their Banks the Roses blossom,
Yet hastylie they flow to Tweed,
And pour their Sweetness in his Bosom.

Hast ye, hast ye, my bony Bell,
Haste to my Arms, and there I'll guard thee,
With free Consent my Fears repel,
I'll with my Love and Care reward thee.
Thus sang I saftly to my Fair,
Wha rais'd my Hopes with kind relenting.
O Queen of Smiles, I ask nae mair,
Since now my bony Bell's consenting.

The Highland Lassie.

The Lawland Maids gang trig and fine,
But aft they're sour and unco sawsy;
Sae proud they never can be kind,
Like my good humour'd Highland Lassie.

O, my bony, bony Highland Lassie,
My heart smiling Highland Lassie,
May never Care make thee less fair,
But Bloom of Youth still bless my Lassie.

Than ony Lass in Borrowstoun,
Wha mak their Cheeks with Patches motie,
I'd tak my Katie but a Gown,
Bare footed in her little Cotie.

O my bony, &c.

Beneath the Brier or Brecken Bush,
When e'er I kiss and court my Dautie,
Happy and blyth as ane wad wish,
My Flighteren Heart gangs pittie-pattie.

O my bony, &c.

O'er highest heathery Hills I'll stenn,
With cockit Gun and Ratches tenty,
To drive the Deer out of their Den,
To feast my Lass on Dishes dainty.

O my bony, &c.

There's nane shall dare by Deed or Word
'Gainst her to wag a Tongue or Finger,
While I can weild my trusty Sword,
Or frae my Side whisk out a Whinger.

O my bony, &c.

The Mountains clad with purple Bloom,
And Berries ripe invite my Treasure,
To range with me, let great Fowk gloom,
While Wealth and Pride confound their Pleasure.

O, my bony, bony Highland Lassie,
My lovely smiling Highland Lassie,
May never Care make thee less fair,
But Bloom of Youth still bless my Lassie.

The Auld Man's Best Argument.

[_]

To the Tune of, Widow are ye wawkin.

O wha's that at my Chamber Door?
“Fair Widow are ye wawking?”
Auld Carle, your Sute give o'er,
Your Love lyes a' in tawking.
Gi'e me the Lad that's young and tight,
Sweet like an April Meadow;
'Tis sic as he can bless the Sight,
And Bosom of a Widow.

“O Widow, wilt thou let me in,
“I'm pawky, wise and thrifty,
“And come of a right gentle Kin;
“I'm little mair than Fifty.”
Daft Carle, dit your Mouth,
What signifies how pawky,
Or gentle born ye be,—bot Youth,
In Love you're but a Gawky.

“Then Widow, let these Guineas speak,
“That powerfully plead clinkan,
“And if they fail, my Mouth I'll steek,
“And nae mair Love will think on.”

These court indeed, I maun confess,
I think they make you young, Sir,
And ten Times better can express
Affection, than your Tongue, Sir.

SONG

[I have a green Purse and a wee pickle Gowd]

[_]

To the Tune of, A Rock and a wee pickle Tow.

I have a green Purse and a wee pickle Gowd,
A Bony Piece Land and Planting on't,
It fattens my Flocks, and my Bairns it has stowd;
But the best Thing of a's yet wanting on't:
To grace it, and trace it,
And gie me Delight;
To bless me, and kiss me,
And comfort my Sight,
With Beauty by Day, and Kindness by Night
And nae mair my lane gang sauntring on't.

My Christy she's charming, and good as she's fair;
Her Een and her Mouth are inchanting sweet,
She smiles me on Fire, her Frowns gie Dispair:
I love while my Heart gaes panting wi't.
Thou fairest, and dearest,
Delight of my Mind,
Whose gracious Embraces
By Heav'n are designed:
For happiest Transports, and Blesses refind.
Nae langer delay thy granting Sweet.

For thee, Bony Christy, my Shepherds and Hynds,
Shall carefully make the Years Dainties thine:
Thus freed frae laigh Care, while Love fills our Minds,
Our Days shall with Pleasure and Plenty shine.

Then hear me, and chear me,
With smiling Consent,
Believe me, and give me
No Cause to lament,
Since I ne'er can be happy, till thou say, Content,
I'm pleas'd with my Jamie, and he shall be mine.

On the Marriage of the R. H. L. G--- and L. K--- C---.

A SONG

[_]

To the Tune of, The Highland laddie.

Brigantius.
Now all thy Virgin-sweets are mine,
And all the shining Charms, that grace thee;
My fair Melinda come recline
Upon my Breast, while I embrace thee,
And tell without dissembling Art,
My happy Raptures in thy Bosom:
Thus will I plant within thy Heart,
A Love that shall for ever blossom.

Chorus.
O the happy, happy, brave and bonny,
Sure the Gods well pleas'd behold ye;
Their work admire, so great, so fair,
And well in all your Joys uphold ye.

Melinda.
No more I blush, now that I'm thine,
To own my Love in Transport tender,
Since that so brave a Man is mine,
To my Brigantius I surrender.

By sacred Ties I'm now to move
As thy exalted Thoughts direct me;
And while my Smiles engage thy Love,
Thy manly Greatness shall protect me.

Chorus.
O the happy, &c.

Brigantius.
Soft fall thy Words, like Morning-dew,
New Life on blowing Flowers bestowing:
Thus kindly yielding makes me bow
To Heaven, with Spirit grateful glowing.
My Honour, Courage, Wealth and Wit,
Thou dear Delight, my chiefest Treasure,
Shall be imployd as thou thinks fit,
As Agents for our Love and Pleasure.

Chorus.
O the happy, &c.

Melinda
With my Brigantius I could live
In lovely Cotts, beside a Mountain,
And Nature's easy Wants relieve,
With Shepherds Fare, and quaff the Fountain,
What pleases thee, the rural Grove,
Or Congress of the Fair and Witty,
Shall give me Pleasure with thy Love,
In Plains retir'd or social City.

Chorus.
O the happy, &c.

Brigantius.
How sweetly canst thou charm my Soul,
O lovely Sum of my Desires!
Thy Beauties all my Cares controul,
Thy Virtue all that's Good inspires.
Tune every Instrument of Sound,
Which all the Mind divinely raises,
Till every Height and Dale rebounds,
Both loud and sweet, my Darling's Praises.

Chorus.
O the happy, &c.

Melinda.
Thy Love gives me the brightest Shine,
My Happiness is now completed,
Since all that's generous, great and fine,
In my Brigantius is united;
For which I'll study thy Delight,
With kindly Tale the Time beguiling,
And round the Change of Day and Night;
Fix throughout Life a constant smiling.

Chorus.
O the happy, &c.

Jenny Nettles.

Saw ye Jenny Nettles,
Jenny Nettles, Jenny Nettles,
Saw ye Jenny Nettles
Coming frae the Market;
Bag and Baggage on her Back,
Her Fee and Bountith in her Lap;
Bag and Baggage on her Back,
And a Babie in her Oxter.

I met ayont the Kairny,
Jenny Nettles, Jenny Nettles,
Singing till her Bairny,
Robin Rattles' Bastard;
To flee the Dool upo' the Stool,
And ilka ane that mocks her,
She round about seeks Robin out,
To stap it in his Oxter.

Fy, fy! Robin Rattle,
Robin Rattle, Robin Rattle;
Fy, fy! Robin Rattle,
Use Jenny Nettles kindly:
Score out the Blame, and shun the Shame,
And without mair Debate o't,
Take hame your Wain, make Jenny fain,
The leal and leesome Gate o't.

For the Sake of Some-body.

For the Sake of Some-body,
For the Sake of Some-body;
I cou'd wake a Winter Night,
For the Sake of Some-body:

I am gawn to seek a Wife,
I am gawn to buy a Plaidy;
I have three Stane of Woo,
Carling, Is thy Daughter ready?

For the Sake of Some-body, &c.

Betty, Lassy, say't thy sell,
Tho' thy Dame be ill to shoo,
First we'll buckle, then we'll tell,
Let her flyte and syne come too:
What signifies a Mither's Gloom,
When Love and Kisses come in Play?
Shou'd we wither in our Bloom,
And in Simmer mak nae Hay?

For the Sake, &c.

She.
Bony Lad, I carena by,
Tho' I try my Luck with thee,
Since ye are content to tye
The Haff-mark Bridal Band wi' me;
I'll slip hame and wash my Feet,
And steal on Linnings fair and clean,
Syne at the trysting Place we'll meet,
To do but what my Dame has done.

For the Sake, &c.

He.
Now my lovely Betty gives
Consent in sic a heartsome Gate,
It me frae a' my Care relieves,
And Doubts that gart me aft look blate:

Then let us gang and get the Grace,
For they that have an Apetite
Shou'd eat:—And Lovers shou'd embrace;
If these be Faults, 'tis Nature's Wyte.

For the Sake, &c.

THE GENEROUS GENTLEMAN.

[_]

A SANG to the Tune of, The bony Lass of Branksom

As I came in by Tiviot Side,
And by the Braes of Branksom,
There first I saw my bony Bride,
Young, smiling, sweet and handsome:
Her Skin was safter than the Down,
And white as Alabastar;
Her Hair a shining wavy Brown;
In Straightness nane surpast her;

Life glow'd upon her Lip and Cheek,
Her clear Een were surprising,
And beautifully turn'd her Neck,
Her little Breasts just rising:
Nae Silken Hose, with Gooshets fine,
Or Shoon with glancing Laces,
On her fair Leg, forbad to shine,
Well shapen native Graces.

Ae little Coat, and Bodice white,
Was Sum of a' her Claithing;
Even these o'er mickle; . . . mair Delyte
She'd given cled wi' naithing:
She leand upon a flowry Brae,
By which a Burny troted;
On her I glowr'd my Saul away,
While on her Sweets I doated.

A thousand Beauties of Desert,
Before had scarce allarm'd me,
'Till this dear Artless struck my Heart,
And bot designing, charm'd me.
Hurry'd by Love, close to my Breast
I grasp'd this Fund of Blisses:
Wha smil'd, and said, Without a Priest,
Sir, hope for nought but Kisses.

I had nae Heart to do her Harm,
And yet I coudna want her;
What she demanded, ilka Charm
Of her's pled, I shou'd grant her.
Since Heaven had dealt to me a Rowth,
Straight to the Kirk I led her,
There plighted her my Faith and Trowth,
And a young Lady made her.

The Cock Laird

A Cock Laird fou cadgie,
With Jenny did meet,
He haws'd her, he kiss'd her
And ca'd her his Sweet.
Wilt thou gae alang
Wi' me, Jenny, Jenny?
Thou'se be my ain Lemmane,
Jo Jenny, quoth he.

If I gae alang w'ye,
Ye mauna fail,
To feast me with Cadells
And good Hacket-kail.

The Deel's in your Nicety,
Jenny, quoth he,
Mayna Bannocks of Bear-meal
Be as good for thee.

And I maun hae Pinners,
With Pearling set round,
A Skirt of Puddy,
And a wastcoat of broun.
Awa with sic Vanities,
Jenny, quoth he,
For Kurchies and Kirtles
Are fitter for thee.

My Lairdship can yield me
As meikle a Year,
As had us in Pottage
And good knockit Beer:
But having nae Tenants,
O Jenny, Jenny,
To buy ought I ne'er have
A Penny, quoth he.

The Borrowstoun Merchants
Will sell ye on Tick,
For we man hae braw Things,
Abiet they soud break,
When broken, frae Care
The Fools are set free,
When we make them Lairds
In the Abbey, quoth she.

SONGS INSERTED IN THE GENTLE SHEPHERD [1725–34]

[_]

The following SONGS to be sung in their proper Places on the acting of the Gentle Shepherd, at each the Page marked where they come in.

SANG I. The wawking of the Faulds

[_]

Sung by Patie, Page 1. [P. 213, l. 6.]

My Peggy is a young thing,
Just enter'd in her teens,
Fair as the day, and sweet as May,
Fair as the day, and always gay.
My Peggy is a young thing,
And I'm not very auld,
Yet well I like to meet her at
The wawking of the fauld.

My Peggy speaks sae sweetly,
When e'er we meet alane.
I wish nae mair, to lay my care,
I wish nae mair, of a' that's rare.
My Peggy speaks sae sweetly,
To a' the lave I'm cauld;
But she gars a' my spirits glow
At wawking of the fauld.

My Peggy smiles sae kindly,
Whene'er I whisper love,
That I look down on a' the town,
That I look down upon a crown.
My Peggy smiles sae kindly,
It makes me blyth and bauld.
And naithing gi'es me sic delight,
As wawking of the fauld.

My Peggy sings sae saftly,
When on my pipe I play;
By a' the rest, it is confest,
By a' the rest, that she sings best,
My Peggy sings sae saftly,
And in her sangs are tald,
With innocence the wale of sense,
At wawking of the fauld.

SANG II. Fy gar rub her o'er with Strae

[_]

sung by Patie, p. 6. [P. 217, l. 142.]

Dear Roger, if your Jenny geck,
And answer kindness with a slight,
Seem unconcern'd at her neglect,
For women in a man delight;
But them dispise who're soon defeat,
And with a simple face give way
To a repulse—then be not blate,
Push bauldly on, and win the day.

When maidens, innocently young,
Say atten what they never mean;
Ne'er mind their pretty lying tongue;
But tent the language of their een:
If these agree, and she persist
To answer all your love with hate,
Seek elsewhere to be better blest,
And let her sigh when 'tis too late.

SANG III. Polwart on the Green.

[_]

Sung by Peggy, p. 10. [P. 220, l. 53.]

The dorty will repent,
If lover's heart grow cauld,
And nane her smiles will tent,
Soon as her face looks auld:

The dawted bairn thus takes the pet,
Nor eats, tho' hunger crave,
Whimpers and tarrows at its meat,
And's laught at by the lave,
They jest it till the dinner's past,
Thus by it sell abus'd,
The fool thing is oblig'd to fast,
Or eat what they've refus'd.

SANG IV. O dear Mother, what shall I do?

[_]

Sung by Jenny p. 11. [P. 220, l. 71.]

O dear Peggy love's beguiling,
We ought not to trust his smiling.
Better far to do as I do,
Lest a harder luck betyde you.
Lasses when their fancy's carried,
Think of nought but to be married;
Running to a life destroys
Heartsome, free, and youthfu' joys.

SANG V. How can I be sad on my Wedding-Day.

[_]

Sung by Peggy, p. 12. [P. 221, l. 117.]

How shall I be sad when a husband I hae,
That has better sense than any of thae
Sour weal silly fellows, that study like fools
To sink their ain joy, and make their wives snools.
The man who is prudent ne'er lightlies his wife,
Or with dull reproaches encourages strife;
He praises her virtues, and ne'er will abuse
Her for a small failing, but find an excuse.

SANG VI. Nansy's to the Green Wood gane.

[_]

Sung by Jenny, p. 15. [P. 224, l. 205.]

I yield, dear lassie, you have won,
And there is nae denying,
That sure as light flows frae the Sun,
Frae love proceeds complying;
For a' that we can do or say,
'Gainst love nae thinker heeds us,
They ken our bosoms lodge the fae,
That by the heart-strings leads us.

SANG VII. Cald Kale in Aberdeen

[_]

Sung by Glaud or Symon, p. 18. [P. 226, l. 34.]

Cauld be the rebel's cast,
Oppressors base and bloody,
I hope we'll see them at the last
Strung a' up in a woody.
Blest be he of worth and sense,
And ever high his station,
That bravely stands in the defence
Of conscience, king and nation.

SANG VIII. Mucking of Geordy's Byer.

[_]

Sung by Symon, p. 19. [P. 226, l. 51.]

The laird who in riches and honour
Wad thrive, should be kindly and free,
Nor rack the poor tenants, who labour
To rise aboon poverty:
Else like the pack horse that's unfother'd
And burden'd, will tumble down faint;
Thus virtue by hardship is smother'd,
And rackers aft tine their rent.

[_]

SANG IX. Carle and the King come.

Sung by Mause, p. 24. [P. 230, l. 4.] [This is prefaced to Act II, Sc. III (S.T.S. Edition: Vol. II, p. 230). There is one variant: thou shalt for shalt thou in l. 9.]

SANG X. Winter was cauld, and my Cleathing was thin.

[_]

Sung by Peggy and Patie, p. 30. [P. 235, l. 76.]

PEGGY.
When first my dear laddie gade to the green hill,
And I at ew-milking first seyd my young skill,
To bear the milk-bowie, nae pain was to me,
When I at the bughting forgather'd with thee.

PATIE.
When corn-riggs wav'd yellow, and blew hether-bells
Bloom'd bonny on moorland and sweet rising fells,
Nae birns, brier, or breckens, gave trouble to me,
If I found the berries right ripen'd for thee.

PEGGY.
When thou ran, or wrestled, or putted the stane,
And came aff the victor, my heart was ay fain:
Thy ilka sport manly, gave pleasure to me;
For nane can put, wrestle or run swift as thee.

PATIE.
Our Jenny sings saftly the Cowden Broom-Knows,
And Rosie lilts sweetly the milking the ews;

There's few Jenny Nettles like Nansy can sing,
At throw the wood laddie, Bess gars our lugs ring:
But when my dear Peggy sings with better skill,
The boat-man, tweed-side, or the lass of the mill,
'Tis many times sweeter and pleasing to me;
For tho' they sing nicely, they cannot like thee.

PEGGY.
How easy can lasses trow what they desire?
And praises sae kindly increases love's fire;
Give me still this pleasure, my study shall be
To make my self better and sweeter for thee.

[_]

Omitted here is SANG XI. By the delicious warmness of thy mouth. Sung by Patie and Peggy, p. 32, printed in the Pastoral; and in Tea-Table Miscellany, Vol. I. p. 151. [In S.T.S. Edition. Vol. I: pp. 183–4 and Vol. II: p. 236.]

SANG XII. Happy Clown

[_]

Sung by Sir William, p. 35. [P. 238, l. 48.]

Hid from himself, now by the dawn
He starts as fresh as roses blawn,
And ranges o'er the heights and lawn,
After his bleeting flocks.
Healthful, and innocently gay
He chants, and whistles out the day;
Untaught to smile, and then betray,
Like courtly weathercocks.

Life happy from ambition free,
Envy and vile hypocrisie,
Where truth and love with joys agree,
Unsullied with a crime:
Unmov'd with what disturbs the great,
In proping of their pride and state;
He lives, and unafraid of fate,
Contented spends his time.

SANG XIII. Leith-Wynd.

[_]

Sung by JENNY and ROGER p. 47. [P. 247, l. 73.]

[JENNY]
Were I assur'd you'll constant prove,
You should nae mair complain,
The easy maid beset with love,
Few words will quickly gain;
For I must own, now since you're free,
This too fond heart of mine
Has lang, a black-sole true to thee,
Wish'd to be pair'd with thine.

ROGER
I'm happy now, ah! let my head
Upon thy breast recline;
The pleasure strikes me near-hand dead!
Is Jenny then sae kind?—
O let me briss thee to my heart!
And round my arms entwine:
Delytful thought; we'll never part!
Come press thy mouth to mine.

SANG XIV. O'er Bogie.

[_]

Sung by Jenny, p. 48. [P. 247, l. 81.]

Well I agree, ye're sure of me;
Next to my father gae.
Make him content to give consent,
He'll hardly say you nay:
For you have what he wad be at,
And will commend you well,
Since parents auld think love grows cauld,
Where bairns want milk and meal.

Shou'd he deny, I carena by,
He'd contradict in vain.
Tho' a' my kin had said and sworn,
But thee I will have nane.
Then never range, or learn to change,
Like these in high degree:
And if you prove faithful in love,
You'll find nae fault in me.

SANG XV. Wat ye wha I met Yestreen.

[_]

Sung by Sir William, p. 54. (P. 252. Substituted for ll. 122–8.]

Now from rusticity, and love,
Whose flames but over lowly burn
My gentle shepherd must be drove,
His soul must take another turn:
As the rough diamond from the mine,
In breakings only shews its light.
'Till polishing has made it shine,
Thus learning makes the genius bright.

SANG XVI. Kirk wad let me be.

[_]

Sung by Patie, p. 63. [P. 258, l. 42.]

Duty and part of reason,
Plead strong on the parents side,
Which love superior calls treason;
The strongest must be obey'd:
For now tho' I'm one of the gentry,
My constancy falshood repells;
For change in my heart is no entry,
Still there my dear Peggy excells.

SANG XVII. Woes my heart that we shou'd sunder.

[_]

Sung by Peggy, p. 67. [P. 261, l. 149: as alternative to ll. 130–149.]

Speak on,—speak thus, and still my grief,
Hold up a heart that's sinking under
These fears, that soon will want relief,
When Pate must from Peggy sunder.
A gentler face and silk attire,
A lady rich in beauty's blossom,
Alake poor me! will now conspire,
To steal thee from thy Peggy's bosom.

No more the shepherd who excell'd
The rest, whose wit made them to wonder,
Shall now his Peggy's praises tell,
Ah! I can die, but never sunder.
Ye meadows where we often stray'd,
Ye banks where we were wont to wander.
Sweet scented rucks round which we play'd,
You'll loss your sweets when we're asunder.

Again ah! shall I never creep
Around the know with silent duty,
Kindly to watch thee while asleep,
And wonder at thy manly beauty?
Hear, heaven, while solemnly I vow,
Tho' thou shouldst prove a wandering lover,
Throw life to thee I shall prove true,
Nor be a wife to any other.

SANG XVIII. Tweed-side.

[_]

Sung by Peggy, p. 68. [P. 262, l. 174: as alternative to ll. 163–174.]

When hope was quite sunk in despair,
My heart it was going to break;
My life appear'd worthless my care,
But now I will sav't for thy sake.
Where'er my love travels by day,
Wherever he lodges by night,
With me his dear image shall stay,
And my soul keep him e'er in sight.

With patience I'll wait the long year,
And study the gentlest charms;
Hope time away till thou appear,
To lock thee for ay in those arms.
Whilst thou wast a shepherd, I priz'd
No higher degree in this life;
But now I'll endeavour to rise
To a height is becoming thy wife.

For beauty that's only skin deep,
Must fade like the gowans of May,
But inwardly rooted, will keep
For ever, without a decay.

Nor age, nor the changes of life,
Can quench the fair fire of love,
If virtue's ingrain'd in the wife,
And the husband have sense to approve.

SANG XIX. Bush aboon Traquair.

[_]

Sung by Peggy, p. 70. [P. 263, l. 209: as alternative to ll. 202–9.]

At setting day and rising morn,
With soul that still shall love thee,
I'll ask of heaven thy safe return,
With all that can improve thee.
I'll visit oft the birken-bush,
Where first thou kindly told me,
Sweet tales of love, and hid my blush,
Whilst round thou didst enfold me.

To all our haunts I will repair,
By greenwood-shaw or fountain;
Or where the summer-day I'd share
With thee, upon yon mountain.
There will I tell the trees and flowers,
From thoughts unfeign'd and tender.
By vows you're mine, by love is yours
A heart which cannot wander.

SANG XX. Bony gray ey'd Morn.

[_]

Sung by Sir William, p. 74. [P. 266, l. 85.]

The bony gray eyed morning begins to peep,
And darkness flys before the rising ray,
The hearty hynd starts from his lazy sleep,
To follow healthful labours of the day,

Without a guilty sting to wrinkle his brow,
The lark and the linnet tend his levee,
And he joins their concert, driving his plow,
From toil of grimace and pageantry free.

While fluster'd with wine, or madden'd with loss,
Of half an estate, the prey of a main,
The drunkard and gamester tumble and toss,
Wishing for calmness and slumber in vain.
Be my portion health and quietness of mind,
Plac'd at due distance from parties and state,
Where neither ambition or avarice blind,
Reach him who has happiness link'd to his fate.

From The Tea-Table Miscellany [1729]

On our Ladies being dressed in SCOTS Manufactory at a publick Assembly.

A SONG

[_]

To the Tune of, O'er the Hills and far away.

Let meaner beauties use their art,
And range both Indies for their dress.
Our fair can captivate the heart,
In native weeds, nor look the less.
More bright unborrowed beauties shine,
The artless sweetness of each face
Sparkle with lustres more divine,
When freed of every foreign grace.

The tawny nymph on scorching plains,
May use the aid of gems and paint,
Deck with brocade and Tyrian stains
Features of ruder form and taint.
What Caledonian ladies wear,
Or from the lint or woolen twine,
Adorn'd by all their sweets, appear
What e'er we can imagine fine.

Apparel neat become the fair,
The dirty dress may lovers cool,
But clean, our maids need have no care,
If clade in linnen, silk, or wool.
T'adore Myrtilla, who can cease?
Her active charms our praise demand,
Clad in a mantua, from the fleece,
Spun by her own delightful hand.

Who can behold Calista's eyes,
Her breast, her cheek, and snowy arms,
And mind what artists can devise,
To rival more superior charms?
Compar'd with those, the diamond's dull,
Launs, satins, and the velvet's fade,
The soul with her attractions full,
Can never be by these betray'd.

SAPHIRA, all o'er native sweets,
Not the false glare of dress regards,
Her wit, her character completes,
Her smile her lovers sighs rewards,
When such first beauties lead the way,
The inferior rank will follow soon;
Then arts no longer shall decay,
But trade encouraged be in tune.

Millions of fleeces shall be wove,
And flax that on the valeys blooms,
Shall make the naked nations love,
And bless the labours of our looms;
We have enough, nor want from them,
But trifles hardly worth our care,
Yet for these trifles let them claim
What food and cloath we have to spare.

How happy's Scotland in her Fair!
Her amiable daughters shall,
By acting thus with virtuous care,
Again the golden age recal:
Enjoying them, Edina ne'er
Shall miss a court; but soon advance
In wealth, when thus the lov'd appear
Around the scenes, or in the dance.

Barbarity shall yield to sense,
And lazy pride to useful arts,
When such dear angels, in defence
Of virtue thus engage their hearts.
Blest guardians of our joys and wealth,
True fountains of delight and love,
Long bloom your charms, fixt be your health,
'Till tir'd with earth, you mount above.

From The Evergreen [1724]

THE VISION

Compylit in Latin be a most lernit Clerk in Tyme of our Hairship and Oppression, anno 1300, and translatit in 1524.

I

Bedoun the Bents of Banquo Brae
Milane I wandert waif and wae,
Musand our main Mischaunce;
How be thay Faes we ar undone,
That staw the sacred Stane frae Scone,
And leids us sic a Daunce:
Quhyle Inglands Edert taks our Tours,
And Scotland ferst obeys,
Rude Ruffians ransakk Ryal Bours,
And Baliol Homage pays;
Throch Feidom our Freidom
Is blotit with this Skore,
Quhat Romans or no Mans
Pith culd eir do befoir

II

The Air grew ruch with bousteous Thuds,
Bauld Boreas branglit outthrow the Cluds,
Maist lyke a drunken Wicht;
The Thunder crakt, and Flauchts did rift
Frae the blak Vissart of the Lift:
The Forrest schuke with Fricht;
Nae Birds abune thair Wing extenn,
They ducht not byde the Blast,
Ilk Beist bedeen bangd to thair Den,
Until the Storm was past:
Ilk Creature in Nature
That had a Spunk of Sence,
In Neid then, with Speid then,
Methocht cryt, in Defence.

III

To se a Morn in May sae ill,
I deimt Dame Nature was gane will,
To rair with rackles Reil;
Quhairfor to put me out of Pain,
And skonce my Skap and Shanks frae Rain,
I bure me to a Beil,
Up ane hich Craig that lundgit alaft,
Out owre a canny Cave,
A curious Cruif of Natures Craft,
Quhilk to me Schelter gaif;
Ther vexit, perplexit,
I leint me doun to weip,
In brief ther, with Grief ther
I dottard owre on Sleip.

IV

Heir Somnus in his silent Hand
Held all my Sences at Command,
Quhyle I forzet my Cair;
The myldest Meid of mortall Wichts
Quha pass in Peace the private Nichts,
That wauking finds it rare;
Sae in saft Slumbers did I ly,
But not my wakryfe Mynd,
Quhilk still stude Watch, and couth espy
A Man with Aspeck kynd,
Richt auld lyke and bauld lyke,
With Baird thre Quarters skant,
Sae braif lyke and graif lyke,
He seemt to be a Sanct.

V

Grit Darring dartit frae his Ee,
A Braid-sword schogled at his Thie,
On his left Arm a Targe;
A shynand Speir filld his richt Hand,
Of stalwart Mak, in Bane and Brawnd,
Of just Proportions, large;
A various Rain-bow colourt Plaid
Owre his left Spaul he threw,
Doun his braid Back, frae his quhyt Heid,
The Silver Wymplers grew;
Amaisit, I gaisit
To se, led at Command,
A strampant and rampant
Ferss Lyon in his Hand.

VI

Quhilk held a Thistle in his Paw,
And round his Collar graift I saw
This Poesie pat and plain,
Nemo me impune lacess—
—Et:—In Scots, Nane sall oppress
Me, unpunist with Pain;
Still schaking, I durst naithing say,
Till he with Kynd Accent
Sayd, Fere let nocht thy Hairt affray,
I cum to hier thy Plaint;
Thy graining and maining
Haith laitlie reikd myne Eir,
Debar then affar then
All Eiryness or Feir.

VII

For I am ane of a hie Station,
The Warden of this auntient Nation,
And can nocht do the Wrang;
I vissyt him then round about,
Syne with a Resolution stout,
Speird, Quhair he had bene sae lang?
Quod he, Althocht I sum forsuke,
Becaus they did me slicht,
To Hills and Glens I me betuke,
To them that luves my Richt;
Quhase Mynds zet inclynds zet
To damm the rappid Spate,
Devysing and prysing
Freidom at ony Rate.

VIII

Our Trechour Peirs thair Tyranns treit,
Quha jyb them, and thair Substance eit,
And on thair Honour stramp;
They, pure degenerate! bend thair Baks,
The Victor, Langshanks, proudly cracks
He has blawn out our Lamp:
Quhyle trew Men, sair complainand, tell,
With Sobs, thair silent Greif,
How Baliol thair Richts did sell,
With small Howp of Reliefe;
Regretand and fretand
Ay at his cursit Plot,
Quha rammed and crammed
That Bargin doun thair Throt.

IX

Braif Gentrie sweir, and Burgers ban,
Revenge is muttert be ilk Clan
Thats to their Nation trew;
The Cloysters cum to cun the Evil,
Mailpayers wiss it to the Devil,
With its contryving Crew:
The Hardy wald with hairty Wills,
Upon dyre Vengance fall;
The feckless fret owre Heuchs and Hills,
And Eccho Answers all,
Repetand and greitand,
With mony a sair Alace,
For Blasting and Casting
Our Honour in Disgrace.

X

Waes me! quod I, our Case is bad,
And mony of us are gane mad,
Sen this disgraceful Paction.
We are felld and herryt now by Forse;
And hardly Help fort, thats zit warse,
We are sae forfairn with Faction.
Then has not he gude Cause to grumble,
Thats forst to be a Slaif;
Oppression dois the Judgment Jumble
And gars a wyse Man raif.
May Cheins then, and Pains then
Infernal be thair Hyre
Quha dang us, and flang us
Into this ugsum Myre.

XI

Then he with bauld forbidding Luke,
And staitly Air did me rebuke,
For being of Sprite sae mein:
Said he its far beneath a Scot
To use weak Curses quhen his Lot
May sumtyms sour his Splein,
He rather sould mair lyke a Man,
Some braif Design attempt;
Gif its nocht in his Pith, what than,
Rest but a Quhyle content,
Nocht feirful, but cheirful,
And wait the Will of Fate,
Which mynds to desygns to
Renew zour auntient State.

XII

I ken sum mair than ze do all
Of quhat sall afterwart befall,
In mair auspicious Tymes;
For aften far abufe the Mune,
We watching Beings do convene,
Frae round Eards outmost Climes,
Quhair evry Warden represents
Cleirly his Nations Case,
Gif Famyne, Pest, or Sword Torments,
Or Vilains hie in Place,
Quha keip ay, and heip ay
Up to themselves grit Store,
By rundging and spunging
The leil laborious Pure.

XIII

Say then, said I, at zour hie Sate,
Lernt ze ocht of auld Scotland's Fate.
Gif eir schoil be her sell;
With Smyle Celest, quod he, I can,
But its nocht fit an mortal Man
Sould ken all I can tell:
But Part to the I may unfold,
And thou may saifly ken,
Quhen Scottish Peirs slicht Saxon Gold,
And turn trew heartit Men;
Quhen Knaivry and Slaivrie,
Ar equally dispysd,
And Loyalte and Royalte,
Universalie are prysd.

XIV

Quhen all zour Trade is at a Stand,
And Cunzie clene forsaiks the Land,
Quhilk will be very sune,
Will Preists without their Stypands preich
For nocht will Lawyers Causes Streich;
Faith thatis nae easy done.
All this and mair maun cum to pass,
To cleir zour glamourit Sicht;
And Scotland maun be made an Ass
To set her Jugment richt.
Theyil jade hir and blad hir,
Untill scho brak hir Tether,
Thocht auld schois zit bauld schois,
And teuch lyke barkit Lether.

XV

But mony a Corss sall braithles ly,
And Wae sall mony a Widow cry,
Or all rin richt again;
Owre Cheviot prancing proudly North,
The Faes sall tak the Feild neir Forthe,
And think the Day their ain:
But Burns that Day sall rin with Blude
Of them that now oppress;
Thair Carcasses be Corbys Fude,
By thousands on the Gress.
A King then sall ring then,
Of wyse Renoun and braif,
Quhase Pusians and Sapiens,
Sall Richt restoir and saif.

XVI

The View of Freidomis sweit, quod I,
O say, grit Tennant of the Skye,
How neiris that happie Tyme.
We ken Things but be Circumstans,
Nae mair, quod he, I may advance,
Leist I commit a Cryme.
Quhat eir ze pleis, gae on, quod I,
I sall not fash ze moir,
Say how, and quhair ze met, and quhy,
As ze did hint befoir.
With Air then sae fair then,
That glanst like Rayis of Glory,
Sae Godlyk and oddlyk
He thus resumit his Storie.

XVII

Frae the Suns Rysing to his Sett,
All the pryme Rait of Wardens met,
In solemn bricht Array,
With Vehicles of Aither cleir,
Sic we put on quhen we appeir
To Sauls rowit up in Clay;
Thair in a wyde and splendit Hall,
Reird up with shynand Beims,
Quhais Rufe-treis wer of Rainbows all,
And paist with starrie Gleims,
Quhilk prinked and twinkled
Brichtly beyont Compair,
Much famed and named
A Castill in the Air.

XVIII

In midst of quhilk a Tabill stude,
A spacious Oval reid as Blude,
Made of a Fyre-Flaucht,
Arround the dazeling Walls were drawn,
With Rays be a celestial Hand,
Full mony a curious Draucht.
Inferiour Beings flew in Haist,
Without Gyd or Derectour,
Millions of Myles throch the wyld Waste,
To bring in Bowlis of Nectar:
Then roundly and soundly
We drank lyk Roman Gods;
Quhen Jove sae dois rove sae,
That Mars and Bacchus nods.

XIX

Quhen Phebus Heid turns licht as Cork,
And Neptune leans upon his Fork,
And limpand Vulcan blethers:
Quhen Pluto glowrs as he were wyld,
And Cupid luves we wingit Chyld,
Fals down and fyls his Fethers.
Quhen Pan forzets to tune his Reid,
And slings it cairless bye,
And Hermes wingd at Heils and Heid,
Can nowther stand nor lye:
Quhen staggirand and swaggirand,
They stoyter Hame to sleip,
Quhyle Centeries at Enteries
Imortal Watches keip.

XX

Thus we tuke in the high browin Liquour,
And bangd about the Nectar Biquour;
But evir with his Ods:
We neir in Drink our Judgments drensch,
Nor scour about to seik a Wensch
Lyk these auld baudy Gods,
But franklie at ilk uther ask,
Quhats proper we suld know,
How ilk ane hes performt the Task,
Assigned to him below.
Our Minds then sae kind then,
Are fixt upon our Care,
Ay noting and ploting
Quhat tends to thair Weilfair.

XXI

Gothus and Vandall baith lukt bluff,
Quhyle Gallus sneerd and tuke a Snuff,
Quhilk made Allmane to stare;
Latinus bad him naithing feir,
But lend his Hand to haly Weir,
And of cowd Crouns tak Care;
Batavius with his Paddock-Face
Luking asquint, cryd, Pisch,
Zour Monks ar void of Sence or Grace,
I had leur ficht for Fisch;
Zour Schule-men ar Fule-men,
Carvit out for dull Debates,
Decoying and destroying
Baith Monarchies and States.

XXII

Iberius with a gurlie Nod
Cryd, Hogan, zes we ken zour God,
Its Herrings ze adore;
Heptarchus, as he usd to be,
Can nocht with his ain Thochts agre,
But varies bak and fore;
Ane quhyle he says, It is not richt
A Monarch to resist,
Neist Braith all Ryall Powir will slicht,
And passive Homage jest;
He hitches and fitches
Betwein the Hic and Hoc,
Ay jieand and flieand
Round lyk a Wedder-cock.

XXIII

I still support my Precedens
Abune them all, for Sword and Sens,
Thocht I haif layn richt now lown,
Quhylk was, becaus I bure a Grudge
At sum fule Scotis, quha lykd to drudge
To Princes no thair awin;
Sum Thanis thair Tennants pykit and squeist,
And pursit up all thair Rent,
Syne wallopit to far Courts, and bleist,
Till Riggs and Schaws war spent;
Syne byndging and whyndging,
Quhen thus redusit to Howps,
They dander and wander
About pure Lickmadowps.

XXIV

But now its Tyme for me to draw
My shynand Sword against Club-Law,
And gar my Lyon roir;
He sall or lang gie sic a Sound,
The Ecchoe sall be hard arround
Europe, frae Schore to Schore;
Then lat them gadder all thair Strenth,
And stryve to wirk my Fall,
Tho numerous, zit at the lenth
I will owrecum them all,
And raise zit and blaze zit
My Braifrie and Renown,
By gracing and placing
Arright the Scottis Crown.

XXV

Quhen my braif Bruce the same sall weir
Upon his Ryal Heid, full cleir
The Diadem will shyne;
Then sall zour sair Oppression ceis,
His Intrest zours he will not fleice,
Or leif zou eir inclyne:
Thocht Millions to his Purse be lent,
Zell neir the puirer be,
But rather richer, quhyle its spent
Within the Scottish Se:
The Field then sall zeild then
To honest Husbands Welth,
Gude Laws then sall cause then
A sickly State haif Helth.

XXVI

Quhyle thus he talkit, methocht ther came
A wondir fair Etherial Dame,
And to our Warden sayd,
Grit Callidon I cum in Serch
Of zou, frae the hych starry Arch,
The Counsill wants zour Ayd;
Frae every Quarter of the Sky,
As swift as Quhirl-wynd,
With Spirits speid the Chiftains hy,
Sum grit Thing is desygnd
Owre Muntains be Funtains,
And round ilk fairy Ring,
I haif chaist ze, O haist ze,
They talk about zour King.

XXVII

With that my Hand methocht he schuke,
And wischt I Happyness micht bruke,
To eild be Nicht and Day;
Syne quicker than an Arrows Flicht,
He mountit upwarts frae my Sicht,
Straicht to the milkie Way;
My Mynd him followit throw the Skyes,
Untill the brynie Streme
For Joy ran trinckling frae myne Eyes,
And wakit me frae Dreme;
Then peiping, half sleiping,
Frae furth my rural Beild,
It eisit me and pleisit me
To se and smell the Feild.

XXVIII

For Flora in hir clene Array,
New washen with a Showir of May,
Lukit full sweit and fair;
Quhyle hir cleir Husband frae aboif
Sched doun his Rayis of genial Luve,
Hir Sweits perfumt the Air;
The Winds war husht, the Welkin cleird,
The glumand Clouds war fled,
And all as saft and gay appeird
As ane Elysion Sched;
Quhilk heisit and bleisit
My Heart with sic a Fyre,
As raises these Praises
That do to Heaven aspyre.

Quod Ar. Scot.

The History of the Scots Sufferings, by the unworthy Condescension of Baliol to Edward I of England, till they recovered their Independence by the Conduct and Valour of the Great BRUCE, is so universally known, that any Argument to this antique Poem seems useless.

The old Chair (now in Westminster Abbey) in which the Scots Kings were always crown'd, wherein there is a Piece of Marble with this Inscription;

Ni fallat fatum, SCOTI, quocunque locatum
Invenient lapidem, regnare tenentur ibidem.

THE Eagle and Robin Red-breist

The Prince of all the fethert Kynd,
That with spred Wings out fleis the Wind,
And tours far out of humane Sicht
To view the schynand Orb of Licht:
This Ryall Bird, tho braif and great,
And armit strang for stern Debait,
Nae Tyrant is but condescends
Aftymes to treit inferiour Friends.
Ane Day at his Command did flock
To his hie Palace on a Rock,
The Courtiers of ilk various Syze
That swiftly swim in Christal Skyis;

Thither the valiant Tersals doup,
And heir rapacious Corbies croup,
With greidy Gleds and slie Gormahs,
And dinsome Pyis and clatterin Daws;
Proud Pecocks, and a hundred mae,
Bruscht up thair Pens that solemn Day,
Bowd first submissive to my Lord,
Then tuke thair Places at his Borde.
Mein Tyme quhyle feisting on a Fawn,
And drinking Blude frae Lamies drawn,
A tunefull Robin trig and zung,
Hard by upon a Bour-tree sung.
He sang the Eagles Ryall Lyne,
His persing Ee and Richt divyne,
To sway out-owre the fetherit Thrang,
Quha dreid his martial Bill and sang:
His Flicht sublime, and Eild renewit,
His Mynd with Clemencie endewit;
In safter Notes he sang his Luve,
Mair hie his beiring Bolts for Jove.

The Monarch Bird with Blythness hard
The chaunting litil Silvan Bard,
Calit up a Buzart, quha was than
His Favourite and Chamberlane.
Swith to my Treasury, quod he,
And to zon canty Robin gie
As mekle of our currant Geir
As may mentain him throw the Zeir;
We can weil spairt, and its his Due,
He bad, and furth the Judas flew,
Straight to the Brench quhair Robin sung,
And with a wickit lieand Tung,
Said, Ah! ze sing sae dull and ruch,
Ze haif deivt our Lugs mair than enuch,

His Majestie hes a nyse Eir,
And nae mair of zour Stuff can beir;
Poke up zour Pypes, be nae mair sene
At Court, I warn ze as a Frein.

He spak, quhyle Robinis swelling Breist,
And drouping Wings his Greif,
The Teirs ran happing doun his Cheik,
Grit grew his Hairt, he could nocht speik,
No for the Tinsell of Rewaird,
But that his Notis met nae Regaird;
Straicht to the Schaw he spred his Wing,
Resolvit again nae mair to sing,
Quhair Princelie Bountie is supprest,
By sic with quhome they are opprest,
Quha cannot beir (because they want it)
That ocht suld be to Merit grantit.

Quod Ar. Scot.

POSTSCRIPT

[_]

[To Dunbar's Lament for the Makaris]

Suthe I forsie, if Spae-craft had,
Frae Hethir-Muirs sall ryse a Lad,
Aftir twa Centries pas, sall he
Revive our Fame and Memorie.

Then sall we flourish Evir Grene;
All thanks to carefull Bannantyne,
And to the Patron kind and frie,
Quha lends the Lad baith them and me.

Far sall we fare, baith Eist and West,
Owre ilka Clyme by Scots possest;
Then sen our Warks sall nevir die,
Timor mortis non turbat me.

Quod Dunbar.

Patron, Mr William Carmichael, Brother to the Earl of Hyndford, who lent A. R. that curious MSS. collected by Mr. George Bannantyne, Anno 1568, from whence these Poems are printed.

AN ODE Sacred to the MEMORY Of Her Grace ANNE Dutchess of HAMILTON .

Let Angels with their silver Wings o'ershade,
The Ground now sacred by her Reliques made.
Pope.

Why sounds the Plain with sad Complaint?
Why hides the Sun his Beams?
Why sighs the Winds sae bleak and cauld?
Why mourn the swelling Streams?

Wail on ye Heights, ye Glens complain,
Sun wear thy cloudy Veil:
Sigh Winds frae frozen Caves of Snaw;
Clyde mourn the rueful Tale.

She's dead, the Beauteous Anna's dead,
All Nature wears a Gloom:
Alas! the comely budding Flower,
Is faded in the Bloom.

Clos'd in the weeping Marble Vault,
Now cauld and blae she lies,
Nae mair the Smiles adorn her Cheek,
Nae mair she lifts her Eyes.

Too soon, O sweetest, fairest, best;
Young Parent, lovely Mate,
Thou leaves thy LORD and Infant SON,
To weep thy early Fate.

But late thy chearfu' Marriage-Day,
Gave Gladness all around;
But late in thee, the youthful Chief,
A Heaven of Blessings found.

His Bosom swells, for much he lov'd,
Words fail to paint his Greif;
He starts in Dream, and grasps thy Shade,
The Day brings nae Relief.

The fair Illusion skims away,
And Grief again returns,
Life's Pleasure make a vain Attempt,
Disconsolate he mourns:

He mourns his Loss, a Nation's Loss,
It claims a Flood of Tears;
When sic a lov'd illustrious Star,
Sae quickly disappears.

With Roses and the Lilly Buds,
Ye Nymphs her Grave adorn,
And weeping tell, thus Sweet she was,
Thus early from us Torn.

To silent Twilight Shades retire,
Ye melancholy Swains,
In melting Notes repete her Praise,
In sighing vent your Pains.

But haste, calm Reason, to our Aid,
And paining Thoughts subdue,
By placing of the pious Fair,
In a mair pleasing View.

100

Whose white immortal Mind now shines,
And shall for ever bright,
Above th'Insult of Death and Pain,
By the first Spring of Light.

There joins the high melodious Thrang,
That strike eternal Strings;
In Presence of Omnipotence,
She now a Seraph sings.

Then cease Great JAMES thy flowing Tears,
Nor rent thy Soul in vain:
Frae Bowers of Bless she'll ne'er return
To thy kind Arms again.

With Goodness still adorn thy Mind,
True Greatness still improve;
Be still a PATRIOT, just and brave,
And meet thy SAINT above.

A.R.

101

From Poems in English and Latin on the Archers and Royal Company of Archers [1726]

The POET'S Thanks to the ARCHERS, on being admitted into their Royal Company.

The restless Mind of Man ne'er tyres,
To please his favourite Desires,
He chiefly that to Fame aspires,
With Soul enlarg'd grasps with Delight
At every Favour, which conspires
To place him in a proper Light.
Such are the Followers of the Nine,
Who aim at Glory for Reward;
Whose flowing Fancies brighter shine,
When from the Best they meet Regard.

I not the least now of that Train
Who frae the Royal Archers gain
Applause, while lovely Ladies deign
To take me too beneath their Care:
Then tho' I boast, I am not vain,
Thus guarded by the Brave and Fair.
For which kind Fate to me this Day,
First to the Powers supreme I bow;
And next, my Gratitude I pay,
Brave Sons of Caledon, to you.

ALLAN RAMSAY

The ARCHERS March.

I

Sound, sound the Musick, sound it,
Let Hills and Dales rebound it,
Let Hills and Dales rebound it,
In Praise of Archery.

102

It's Origin Divine is,
The Practice brave and fine is,
Which gen'rously inclines us
To guard our Liberty.

II

Art by the Gods imployed,
By which Heroes enjoyed,
By which Heroes enjoyed
The Wreaths of Victory.
The Deity of Parnassus,
The God of soft Caresses,
Diana and her Lasses
Delight in Archery.

III

See, see yon Bow extended!
'Tis Jove himself that bends it.
'Tis Jove himself that bends it,
O'er Clouds on high it glows.
All Nations, Turks and Parthians ,
The Tartars and the Scythians
The Arabs, Moors and Indians ,
With Bravery draw their Bows.

IV

Our own true Records tell us,
That none cou'd e'er excell us,
That none cou'd e'er excell us,
In martial Archery.
With Shafts our Sires engaging,
Oppos'd the Romans Raging,
Defeat the fierce Norwegian ,
And spared few Danes to flee.

103

V

Witness the Largs and Loncartie ,
Dunkeld and Aberlemno ,
Dunkeld and Aberlemno ,
Rosline and Bannockburn .
The Chiviots , . . . all the Border,
Where Bowmen in brave Order,
Told Enemies, if furder
They mov'd, they'd ne'er return.

VI

Sound, sound the Musick, sound it,
Let Hills and Dales rebound it,
Let Hills and Dales rebound it,
In Praise of Archery.
Us'd as a Game it pleases,
The Mind to Joy it raises,
And throws off all Diseases
Of lazy Luxury.

104

VII

Now, now our Care beguiling,
When all the Year looks smiling,
When all the Year looks smiling
With healthful Harmony.
The Sun in Glory glowing,
With Morning Dew bestowing
Sweet Fragrance, Life and Growing
To Flowers and every Tree.

VIII

'Tis now the Archers royal,
An hearty Band and loyal,
An hearty Band and loyal,
That in just Thoughts agree,
Appear in ancient Bravery,
Despising all base Knavery,
Which tends to bring in Slavery
Souls worthy to live free.

IX

Sound, sound the Musick, sound it,
Fill up the Glass and round wi't,
Fill up the Glass and round wi't:
Health and Prosperity
To our Great CHIEF and Officers,
To our President and Counsellors;
To all who, like their brave Forbears,
Delight in Archery.

Largs, where the Norwegians, headed by their valiant King Haco, were in Anno 1263, totally defeat by Alexander III King of Scots; the heroick Alexander, Great-Steward of Scotland, commanded the right Wing.

Loncartie, near Perth, where King Kenneth III obtained the Victory over the Danes, which was principally owing to the Valour and Resolution of the first brave Hay, and his two Sons.

Dunkel, here, and in Kyle, and on the Banks of Tay, our great King Corbredus Galdus in three Battles overthrew 30000 Romans in the Reign of the Emperor Domitian.

Aberlemny, four Miles from Brechin, where King Malcolm II obtained a glorious Victory over the united Armies of Danes, Norwegians and Cumbrians, &c commanded by Sueno King of Denmark, and his warlike Son Prince Canute.

Rosline, within five Miles South of Edinburgh, where 10000 Scots, led by Sir John Cumin and Sir Simon Frazer, defeat in three Battles in one Day 30000 of their Enemies, Anno 1303.

The Battles of Bannockburn and Chiviot, &c are so well known, that they require no Notes.

105

From The Caledonian Mercury: July 12, 1726.

A POEM ON THE ROYAL COMPANY OF ARCHERS

See how the bright extended Line
Of Royal Archers shape their Way,
Resembling in their Arms divine
The Glories of the God of Day.
Their Martial Worth o'er all the Globe does roll
As Phoebus darts his Beams from Pole to Pole.

Their Great Forefathers sought the Field,
Not doubting of their Arm's Success;
They made insulting Foes to yield,
Who, lab'ring to be great, grew less,
The Roman Eagle, towring to the skies,
Pierc'd by their ARROWS, reeling sinks and dies.

Let this Example fire your Blood
To Deeds becoming Scotia's Race.
Be studious to be great and good,
By Means untainted by Disgrace
Nobly assert your King and Country's Cause;
Retrieve her Honour; vindicate her Laws.

Thus will Old Caledon regain
That Vigour which would seem to sink;
Our RAMPANT LYON break his Chain,
Undoing each disgraceful Link.
No more we'll hear the Noble Savage moan
But see him scowre the Plains were heretofore his own.

106

From Poems [1729]

The Callan and the Pig

Deep in a narrow craiged Pig
Lay mony a dainty Nut and Fig.
A greedy Callan, haf a Sot,
Shot his wee Nive into the Pot,
And thought to bring as mony out
As a' his Fangs cou'd gang about;
But the strait Neck o't wadna suffer
The Hand of this young foolish Truffer,
Sae struted, to return again,
Which gae the Gowkie nae sma' Pain.
He gowls to be sae disappointed,
And drugs till he has 'maist disjointed,
His Shekelbane.—Anither Lad
Stood by, wha some mair Judgment had,
Said, Billy, dinna grip at a',
And you with Ease, a Part may draw.
This same Advice, to Men I'd lend,
Ne'er for o'er much at anes contend,
But take the cannyest Gate to Ease,
And pike out Joys by Twa's and Three's.

The Man with the twa Wives.

In antient Tales, there is a Story,
Of ane had twa Wives, Whig and Tory.
The Carlie's Head, was now attir'd
With Hair, in equal Mixture, lyart.

107

His Wives (Faith an might well suffic'd)
Alternately was ay ill pleas'd;
They being reverse to ane another
In Age and Faith, made a curs'd Pother
Whilk of the twa shou'd bear the Bell,
And make their Man maist like themsell.
Auld Meg, the Tory, took great Care,
To weed out ilka Sable Hair,
Plucking out all that look'd like Youth,
Frae Crown of Head, to Weeks of Mouth;
Saying, That baith in Head and Face
Antiquity was Mark of Grace.
But Bess, the Whig, a Raving Rump,
Took Figmaliries, and wald jump,
With Sword and Pistol, by her Side,
And Cock-a-stride arowing ride,
On the Hag-riden Sumph, and grapple
Him hard and fast about the Thraple;
And with her furious Fingers whirle,
Frae youthfu' Black ilk Silver Curle.
Thus was he serv'd between the twa,
'Till no ae Hair he had ava.

MORAL

The Moral of this Fable's easy,
But I sall speak it out to please ye.
'Tis and auld Saying and a trow,
Between twa Stools the Arse fa's throw.
Thus Britain's Morals are much plucked,
While by two opposites instructed:
Who still contending have the Trick,
The strongest Truths to contradict;
Tho' Orthodox, they'll Error make it,
If Party opposite has spake it.
Thus are we keytch'd between the twa,
Like to turn Deists, ane and a'.

108

Fable of the Condemn'd Ass.

A dreadful Plague, the like was sindle seen,
Coost mony a Beast, Wame upwards on the Green:
By thousands down to Acheron they sank,
To dander Ages on the dowie Bank;
Because they lay unburied on the Sward,
The sick Survivers cou'dna give them Eard.
The Wowf and Tod, with sighing spent the Day:
Their sickly Stamacks scunner'd at the Prey:
Fowls droop the Wing, the Bull neglects his Love:
Scarce crawl the Sheep, and weakly Horses move.
The bauldest Brute, that haunt Numidian Glens,
Ly panting out their Lives in dreary Dens.
Thick lay the dead, and thick the pain'd and weak,
The Prospect gart the awfu' Lyon quake.

He ca's a Council.—Ah! my Friends, said he,
'Tis for some horrid Faut sae mony die,
Sae Heaven permits.—Then let us a' confess
With open Breast, our Crimes baith mair and less;
That the revengefu' Gods may be appeas'd,
When the maist guilty Wight is sacrific'd.
Fa't on the Feyest,—I shall first begin,
And awn what e'er my Conscience ca's a Sin.
The Sheep and Deer I've worried, now alace!
Crying for Vengeance, glowr me i' the Face:
Forby their Herd, poor Man! to Crown my Treat,
Limb after Limb, with bloody Jaws I ate:
Ah! Glutton me! what murders have I done!—
Now say about, confess ilk ane as soon
And frank as I.—Sire, says the pawky Tod,
Your tenderness bespeaks you haf a God!
Worthy to be the Monarch of the Grove,
Worthy your Friends, and a' your Subjects Love.
Your scruples are too nice.—What's Harts or Sheep
An Idiot Crowd, which for your Board ye keep;

109

And where's the Sin, for ane to take his ain,
Faith 'tis their Honour, when by you they're slain.
Neist, What's their Herd?—A Man! our deadly Fae,
Wha o'er us Beasts, pretends a fancy'd Sway,
And ne'er makes Banes o't, when 'tis in his Power,
With Guns and Bows, our Nation to devour.
He said.—and round the Courtiers all and each,
Applauded Lawrie for his winsome Speech.

The Tyger, Bair, and ev'ry powerfu' Fur,
Down to the Wilcat, and the snarling Cur
Confest their Crimes; but wha durst ca' them Crimes
Except themsells.—

The Ass, dull Thing! neist in his Turn confest,
That being with Hunger very sair opprest,
In o'er a Dike, he shot his Head ae Day,
And rugg'd three Mouthfu's off a Ruck of Hay
But speering Leave.—Said he, Some wicked Deil,
Did tempt me frae the Parish Priest to steal.
He said.—And all at ains, the powerfu' Croud,
With open Throats cry'd hastily and loud,
This Gypsie Ass, deserves ten Deaths to die,
Whase horid Guilt, brings on our Misery.
A gaping Wowf, in Office, straight demands,
To have him burnt, or tear him where he stands:
Hanging, he said, was an o'er easy Death,
He shou'd in Tortures yield his latest Breath.
What break a Bishops Yard! Ah crying Guilt!
Which nought can expiate till his Blood be spilt.—
The Lyon signs his Sentence, Hang and draw;—
Sae poor lang Lugs maun pay the Kane for a'.
Hence we may ken, how Power has eith the Knack,
To whiten red, and gar the blew seem black;
They'll start at Winle Straes, yet never crook,
When Interest bids, to lowp out o'er a Stowk.

110

The Gods of Egypt

Langsyne in Egypt Beasts were Gods,
Sae mony that the Men turn'd Beasts;
Vermin and Brutes, but House or Hald,
Had Offerings, Temples and their Priests.

Ae Day a Rattan, white as Milk,
At a Cat's Shrine was sacrific'd,
And Pompous on the Altar bled:
The Victim much God Badrans pleas'd.

The neist Day was God Ratan's Tour;
And that he might propitious Smile,
A Cat is to his Temple brought,
Priests singing round him a' the while.

Odes, Anthems, Hymns, in Verse and Prose,
With Instruments of solemn Sound,
Praying the lang tail'd Diety [Sic]
To bless their Faulds and furrow'd Ground.

O plague us not with Cats they cry'd,
For this we cut ane's Throat to Thee.—
A bonny God, indeed! quoth Puss,
Can ye believe sae great a Lie.

What am I then, that eat your God,
And Yesterday to me ye bow'd;
This Day I'm to that Vermin offer'd,
God save us! ye're a senseless Crowd.

The close Reflection gart them glowr,
And shook their Thoughts haf out of Joint;
But rather than be fash'd with Thought,
They gart the Ax decide the Point.

111

Thus we're Egyptians ane and a',
Our Passions Gods, that gar us swither,
Which just as the Occasion serves,
We sacrifice to ane anither.

The Spectacles

Ae Day when Jove, the High Director,
Was merry o'er a Bowl of Nectar,
Resolv'd a Present to bestow,
On the Inhabitants below.
Momus, wha likes his Joke and Wine,
Was sent frae Heaven with the Propine:
Fast throw the Aether-fields he whirl'd
His rapid Car, and reach'd the Warld:
Conveen'd Mankind, and told them Jove
Had sent a Token of his Love,
Considering that they were short sighted,
That Faut shou'd presently be righted.
Syne loos'd his Wallet frae the Pillions,
And toss'd out Spectacles by Millions.
There were enow, and ilk an chose,
His Pair and cock'd them on his Nose:
And thankfully their Knees they bended
To Heaven, that thus their Sight had mended.
Streight Momus hameward took his Flight,
Laughing fou'd loud, as well he might.
For ye maun ken, 'tis but o'er true,
The Glasses were some Red, some Blue,
Some Black, some White, some Brown, some Green,
Which made the same Thing different seem.
Now all was wrong, and all was right,
For ilk believ'd his aided Sight,
And did the Joys of Truth partake,
In the absurdest gross Mistake.

112

The Fox turn'd Preacher

A THOUGHT

A learned Fox grown stiff with Eild,
Unable now in open Field,
By Speed of Foot and clever Stends,
To seize and worry Lambs and Hens;
But Lowry never wants a Shift,
To help him out at a dead Lift.
He cleath'd himsell in Reverend Dress,
And turn'd a Preacher.—Nathing less!
Held forth wi' Birr, 'gainst Wier unjust,
'Gainst Theft and gormondizing Lust:
Clear was his Voice, his Tone was sweet,
In Zeal and Mien he seem'd complete;
Sae grave and humble was his Air,
His Character shin'd wide and fair.
'Tis said the Lyon had a Mind
To hear him.—But Mess Fox declin'd
That Honour.—Reasons on his Side,
Said that might snare him into Pride.
But Sheep and Powtry, Geese and Ducks,
Came to his Meeting-Hole in Flocks:
Of being his Prey, they had nae Fear;
His Text the contrary made clear.

Curst be that Animal voracious,
Cry'd he, sae cruel and ungracious,
That chuses Flesh to be his Food,
And takes Delight in waughting Blood.
What? live by Murder!—horrid Deed,
While we have Trees, and ilka Mead,
Finely enrich'd with Herbs and Fruits,
To serve and please the nicest Brutes.
We shou'd respect, Dearly Belov'd,
What e'er by Breath of Life is mov'd.
First, 'tis unjust, and Secondly,
'Tis Cruel—and a Cruelty,

113

By which we are expos'd,—O sad!
To eat perhaps our Lucky-dad;
For ken, my Friend, the Saul ne'er dies,
But frae the failing Body flies;
Leaves it to rot, and seeks anither:
Thus young Miss Goose may be my Mither.
The bloody Wowf, seeking his Prey,
His Father in a Sheep may slay;
And I in worrying Lambs or Cocks,
Might choak my Gransire Doctor Fox.
Ah! Heaven protect me frae sic Crimes:
I'd rather die a thousand Times.

Thus our Bob-tail'd Pythagoras preach'd,
And with loud Cant, his Lungs out-stretch'd.
His Sermon sounded o'er the Dale,
While thus he moraliz'd with Zeal.
His Glass spun out,—He ceast, admir'd
By all, who joyfully retir'd.

But after a' the lave was gane,
Some Geese, twa Chickens and a Hen,
Thought fit to stay a little Space,
To tawk about some kittle Case.
The Doctor hem'd! and in he drew them,
Then quiet and decently he slew them;
On whom he fed the good auld Way.
These who wan aff, thrice happy they.

The Bee and the Fly

Before his Hive, a paughty Bee,
Observ'd a humble Midding Flie,
And proudly speer'd what brought her there,
And with what Front she durst repair,
Amang the Regents of the Air.

114

It sets ye well, the fly reply'd,
To quarrel with sic sawcy Pride.
Thay're daft indeed, has ought to do,
With thrawin Contentious Fowk like you.
Why, Scoundrel, you, return'd the Bee,
What Nation is sae wise as we?
Best Laws and Policy is ours,
And our Repast the fragrant Flowers.
No sordid nasty Trade we drive,
But with Sweet Honey fill the Hive;
Honey maist gratefu' to the Taste,
On which the Gods themsells may feast.
Out of my Sight, vile Wretch, whose Tongue
Is daily slacking throw the Dung:
Vile Spirits, filthily content
To feed on stinking Excrement.
The Fly replied, in sober Way,
Faith we maun live as well's we may:
Glad Poverty was ne'er a Vice,
But sure, ill-natur'd Passion is.
Your Honey's sweet; but then how tart,
And bitter's your malicious Heart!
In making Laws you copy Heaven,
But in your Conduct how uneven!
To fash at ony Time a Fae,
Ye'll never stick ye'r Sells to slae;
And skaith your sell mair sickerly,
Than e'er ye can your Enemy.
At that Rate, ane had better have
Less Talents, if they can behave
Discreet, and less their Passions slave.

The Horse's Complaint

Ah, what a wretch'd unlucky Corse
Am I!—crys a poor Hireling Horse;
Toil'd a' the Day quite aff my Feet,
With little Time, or ought to eat;

115

By break of Day up frae my Bed
Of Dirt, I'm rais'd to draw the Sled,
Or Cart, as haps to my Wanluck,
To ca' in Coals or out the Muck;
Or drest in Sadle, Howse, and Bridle,
To Gallop with some Gamphrel idle,
That for his Hiring Pint and Shilling,
Obliges me, tho' maist unwilling,
With Whip, and Spur sunk in my Side,
O'er Heights and Hows all Day to ride,
While he neglects my hungry Wame,
'Till aft I fa' and make him lame.
Who curses me should ban himsell,
He starv'd me, I with Faintness fell.

How happy lives our Baron's Ape,
That's good for nought, but girn and gape,
Or round about the Lasses flee,
And lift their Coats aboon their Knee;
To frisk and jump frae Stool to Stool,
Turn up his Bum, and play the Fool:
Aft rives a Mutch, or steals a Spoon,
And burns the Bairns' Hose and Shoon—
Yet while I'm starving in the Stable,
This Villain's cock'd upon the Table,
There fed and roos'd by all around him,—
By Foolish Chiels, the Pox confound them.

My Friend, says a dowse headed Ox,
Our Knight is e'en like other Folks:
For 'tis not them who labour maist
That commonly are paid the best.
Then ne'er cast up what ye deserve,
Since better 'tis to please than serve.

116

The Parrat

An honest Man had tint his Wife,
And, wearied of a dowy Life,
Thought a Perroquet bade maist fair,
With tatling to divert his Care:
For the good Woman sair he griev'd;
He'ad needed nane if she had liv'd!

Streight to a Bird man's Shop he hies,
Who, stock'd with a' that wing the Skies,
And give Delight with Feathers fair,
Or please with a Melodious Air,
Larks, Gowdspinks, Mavises and Linties,
Baith hame bred, and frae foreign Countries;
Of Parrats he had curious Choice,
Carefully bred to make a Noise:
The very warst had learn'd his Tale,
To ask a Cup of Sack or Ale:
Cry Westlin Herrings, or fresh Salmons,
White Sand, or Norway Nuts like Almonds.—
Delighted with their various Claver,
While Wealth made all his Wits to waver,
He cast his Look beneath the Board,
Where stood ane that spake ne'er a Word:
Pray, what art thou stands speechless there?—
Reply'd the Bird,—I think the mair.
The Buyer says, Thy Answer's wise,
And thee I'll have at any Price.—
What must you have?—Five Pounds.—'Tis thine
The Money, and the Bird is mine.—

Now in his Room this feather'd Sage
Is hung up in a gilded Cage,
The Master's Expectation's fully,
Possest to hear him tauk like Tully:

117

But a hale Month is past and gane,
He never hears a Rhime but ane;
Still in his Lugs he hears it rair,
The less I speak, I think the mair.
Confound ye for a silly Sot,
What a dull Idiot have I got!
As dull my sell, on short Acquaintance
To judge of ane by a single Sentence.

The Eclipse

Upon his guilded Chariot led by Hours,
With radiant Glories darting throw the Air,
The Sun, high sprung in his Diurnal Course,
Shed down a Day serenely sweet and fair.
The Earth mair beautiful and fertile grew;
The flowry Fields in rich Array,
Smil'd lovely on the beamy Day,
Delightful for the Eye to view;
Ceres, with her golden Hair,
Displaying Treasure ilka where,
While useful Plenty made her Stalks to bow.

A thousand little Suns glanc'd on the Wave;
Nature appear'd to claim the Sun's Respect,
All did sae blyth and beauteously behave.—
Ah! cry'd the Moon, too much for him ye deck:
My aking Een cannot this Glory bear.
This Sun pretends nane in the Sky
Can shine but him, then where am I?
Soon I the contrary shall clear:
By ae bauld Strake,
With him I'll make,
My equal Empire in the Heaven appear.

118

'Tis me that gives a Lustre to the Night;
Then should not I my proper Right display,
And now, even now dart down my Silver light?
I give enough, this Sun gives too much Day.
The Project fram'd,—Pale Cynthia now to shaw
Her shining Power, right daftly run
Directly 'tween the Earth and Sun.
Unwise Design! the Warld then saw
Instead of Light, the Moon
Brought Darkness in at Noon,
And without borrowing, had no Light at a'.

Thus many empty and imprudent Men,
Wha to their ain Infirmities are blind,
Rax yont their Reach, and this Way let us ken
A jealous, weak, and insufficient Mind.

ANE EPISTLE to A. R.

On the Poverty of the Poets

Dear Allan , with your Leave, allow me,
To ask you but one Question civil,
Why thou'rt a Poet, pray thee, shew me,
And not as poor as any Devil?

I own your Verses make me gay;
But as right Poet still I doubt ye,
For we hear tell benorth the Tay,
That nothing looks like want, about ye.

In Answer then, attempt Sollution,
Why Poverty torments your Gang?
And by what Fortitude and Caution
Thou guards thee from its meager Fang.

Yours, &c W. L.

119

ANSWER [To the foregoing Epistle]

SIR,

That mony a thriftless Poet's poor,
Is what they very well deserve,
'Cause aft their Muse turns common Whore,
And flatters Fools that let them starve.

Ne'er minding Business, they ly,
Indulging Sloth, in Garret-Couches,
And gape like Gorblins to the Sky
With hungry Wames and empty Poutches.

Dear Billies tak Advice for anes,
If ye'd hope Honour by the Muse,
Rather to Masons carry Stanes
Than for your Patrons Block-heads chuse.

For there's in Nature's secret Laws
Of Sympath and Antipathy,
Which is, and will be still the Cause
Why Fools and Wits can ne'er agree.

A wee Thing serves a chearfu' Mind,
That is dispos'd to be contented;
But he nae Happiness can find,
That is with Pride and Sloth tormented.

Still cautious to prevent a Dun,
With Caps and Horns on Bills and Bands;
The Sweets of Life I quietly cull,
And answer Nature's small Demands.

120

Lucky for me I never sang
Fause Praises to a worthless Wight,
And still took Pleasure in the Thrang
Of them wha in good Sense delight.

To such I owe what gave the Rise
To ought thou in my Verse esteems,
And Phoebe-like in darker Skies
I but reflect their brighter Beams.

To Mr ALLAN RAMSAY, upon his publishing his second Volume of POEMS

[_]

[By William Somerville, Author of The Chase]

Hail Caledonian Bard! whose rural Strains,
Delight the list'ning Hills, and chear the Plains.
Already polish'd by some Hand Divine,
Thy purer Oar, what Furnace can refine?
Careless of Censure, like the Sun shine forth,
In Native Lustre, and intrinsick Worth.
To Follow Nature is by Rules to write,
She led the Way and taught the Stagirite:
From her the Criticks Taste, the Poets fire,
Both drudge in vain 'till she from Heav'n inspire.
By the same Guide instructed how to soar,
Allan is now what Homer was before.

Ye chosen Youths wha dare like him aspire,
And touch with bolder Hand the golden Lyre,
Keep Nature still in view. On her Intent
Climb by her Aid, the dang'rous steep Ascent,
To lasting Fame. Perhaps a little Art
Is needful to plane o'er some rugged Part,
But the most labour'd Elegance and Care,
T'arrive at full Perfection must despair,

121

Alter, blot out, and write all o'er again,
Alas! some venial Sins will yet remain.
Indulgence is to Human Frailty due,
Ev'n POPE has Faults, and ADDISON a few,
But those, like Mists that cloud the Morning Ray
Are lost, and vanish in the Blaze of Day.
Tho' some intruding Pimple finds a Place
Amid the Glories of Clarinda's Face,
We still love on, with equal Zeal adore,
Nor think her less a Goddess than before.
Slight Wounds, in no disgraceful Scars shall end,
Heal'd by the Balm of some good-natur'd Friend.
In vain shall canker'd Zoilus assail,
While SPENCE presides, and Candor holds the Scale.
His Gen'rous Breast, nor Envy sow'rs, nor Spite,
Taught by his Founder's Motto how to write
Good Manners guides his Pen. Learn'd without Pride;
In dubious Points not forward to decide:
If here and there uncommon Beauties rise,
From Flow'r to Flow'r he roves with glad Surprize.
In Failings no malignant Pleasure takes,
Nor rudely triumphs over small Mistakes,
No Nauseous Praise, no biting Taunts offend,
W'expect a Censor, and we find a Friend.
Poets improv'd by his correcting Care,
Shall face their Foes with more undaunted Air,
Strip'd of their Rags shall like Ulysses shine,
With more Heroick Port, and grace divine.
No Pomp of Learning, and no Fund of Sense,
Can e'er Attone for lost Benevolence.
May WICHAM's Sons, who in each Art excel,
And rival ancient Bards in Writing well,
While from their bright Examples taught they sing,
And emulate their Flights with bolder Wing,

122

From their own Frailties learn the humbler Part,
Mildly to judge in Gentleness of Heart.

Such Criticks ( Ramsay ) jealous for our Fame,
Will not with Malice insolently blame,
But lur'd by Praise the hagard Muse reclaim.
Retouch each Line, till all is just and neat,
A whole of proper Parts, a Work almost compleat.

So when some beauteous Dame, a Reigning Toast,
The Flow'r of Forth, and proud Edina's Boast,
Stands at her Toilet in her Tartan Plaid,
And all her richest Head-gear, trimly clad,
The curious Handmaid with observant Eye,
Corrects the swelling Hoop that hangs awry,
Thro' ev'ry Plait her busy Fingers rove,
And now she plys below, and then above,
With pleasing Tatle, entertains the Fair,
Each Ribbon smooths, adjusts each rambling Hair,
Till the gay Nymph in her full Lustre shine;
And HOMER's JUNO was not half so fine.

Mr Spence, Poetry Professor in Oxford, and Fellow of New College.

William of Wicham, Founder of New College in Oxford, and of Winchester Coll. His motto is Manners maketh Man.

Vid. Hom. Od. L. 24th.

Vid. Hom. Il. L. 14.

To William Somervile, of Warwick-shire Esq

Again, like the Return of Day,
From Avon's Banks, the chearing Lay
Warms up a Muse was well nigh lost,
In Depths of Snow and chilling Frost;
But generous Praise the Soul inspires,
More than rich Wines, and blazing Fires.

Tho' on the Grampians I were chain'd,
And all the Winter on me rain'd.
Altho' half starv'd, my Sp'rit would spring
Up to new Life to hear you sing.

123

I take even Criticism kind,
That sparkles from so clear a Mind.
Friends ought and may point out a Spot,
But Enemies make all a Blot.
Friends sip the Honey from the Flower;
All's Verjuice to the Waspish Sour.

With more of Nature than of Art,
From stated Rules I often start,
Rules never studied yet by me.
My Muse is British, bold and free,
And loves at large to frisk and bound
Unman'cled o'er Poetick Ground.

I love the Garden wild and wide,
Where Oaks have Plumb-Trees by their Side;
Where Woodbines and the twisting Vine,
Clip round the Pear-Tree and the Pine;
Where mixt Jonckeels and Gowans grow,
And Roses midst rank Clover blow,
Upon a Bank of a clear Strand,
Its Wimplings led by Nature's Hand;
Tho' Docks and Bramble here and there,
May sometimes cheat the Gardner's Care,
Yet this to me's a Paradise,
Compar'd with prime cut Plots and nice,
Where Nature has to Art resign'd,
Till all looks mean, stiff, and confin'd.

May still my Notes of rustick Turn,
Gain more of your Respect than Scorn,
I'll hug my Fate, and tell sour Fools
I'm more oblig'd to Heaven, than Schools.
Heaven Homer taught.—The Critick draws
Only from him, and such their Laws;
The native Bards first plunge the Deep,
Before the Artfull dare to leap.
I've seen myself right many a Time,
Copy'd in Diction, Mode and Rhime.

124

Now, Sir, again let me express
My Wishing Thoughts in fond Address,
That for your Health, and Love you bear
To two of my Chief Patrons here,
You'd when the Lav'rocks rouze the Day,
When Beams and Dews make blythsome May,
When blooming Fragrance glads our Isle,
And Hills with Purple Heather smile,
Drop fancy'd Ails, with Courage stout,
Ward off the Spleen, the Stone and Gout.
May ne'er such Foes disturb your Nights,
Or elbow out your Day Delights.—
Here you will meet the jovial Train,
Whose Clangors eccho o'er the Plain,
While Hounds with Gowls both loud and clear,
Well tun'd delight the Hunter's Ear,
As they on Coursers fleet as Wind,
Pursue the Fox, Hart, Hare or Hind.
Delightful Game, where friendly Ties
Are closer drawn, and Health the Prize.

We long for, and we wish you here,
Where Friends are kind, and Claret clear.
The lovely Hope of Som'ril's Race,
Who smiles with a Seraphick Grace;
And the fair Sisters of the Boy
Will have, and add much to your Joy.

Give Warning to your noble Friend:
Your humble Servant shall attend,
A willing Sancho and your Slave,
With the best Humour that I have,
To meet you on that River's Shore,
That Britons, now, divides no more.

ALLAN RAMSAY.

Lord and Lady Somervile.

125

From The Echo, or Edinburgh Weekly Journal: 29th January, 1729

EPILOGUE Spoken After Acting The Orphan and The Gentle Shepherd in January 1729

PATIE
speaks

Life's but a Farce at best, and we To-day
Have shewn you how the different Stations Play:
Each Palace is a Stage,—each Cote the same,
And Lords and Shepherds differ but in Name,
In many Things—like Passions rule each Soul,
And Love and Rage, and Grief and Joy, the whole:
In these they tally, yet our Fables show,
There's oft vast odds betwixt the High and Low:
For artful Guile, Ambition, Hate and Pride,
Gives least Disturbance to th'inferior Side.
Monimia falls—while Peggy on the Plain,
Enjoys her Wishes with her faithful Swain.

Thus we can moralize—the End design'd,
To firm our Look, and brighten up the Mind,
To Please our Beauteous Audience, and improve
Our Language, with the Energy to move—
We'll sing the Rest.—Come Knight, and Partner Fair,
Let's close our Entertainment with an Air.

126

PATTIE
sings [to the Tune of Bessie Bell]
Thus let us study Night and Day,
to fit us for our Station,
That, when we're Men, we Parts may Play
are useful to our Nation;
For now's the Time, while we are Young,
to fix our Views on Merit,
Water its Buds, and make the Tongue
and Action sute the Spirit.

PEGGY
This all the Fair and Wise approve,
we know it by your Smiling,
And while we gain Respect and Love,
our Studies are not toiling.
Such Application gives Delight,
and in the End proves gainful,
What many a dark and lifeless Wight
thinks Labour hard and Painful.

Sir WILLIAM
Then never let us think our Time
and Care, when thus imployed,
Are thrown away; but deem't a Crime
when Youth's by Sloth destroyed.
'Tis only active Souls can rise
to Fame, and all that's splendid.
Still Favourites of these conquering Eyes,
'gainst whom no Heart's defended.

127

From The Scarborough Miscellany: 1732.

Verses by the celebrated ALLAN RAMSAY, to his Son.

On his drawing a fine Gentleman's Picture.

Young Painter, thy Attempt is fair,
And may'st thou finish with a Grace,
The happy Smile unmix'd with Care,
That ever shines in ------ Face.
So far thy Labour, well design'd,
May all thy outward Form display,
But Pencils cannot paint the Mind,
In this, to me, thou must give way.
With glowing Colours thou canst show,
Th'embroider'd Coat and nice Tupee:
Draw him a first Rate blazing Beau,
Easy and airy, gay and free.
But I can place him in a Light,
That will his higher Merits hit;
Display, what makes him much more bright,
His Courage, Learning, and his Wit.
His sprightly Humour, solid Sense,
And—but here further 'tis not meet,
I should his noted Worth advance,
Lest I be deem'd a Parasite.
Yet this let little Wou'd-be's know,
Who are but Apes of so much Fire;
'Tis the Philosopher, not Beau,
Who we deservedly admire.
Trifle, why not? with Cloaths and Air,
Sing, dance, and joke, whene'er ye please,
These oft our Joy and Health repair,
Acceptable, perform'd with Ease.
True Art and Nature must combine,
To combat human Cares so rife;
And rarely Characters can shine
So fair, as ------ in Life.

128

ADDRESS of Thanks from the Society of Rakes. [1735]
[_]

The full title is: An / Address of Thanks / From The / Society of Rakes, / To the pious Author of / An Essay upon improving and adding to / the Strength of Great Britain and Ire / land by Fornication . To which is added, / An Epistle to the said Author, by a / nother Hand.

We Noblemen, Barons and Burgesses of the foresaid Class, to the Reverend Philosark, Greeting.

Thanks and Renown be ever thine,
O daring sensible DIVINE,
Who in a few learn'd Pages,
Like great Columbus, now discovers
A pleasing Warld to a' young Lovers,
Unkend to by-past Ages.

Down, down with your Repenting-Stools,
That gart the Younkers look like Fools
Before the Congregation;
Since thou, learn'd Youth, of rising Fame,
Proves that there's neither Sin nor Shame
In simple FORNICATION.

Now Lads laugh a', and take your Wills,
And scowp around like Tups and Bulls,
Have at the bony Lasses:
For Conscience has nae mair to say,
Our Clergy-man has clear'd the Way,
And proven our Fathers Asses.

Our Donard Dads, snool'd with their Wives,
To girn and scart out wretched Lives
Till Death, bound to a fixt ane.
But now as free as Cocks and Sparrows,
We lawfully may shift our Marrows,
And wheel round to the next ane.

129

Thus any mettled Man may have,
Between his Cradle and his Grave,
By lawfu' Fornication,
Bairns mony mae, with far less Din,
Thus free, and be mair usefu' in
His Day and Generation.

Thus we may PATRIOTISM shaw,
And serve our Country ane and a',
By fruitfu' Propagation:
Thus will we bravely Man our Fleet,
Thus make our Regiments a' complete,
And clear frae Debts the Nation.

Hence shall we never mair hear tell
Of Lasses leading Apes in Hell,
Like them wha aften harl'd
Ane useless Life up to Fourscore,
Leal Maids, and scarcely kend wherefore
They were sent to the Warld.

The Mimmest now, without a Blush,
May speer, if any Billy sprush
Has Fancy for her Beauty:
For since the Awband's tane away,
The bony Lass has nought to say
Against a moral Duty.

ADULTERY is the warst of Crimes,
And calls for Vengeance on these Times,
As practis'd in this Nation:
But that vile Sin can be no more,
When Marriage is turn'd out of Door,
By franker Fornication.

130

Peace be to you in Daughters rife,
Since nane needs now to be a Wife;
Their Tochers winna fash ye:
That universal ane of Crammond,
That gaes alang with a good Gammond,
Will set aff ilka Lassie.

Yet some by your New Light will lose;
For those wha Kirk-Affairs engross,
Their Session-Books may burn all.
Since Fornication's Pipe's put out,
What will they have to crack about,
Or jot into their Journal?

Even fell K.T. that gart us ban,
And eke, that setting Dog, his Man,
May turn Italian Singers;
Or use a teugh St. Johnston Ribbon;
For now the Gain they were sae glib on,
Is slipt out of their Fingers.

Nae mair at early Hours, and late,
Shall they round Bawdy-houses wait,
Like Cats for stragling Mice;
Departed is that Fund of Fending,
When Fornicators, for offending,
They gart pay ony Price.

Rejoice, ye Lads of little Rent,
Who loo'd the Game, but did lament,
Your Purses being skranky,
The Dearth of Phorny's now away,
Since lawfu', ye have nought to pay,
But welcome, and we thank ye.

131

Poor Fornicators, now grown auld,
Whase Blood begins to creep but cauld,
Will grumble with Reflection,
To think what Fashry they gade throw,
Dear DOCTOR, wanting ane like you,
To give them right Direction.

What say ye for your sells, ye Priests,
For naming kind Whoremasters Beasts,
When using of their Freedom?
We hope ye'll cease to take Offence
At worthy Wives, like Lucky Spence,
Or usefu' Mother Needham.

Look up, ye Matrons, if ye can,
And bless the Reverend pious Man,
Who proves that your procuring,
Is now sae far frae being a Crime,
That Devotees, when past their Prime,
May lend a Hand to Whoring.

The Fair ane, frighted for her Fame,
Shall, for her Kindness, bear nae Blame,
Or with Kirk-censure grapple;
Whilk gart some aft, their leev alane,
Bring to the Warld the luckless Wean,
And sneg its Infant Thrapple.

For which, by rude unhallow'd Fallows,
They were surrounded to the Gallows,
Making sad reufu' Murgeons,
“'Till their warm Pulse forgot to play:
They sang, they swang, and sank away,
Syne were gi'en to the Surgeons.”

132

O Leader, see that ye be sure
That 'tis nae Sin to play the Whore;
For some in haly Station,
The contrair threep, and sair abuse ye:
But we'll aft drink your Health and ruse ye,
For rusing Fornication.

We might forsee, the canker'd Clergy
Wad with vile Hetrodoxy charge ye,
And cast ye out frae 'mang them:
But that has been the common Fate
Of a' Reformers, wha' debate,
Or struggle to o'ergang them.

But letna their ill-word disturb ye;
'Tis but a Blast, they canna curb ye,
Or cramp your new Devotions.
A Briton free thinks as he likes,
And, as his Fancy takes the Fykes,
May preach or print his Notions.

Be satisfied, your Doctrine new
Will favour find with not a few,
It being sae inviting.
And tho' they kick ye frae their Kirk,
For that sma' Skaith ye need not irk,
We'll make ye a bra Meeting.

O had we fifty vacant Kirks,
By Pith, or Slight, or ony Quirks,
And we erected Patrons!
Then shou'd you see the Patron Act
Demolish a' the Marrow Pack,
And Sessions rul'd by Matrons.

133

The fattest Stipend shou'd be thine,
Thou pious and maist pure Divine,
Thy Right is back'd with Reason:
For wha can doubt your Care of Sauls,
Wha loudly for mae Bodies calls,
In this degenerate Season.

But nine and forty Pulpits still
Wou'd then remain, for you to fill,
Wi' Men of mighty Gifts.
Then, Students, there were Hopes for you,
Wha're of the learn'd Free-thinking Crew,
And now are at your Shifts.

Your Essay shaws your Eloquence,
Your courtly Stile and Flow of Sense;
And though some say ye blunder,
Ye do them sae with Scripture pelt,
They will be forc'd to thumb your Belt
At last, and a' knock under.

Your Scheme must take; for, let me tell ye,
'Tis a good Trade that fills the Belly,
The Proverb proves it plainly:
And to say Goodness is not good,
Wad shaw a Mind extremely rude,
To argue sae profanely.

Thou well deservest high Promotion,
Wha'st wrote with sic a lively Motion
Upon Multiplication,
T'enrich a Kingdom, better far
Than that curst Business of War,
That ushers Desolation.

134

Doctor, farewell, O never stint,
For Love's sweet Sake to preach and print,
Tho' some with Bedlam shore ye;
Do not sma' Punishment regard,
Since Virtue has its ain Reward,
In Persecution glory.

EPISTLE to the Reverend Philosarchus Minister of the Kirk of Scotland, occasioned by his late Essay, proving the Lawfulness of FORNICATION.

Te duce, si qua manent sceleris vestigia nostri,
Irrita perpetua solvent formidine terras.
Virg.

How much, O Pastor, do we owe
Thy Pains and Piety,
Which covers thus our numerous Crimes,
And our Iniquity!

What Honours wait to crown thy Brow
And make thy Heart right glad!
Bastards unborn shall lisp thy Praise,
And Foundlings call thee Dad.

Thou like another Saturn bringst
The Golden Age again;
Sinners no more shall curse the Land,
Where 'tis no sin to sin.

O had I OVID'S wondrous Quill
Such Change to represent;
When every Saint shall Sinner turn,
And every Sinner Saint.

135

Then shall no paultry pocky House
In Closs or Cowgate be:
In Turnpike Foot none shall make Love,
But all shall flock to thee.

Thy Pulpit-Desk, Repenting-stool,
Each Gallery, Pew and Seat,
Shall all promote the glorious End,
And serve to prop the State.

The Treasurer of the Kirk, who now
Behaves himself but queerish,
Shall join his Man with one Accord,
And pimp it for the Parish.

Nor shall the Minister, good Man,
His Stipend lose or Kirk,
Let it be his to say the Grace,
And oversee the Work.

When this thou seest, then thou shalt see,
My Friend, what thou shalt see;
Powder'd Toupees shall grace the Kirk,
And Lords religious be.

None shall be to thy Church compell'd,
They'll come without obliging;
Papists and Jews shall change their Minds,
And be of our Religion.

Ye Bedrals eke, O hungry Wights,
Your Grumbling shall give o'er;
Silver and Gold your Palms shall grease,
Where Copper serv'd before.

136

O let not these, most pious Priest,
Alone imploy thy Care;
Sinners in Crowds of highest Rank
Aloud demand a Share.

Find out that Brib'ry is no Sin,
Statesmen will thank thee for't:
Make Lying and Deceit divine,
Thoul't get a Place at Court.

Find out Injustice to be just,
The Judges will commend:
Prove killing Men a gracious Deed,
The Doctors are your Friend.

Thus shall the People of this Land
Be from their Terrors freed;
And every one shall bless the Day
That thou hast learn'd to read.

137

From The Caledonian Mercury, August 2, 1736

LEITH RACES

“Saturday last the City Plate was won by a Horse of Sir James Cuningham of Milncraig's, against two English Horses, one of which was distanced at the very first Heat. On which Occasion we received the following Piece of Poetry.”

His majesty, Heaven guide His Grace,
Encourages each Year a Race
Upon Leith-sands; where, at Laigh Tide,
A Million may uncrowded ride:
And the Good Town , to mend the Play,
Maintains the Sport another Day.
The sprightly Lads from far and near
In their best Airs and Looks appear,
Dress'd in their easy Hunting Weeds,
Well mounted on their mettled Steeds;
While from the Chariot, or the Green,
A shining Circle charms our Een,
Whose ev'ry Glance emits a Dart
Whops whizzing thro' the stoutest Heart.

Ye Men of Rowth, ne'er hain your Treasure,
For any thing may give Them Pleasure,
And since they like to show their Faces
At Plays, Assemblies, and Horse-Races,
Support these Interviews of Love,
Which Men of clearest Heads approve,
Rather than waste your Wealth at Cards
Or blast your Health with drunken Lairds.
Ah, ne'er let manly Pastime dwine,
For sake of either Dice or Wine;
But keep a Groom can rightly nurse
The shapely Racer for the Course,
That, barring some unseen Mischance,
The Master's Honour may advance,

138

While loud o'er the extended Sands
The Crowd rejoice and clap their Hands.
Should we endure the taunting Tales
Of Hunters on Northumber's dales,
While o'er their Tankards of brown Stout,
They at our careless gentry flout—
“Come, Dick! says Harry, mount your Gray,
“I'll bett against you on my Bay:
“Let's down to Leith—we're sure to win,
“Where there's no better Nags to run.
“Of two rich Plates their Gazette tells,
“For which they keep no Horse themsells.
“Since we so cheap may gain each Cup,
“We'll e'en step down and bring them up.”
Well, this had been just now our Case,
Had not Sir James join'd in the Race,
Whose Bonny Lass of Livingston,
Defeat Cutlugs and Judy Brown.
Thanks to the Knight who props our Game.
O! may his Coursers ne'er prove lame,
But ever 'gainst the Day design'd
Be able to outfly the Wind
And every Year bring him a Prize
'Till Heaps on Heaps the Trophies rise.

A.R.

139

From The Caledonian Mercury, November 8, 1736

PROLOGUE for the Opening of the New Theatre in Carrubber's Close, 8 Nov., 1736

“On Monday last the new Theatre in Carrubber's Close was opened (which is thought by all Judges to be as complete, and finished with as good a Taste as any one of its Size in the three Kingdoms) when the following Prologue was spoken by Mr Bridges.”

Long has it been the Bus'ness of the Stage
To mend our Manners, and reform the Age.
This Task the Muse by Nature was assign'd,
E're Christian Light shone in upon the Mind;
Ev'n since those glorious Truths to Men appear'd,
Her moral Precepts still have been rever'd,
And where the sacred Monitors have fail'd,
Just Satyre from the Stage hath oft prevail'd.
Tho' some sour Criticks full of Phlegm and Spleen,
Condemn her Use as hellish and obscene;
And from their gloomy thoughts and want of Sense,
Think what diverts the Mind gives Heav'n Offence.
Would such from Truth and Reason form their Sample,
They'll find what's meant for Precept, what Example,
Nor think when Vice and Folly shall appear,
The Characters were drawn for them to wear.
Fools in their native Follies should be shown,
and Vice must have its Language to be known.
To such this Lesson then we recommend,
Let each mend one, the Stage will have its End,
Good Sense shall flourish, Reason triumphant reign,
And Hypocrites no more their Power Maintain;

140

The Muse shall once again resume her Throne,
And our Stage vie with Athens or with Rome.
Long in those Realms she held her rapid Flight,
Filling their Minds with Profit and Delight.
Till in despight of Sense, and wits Disgrace,
Dull Ignorance a while usurp'd her Place,
For many ages bore the Palm alone,
And wild Buffoons defil'd her sacred Throne.
But late at length she reach'd Britannia's Shore,
And Shakespear taught her once again to soar.
At last transplanted by your tender Care
She hopes to keep her Seat of Empire here.
To your Protection then ye Fair and Great,
This Fabrick to her Use we consecrate.
On you it will depend to raise her Name,
And in Edina fix her lasting Fame.

141

To the Honourable DUNCAN FORBES of Culloden, Lord President of the SESSION,

AND All our other Good JUDGES, who are careful of the Honour of the Government, and the Property of the Subject;

The Address of Allan Ramsay, Humbly means and shaws,

To You, My LORDS, whase Elevation
Makes You the Wardens of the Nation,
While You by equal Justice stand,
With Lawtie's Ballance in Your Hand;
To You, whase penetrating Skill
Can eithly redd the Good frae Ill,
And ken them well whase fair Behaviour
Deserve Reward and Royal Favour,
As like you do, these stonkerd Fellows
Wha merit naithing but the Gallows:
To You, with humble Bow, Your Bard,
Whase greatest Brag is Your Regard,
Begs leave to lay his Case before Ye,
And for an Outgate to implore Ye.

Last Year, My Lords, nae farrer gane,
A costly Wark was undertane
By me, wha had not the least Dread
An Act wad knock it on the Head:
A Play-house new, at vast Expence,
To be a large, yet bein Defence,
In Winter-nights, 'gainst Wind and Weet,
To ward frae Cauld the Lasses sweet;
While they with bonny Smiles attended,
To have their little Failures mended;
Where Satire, striving still to free them,
Hads out his Glass, to let them see them.

142

Here, under Rules of right Decorum,
By placing Consequence before 'em,
I kept our Troop, by Pith of Reason,
Frae Bawdy, Atheism, and Treason;
And only preach'd, frae Moral Fable,
The best Instruction they were able;
While they, by Doctrine Linsy Woolsy,
Set aff the Utile with Dulce.

And shall the Man, to whom this Task falls,
Suffer amang confounded Rascals;
That, like vile Adders, dart their Stings,
And fear nae God, nor honour Kings?
Shall I, wha for a Tract of Years
Have sung to Commons and to Peers,
And got the general Approbation
Of all within the British Nation,
At last be twin'd of all my Hopes
By them that wont to be my Props?
Be made a Loser, and engage
With Troubles in declining Age;
While Wights, to whom my Credit stands
For Sums, make sour and thrawin Demands?

Shall London have its Houses twa,
And we be doom'd to've nane ava?
Is our Metrop'lis, anes the Place
Where langsine dwelt the Royal Race
Of Fergus, this gate dwindled down
T'a Level with ilk Claghan Town,
While thus she suffers the Subversion
Of her maist rational Diversion?

When Ice and Snaw o'ercleads the Isle,
Wha now will think it worth their while,
To leave their gowsty Country Bowers,
For, the anes blythsome, Edinburgh's Towers,
Where there's nae Glee to give Delight,
And ward frae Spleen the langsome Night?
For which they'll now have nae Relief,
But sonk at hame, and cleck Mischief.

143

Is there aught better than the Stage,
To mend the Follies of the Age,
If manag'd as it ought to be,
Frae ilka Vice and Blaidry free?
Which may be done, with perfect Ease,
And nought be heard that shall displease,
Or give the least Offence or Pain,
If we can hae't restor'd again.
Wherefore, My Lords, I humbly pray
Our Lads may be allow'd to play,
At least till New-house Debts be paid off,
The Clause that I'm the maist afraid of;
Which Laid lyes on my single Back,
And I maun pay it ilka Plack.

Now, it's but just the Legislature
Shou'd either say that I'm a Fauter,
Or thole me to employ my Bigging,
Or of the Burthen ease my Rigging,
By ord'ring, frae the publick Fund,
A Sum to pay for what I'm bound;
Syne, for a mends for what I've lost,
Edge me into some canny Post,
With the good Liking of our King,
And your Petitioner shall—sing.

Edinburgh, July 25. 1737.

From The Scots Magazine, October, 1741

AN EPISTLE To James Oswald

Dear Oswald, could my verse as sweetly flow,
As notes thou softly touchest with the bow,
While all the circling fair attentive hing,
On ilk vibration of thy trembling string,

144

I'd sing how thou wouldst melt our sauls away
By solemn notes, or chear us wi' the gay,
In verse as lasting as thy tunes shall be,
As soft as thy new polish'd Danton me.

But wha can sing that feels wi' sae great pain
The loss for which Edina sighs in vain?
Our concert now nae mair the Ladies mind;
They've a' forgot the gait to Niddery's wynd.
Nae mair the Braes of Ballandine can charm,
Nae mair can Fortha's Bank our bosoms warm,
Nae mair the Northern Lass attention draw,
Nor Pinky-house gi' place to Alloa.

O JAMIE! when may we expect again
To hear from thee, the soft the melting strain,
And, what's the loveliest, think it hard to guess,
Miss St---t, or thy Lass of Inverness?
When shall we sigh at thy soft Cypress-grove,
So well adapted to the tale of love?
When wilt thou teach our soft Æidian fair,
To languish at a false Sicilian air;
Or when some tender tune compose again,
And cheat the town wi' David Rizo's name?
Alas! no more shall thy gay tunes delight,
No more thy notes sadness or joy excite,
No more thy solemn bass's awful sound,
Shall from the chapel's vaulted roof rebound.
London, alas! which aye has been our bane,
To which our very loss is certain gain,
Where our daft Lords and Lairds spend a' their rents,
In following ilka fashion she invents,
Which laws we like not aft on us entails,
And where we're forc'd to bring our last appeals,
Still envious of the little we had left,
Of JAMIE OSWALD last our town bereft.
'Tis hard indeed—but may you now repent
The day that to that spacious town you went.
If they thy value know as well as we,
Perhaps our vanish'd gold may flow to thee.

145

If so, be wise; and when ye're well to fend,
Return again and here your siller spend.

Mean while, to keep our heavy hearts aboon,
O publish a' your works, and send them soon:
We'll a' subscribe, as we did for the past,
And play while bows may wag or strings can last.

Farewell—perhaps, if you oblige us soon,
I'll sing again to a new fav'rite tune.

147

II. PART II. Poems in manuscript or posthumously published.

(1) Poems for which dates can be assigned.

149

To the Most Happy Members of the Easy Club, 1712

Were I but a prince or King,
I'de advance ye, I'de advance ye;
Were I but a prince or King,
So highly's I'de advance ye.
Great Sence and Wit are ever found
'Mong you always for to abound,
Much like the Orbs that still move round,
No way's constrain'd, but Easy.
Were I, &c.

Most of what's hid from Vulgar eye,
Even from earth's center to the sky,
Your Brighter thoughts do clearly spy,
Which makes you wise and Easy.
Were I, &c.

Appollo's Self unknown attends,
And in good humour re-ascends
The forkt Parnassus, and Commends
You for being blyth and easy.
Were I, &c.

All faction in the Church or State,
With greater wisdom still you hate,
And leave learn'd fools these to Debate;
Like Rocks in Seas ye're easy.
Were I, &c.

May all you do Successfull prove,
And may you never fall in love
With what's not firm for your behoof,
Or may make you uneasy.
Were I, &c.

150

I love ye well—O! let me be
One of your Blyth Society,
And, like your Selves, I'll strive to be
Ay humorous and Easy.
Were I, &c.

On Andrew Brown Hanging Himself

[_]

[c. 1713]

Now what could be the carl's drift
to which auld Nick lent him a lift
Unless it were a wylie shift
To hain his bread
Now he'll eat nane and that is thrift
Since he is dead

How coud the fallow be sa daft
to tye himsell up to the laft I
at's awn bed fit, where he sa aft . . . [OMITTED]

By heaven's it was cursedly uncivil
In a bout to prove his fathers Rivall
And then in Rage without Reprivall
his sire to send
with Cords down headlong to the devill
Oh fatall end

here be thou seiz'd with plague and pox
Even hell account thee heterodox
Just heaven inflict most grievous stro(kes)
Till thou perpends
thy sire below needs make no clocks
Where time nere ends

151

Cauld be your cast who curst your dad
May fleas ay bite you i' your bed
be drawn when hanged in a sled
to gallow lee
After curst sauls to pluto fled
there ay hing ye.

In a Clock cord baith tough and snell
Some others think he hangd himsell
Which was a nearer cut to hell
and with mare speed,
Where base ------ [OMITTED]

[_]

(The fragment ends here)

A Rebuke to Antony Uneasy

[_]

[1713]

Uneasy's a thief; 'tis black burning shame.
I'le flite his muse deaf, and blunder his name.
His muse, said I? Hang it! It must be damn'd lame—
She pilfer'd from Bion, the great son of fame.
Confess then ye'r dull and greatly to blame
To fancy our club so silly and tame
To be tricked by Ma(d)ge in the weeds of her dame.

From my forge at Parnasus, the 18th of the 8 moon, the year of our club 2. Take this, Sir, from your most proud and arogant Deacon, Gawain Douglas.

152

THE LAMENTATION

9 Nov. 1715

George
Why drooping thus? Say, Gawin, what is the cause
That surly face dares break our Easy laws.

Gawin
These drumbly times do very much confound
My easy thinking and my judgement wound,
While grief and hope alternately go round.

George
Let wild confusions do the worst they can,
No accident shall crush the vertuous man;
Should jarring discord make all nature crack
And wasting wars make of this world a wrack,
No casual event can his peace controul,
He stands secure, fix'd on his lofty soul.

Gawin
Ah George, methinks it stupid not to moan—
Should we not sigh to hear our Mother groan
Now when her sides are tore with civil broils
And her brave blood in dreadful madness boils?
Her hardy sons, whose fame was heard afar,
Now 'gainst each other threaten cruel war.
They who spread terrour in the dusky plain
And, panting, trod o're mountains of the slain,
Who knew to dye much better than to yield
And still were slain, or victors kept the field—

153

Now must this daring courage all be spent
In quelling private feuds and discontent?
Degenerate age, say what can be the cause
To prompt such wrath as shocks all nature's laws.
'Gainst brother brother, father 'gainst the son,
Both seem resolv'd their party's risque to run,
To gain their end no danger seem to shun.
The kind emotions of a tender wife
Who, fainting, views her husband in the strife,
Dismay'd, she fears his slender tack of life.
But now nor wife nor infant charms can make
His strong resolves or inclinations shake
Tho both his life and fortune's at the stake.
He mounts his steed, nor her advice does ask
But sets his all upon the dreadful cast.
She's left alone and doubts of his return;
She loves the man and can not chuse but mourn,
Thus tryes to waste her grief by shedding tears
And by faint hopes to crush substantial fears.
Pacific hinds whose humble minds regard
No politicks beyond their barn and yard
Are forced to arms.
These tools of death they weild with awkward hand,
While ploughs on until'd ridg[e]s neglected stand.
They see destruction through the kingdom reel
And meagre famine treading on its heel
When frugal arts of peace are laid aside
To gratifie a dull schismatick pride.
These sure are ills, yet there are ten times more
Which every thinking Scotsmen should deplore.

George
They are, indeed. Yet often when disease
Does threaten death to give the patient ease,
From purple veins the lancet gives a pass
To that base blood which would defile the mass.
So may it hit.

154

I know the horrid cause for which we smart,
The black idea's rivet in my heart.
O may they only suffer by the rod
Who with this cursed crime offended God.

Gawin
So may it end as I would wish, and then
I'll change my airs and tune my reed again.

Both
Till then heav'd blast our foes and save true hearted men.

To the Right Honourable George, Lord Ramsay

Edinburgh, Janr 1st 1719

To you my lord, my earlyest lays belong,
a Ramsay's Chief demands a Ramsay's song,
deemst not presumtion nor with scorn refuse
the humble Tribute of an honest muse.
In virteous days long 'ere the Romish priest
By Avarice made goodness seem a jest,
e're Clergy discord from Men's Bosoms drove
Nat'rule Simplicity, Social love,
The Bards of old the Heroes did inspire
with noble sentiments and Gen'rous fire,
sweet & sublime their happy numbers flow'd
and all arround a generall good Bestow'd.

155

The Brave and Great with Justice pant for fame
But often wander wide and miss their aim,
oft' best of Men their best Designs are Crost,
by want of Skill in Errour's Mazes lost,
But he who Studys Men and Books aright
Views Causes and Effects in their trew light,
when polite knowledge Litrature Refines
that patriot with uncommon luster shines.
Thus you, My Lord (fame sayst,—& fame says Truth)
Restore your usefull Time, and vig'rous Youth.
Well may you prosper in each Bright Desire
Still taking for your patern your Brave Sire
posest of all his prudence & his fire.
The thinking Man eyes his Ancestor's worth
preservs the Grandure of his house and Birth
and through the Golden Mien he wisely steers
Not cheated with vain Hopes nor Crush'd with fears.
By fortitude of mind he conquest gains
O're sordid pleasures and imagind pains
superior to the puny pleagues of Life
looks down on trifles which engender strife.
such a great Soul can destiny command
who holds his passions with a steady hand
Great in himself, he all his actions Rules
by virtue, and leavs pegeantry to fools
he scorns to cringe at courts or Blur his mind
with consent, when his countrey's fall's designd
But when plac'd at the Helm of state affairs
the publick good engroses all his Cares
How litle Fuscus looks how mean & vile
at him the sullen rail and jovial smile
an Empty Buble with a Vast Estate
design'd a slave, but by mistaken fate
thrown on a family to its disgrace
staining the honour'd glorys of his Race

156

without a thought from stew to stew he scours
and nothing minds but drunkeness and whoors
Now these fair ridges which his fathers won
wastes like the snow before the summer's sun,
thus he goes on, destroying life & health
and hangs a dead weight on the Commonwealth,
But soon of him the nation shall have ease,
a young old man all Rotten with desease!

I show this Monster just to make yow Laugh
Your inate vertues shall preserve yow safe,
for greater uses by indulgent Heav'n
your Sprightly Soul, and nervous limbs wer giv'n,
Thousands we hope from your brave loyns shall spring
to serve their God, their Countrey, & their King.

O may that fair! whose circling arms shal twine
your manly Breast, in all that's Charming Shine,
May she be sent on purpose from above
be worthy yow and Worthy of your Love:
In this Important Choise My Lord be nice,
and take your Motions by our Chief's advice,
Experience crowns his wisdom, and he knows
the springs from which this or that Event flows.
That He whose nod the Universe Obeys
May give yow lengthned lease of Joyfull Days

My Lord Your Lordship's most humble and devouted servant Allan Ramsay.

THE HAPPY MAN

How happy's he who rais'd above low care
by plenteous fortune, with ane equall mind,
Enjoys what Heaven has given him for his share
with Conduct, and a Spirit unconfin'd.

157

Whose active Soul delights in the pursuit
of knowledge, where true honour's only form'd,
That use of life which Yeilds the fairest fruit
and gives a fame Detraction cannot wound.

Who has a Partner of a cast divine
all Prudence, Goodness and of Humour Sweet,
Whose Virtues throw Her lovely features shine
and amiably in her Actions meet,

Forbiding Spleen and all domestick Strife
groundless mistake the Spring of all debate,
The best of Husbands he—she the best Wife,
brings human life near to the Heavenly state.

But who can paint the Addition of his Joys
when in their dawn he his own worth can trace,
In the rich Budings of his Lovely Boys
and all their Mother in each Daughter's Grace,

Whose Beautyous Smiles engage Paternal Love
to Cultivate the hopefull Early Bloom
In minds he can so easylie improve
that have for every virtue Spacious Room.

Happy the man thus Blest twice happy he!
that is and views his Bliss in proper light,
with gratefull Soul from Spleen & Envy free,
takes in these gifts divine or just delight.

Knows where to fix th'extent of his desire
nor slights the real for imagin'd good
Nor suffers vice t'inflame with wasting fire
nor is with all these excellencys proud.

158

But where, say you, shall we in this vile Age
the Originall of these outlines remark
My friend attend then, And I shall engage
to Show them all and more in S(i)r John Clerk.

Writen at Newbigging, 29 March, 1720

[To Mr. Jo. Kerr of King's College, Aberdeen]

[_]

[c. 1721]

Sir Your Epistle came to Hand
and trouth I tak it kind
when men wha numbers understand
sae frankly tell their mind

well Likes a poet to be praisd
by Learnd & worthy men
Sae by your Lays I'm higher Raisd
than those of other Ten

Since tis weel kend that lang or now
you've pleast the nicest tast
By what ye sing if ye mean true
my Muse is Doubly Gract

weell Bee't sae then Now tent me Ker
nor my reqwest refuse
O! to the Beautys Donian fair
dear Lad make my excuse

For Rowtining Clyd and fleechyng Tweed
and siller Breasted Tay
had got possession of my head
and dang out don & spay

159

Nae farrer north my muse did Rove
when she sang oer the plaid
Then throw the Green Glantanar grove
wher Jove Imbracd the maid

that Lovely Lass wha now apears
before Sols rearing sighing Beams
was Born and past her Infant years
by Dona's silver streams

she promp to't by ane Inate Love
each for their Birth place have
she as annither Boon frae Jove
this Benison did crave

That virgins Born on Don or Dee
shoud be the Beautyous Bost
of hight or plain within ilk sea
that shields Brittanias Coast

Besides to them she does impart
to wear and Dy and spin maist fine
the plaid nae mair Minerva's art
but of fair Iris thine

Dear Donian Nymphs cease to Reflect
My fault I frankly own
have for a penetent respect
wha canna bear your frown

ah Smile upon me & I'll sing
your smiles ye sweetest fair
your Beautys throw the warld shall ring
till warlds shall be nae mair

160

farewell my Friend god Grant Ye health
and Easyness of Mind
possest of these ye want nae wealth
and Hea[v]n to you is Kind

Say may kind heavn proptious prove
and grant what ere ye Crave
An[d] him a Corner in your Love
who is your humble slave

ON THE MARRIAGE OF URBAN AND BELLA. JULY 10th, 1721.

Night now had spread her Gloom o'er all the Skies,
And Sleep had seal'd up every Guardian's Eyes;
When o'er the darken'd plain kind Urban stray'd;
With careful pace, to meet his faithful Maid,
But there's no wandring where true Love's the Guide,
Soon in his Arms he found his lovely Bride.
Ee'r yet the Morn had rais'd her rosy Head,
To cross the Waves the swelling Sails are spread,
Pleas'd Ocean smooth'd his Brow, the Winds blew fair,
And seemed to whisper doun each lesser Care;
When to his Bella Urban did impart,
In softest words th'emotions of his Heart.
My dearest charge (said he) drop every Care,
Let these be mine—they're now fall'n to my share,
Them I can bear—so Heav'n has well design'd,
Our Fortitude to shield your softer Mind,
Now you are mine so fate consents and You,
And to the join't consent each one must Bow;
Ev'n He who claims your Duty and your Love,
Since he is Wise, there's hopes he will approve,
Him gain'd we'll slight each medd'ling little Mind,
That to the Strength of Sympathy are blind;
Who think join't hands make Nuptial rites compleat
While Inclinations never chance to meet;

161

Then let no doubts of what the World may say,
Raise the least Cloud on our fair Marriage Day.
A Blushing Glance here serv'd for a reply,
And Urban read what pleas'd him in her Eye,
Which rais'd his Raptures, and forbade each pain,
That frights poor fools from Hymen's happy Chain;
The Chain which now with glad consent they bear,
And mutual Love shall make them easy wear.
No sooner had loud Fame with spreading Blast,
Giv'n out the News when each their verdict past,
At sullen Coffee—at the sparkling Wine,
Or the lov'd Circle where the Fair combine
To sip their Tea—I got this fair account
Which justly balanc'd, here is the amount;
Some envy'd—some their weaker Souls betray'd,
Believing what each low detracter said;
Such have nor Sense, nor Courage to Assert,
(Like Urban's self,) the Cause of wrong'd desert.
But these who dare to own their thoughts aloud
And wisely sep'rate from the thoughtless Croud,
Approv'd the Choice of both, since only Love,
Calls doun the Marriage Blessings from above,
Which to Old age may they enjoy profuse,
Is the kind wishes of an honest Muse.

To His Grace John Duke Of Roxburgh,

The Address of Allan Ramsay, S[cots] P[oet].

May it please your Grace

In south Brittania there is Bays
Plac'd on a Poets pow,
and stipend wi't, his strains to raise,
and gar his Genius Glow,

162

well sic a Lad may link aff Lays,
and various volumes stow
with winsome witt, and a' his Days
sing But a Dowf, heh How!
frae want secure.

'Tis Eith to Guess my Meaning here,
and woodyfa' them's Joaking,
for tho I be na Gare on Gear
I Loo na to be Broken,
but fain wad keep my Credit Clear
and look a wee thought Cockin,
for gin I honest like appear
it keeps dull Coofs frae Mockin
our Gang aft poor.

Now ound, by a', to be a Bard,
a wonder vogey Title!
but Heir to no ae Inch of Eard,
my Income's somthing kitle.
wherfore, since I Claim your Regard,
may post or pension litle,
Obtaind By YOU, be my Reward
lest poortith do my Witt ill,
And spill my Breeding.

For nought am I to save our Tongue
with numbers, Gloss, and Notes,
and smooth the Brows of Auld and Young,
while warbling throu' their Throats.
A Cheil with poutch and pantrie Clung
maun Guzzell swats wi' sots,
syn stanzas, frae sic Liquor sung,
will neer be worth twa groats,
or bide the Reading

163

And wadna that look very fine,
to see a Lad like me,
Ca'd aft the Dawtie of the NINE,
sic Dowie dumps to dree
Thus, for the lak of Claret wine,
to gar me tak the Gie,
my Muse in Tippony to tine!
And look like let me be,
Baith blate & Blew!

Frae public funds Thousands are fed
with some of whom we're vext,
wha make Divinity a Trade,
Riving in deugs the Text,
while painfou poets, better Bred,
Their precepts less perplext
with God-sen(t) gifts are unco glad,
and naithing sure anext,
yet Thanks to YOU,

That when my Glaring freinds gae way,
and I was at a stand,
(with Quarto Book, my fate to sey)
held out your helping HAND,
and chargd my purse with Guineas gay,
withouten my Demand,
This of your Goodness was a Ray
which I right Genial fand,
That happy Day.

Grecious examples ever Ding
the advice of wisest Men,
Tho' I should like a seraph sing
what way should some fowk ken,
The streek of Blyth Thalai's wing
unless you PRINCES Len
your Aprobation, and gar Bring
the Canty Billy ben,
This makes him Gay,

164

Since I was Tented by Your GRACE,
My Muse with pleasure rises;
wide nature's feilds I frankly Trace
wherever she advises,
on Pindus' Height she takes her place,
nor cackling Criticks prizes,
with careles air she smooths my face,
and a' the Drolls dispises
with Gladsome Glee.

Health, Blythnes, Love, and a' thats Great
delightfou, Good, and fine
Be YOURS and Blooming BOWMONT's fate,
and lang lang may ye shine:
These are our prayers, air & late,
To Guardian powers Divine,
My wishes These, when, Left thumb gate,
we Bend about the wine,
and ay shall Be.

Edr, Aprile 20th, 1722

TO THE MEMORY OF MARY, DUCHESS DOWAGER OF BEAUFORT AND COUNTESS DOWAGER OF DUNDONALD

[_]

[1722]

with Daring flight the Scotian Muse essays
t'imortallize a Lovely princes[s'] praise
Great Osburns Race her saftest Lays demand
wha Love their Brave Ansestors' native Land
Nor will Carmarthan deem our sorow Less
Altho we shed our Tears in Rural dress
even Mighty Maro, who Best sang of Wier
with shepherds Lays could please Augustus' ear
Allow us then My Lord to pay what's Due
To Beauty, virtue, greatnes, Love, and You

165

frae Ospurn sprung wha stood his monarchs stoop
when Majesty was Basely made to droop
But when the Black Rebelious night was oer
he shone with greater splendor than Before
The Consort of high Beaufort craves our Strains
Beaufort who Drew his Blood from Royal Viens
Dundonald worthy patriot! ah! oer soon
thou Left a Heaven Below for that aboon.
but Destiny hard hearted never spears
thy darling scars(e) tents her tender tears,
Love Magnif[i]es her Loss she's paind to be
Earths joys grow mean—she droops she hasts to thee
The Noble Brother finds his heart to ake
The sudden Loss does all his pleasures shake
striving my Lord to bring you some Relife
A humble Bard would paint a Naitons grief
Belinda's Dead!—the Murning Maya Crys
while Gushing Streams flow from her sparking eyes
Belind[a']s Dead!—Liza with sighs Replys

May

Bauld are [the] Blasts that Blaw oer yonder hight
Short . . . and Langs the dreery Night
Yet nights and days I'd thole the Wind and rain
coud that bring Back Belindas Breath again

Lizie

Cauld is the Snaw that Cleads the Clinty Cleugh
Hard is the Ice that Hings out oer the Heugh
yet Barefut Wad I wade throw mony a wreath
Could that Bring Back the Lovd Belinda's breath

Young Colin darnd behind a Ruck of Wheat
with melting heart oerhard the Lasses Greet
he felt their pain, but of more strength possest
forbad his Tears—and thus the Maids adrest

166

[Colin]
Dear Lasses just is ilka tear ye shed
for her whas Bounty made us aft fou glad
whase sweetness wan the hearts of Great & Sma
while her strick virtues gart us stand in aw
sae at Sun whase chearing Beams we find
we darna Glowr for fear he make us Blind
But Lear to be content and thole yer pain
for we can neer behad her face again

Maya
'tis unco Easy to hardhearted men
to meet with Tinsell & neer let fouk ken
while we of safter minds sigh mony a day
or we can get the uperhand of wae
as Lang's I see a Lady sweet and fair
with keuly looks mix'd with a princly air
if sic there be with grief I'll ca to mind
the Blest Belinda Best of a' her kind

Lizi
when E'er I trade alang the Bony Green
where she at Ilka dance was chosen Queen
or by yon Burn where on the floury Brae
we usd to sport and see the Fishes play
a Thousand thoughts of her and Time that's gane
will sink my saul wi grief and ay renew my pain

May
now Day grows Langer and the welcome Spring
comes on apace the Birds begin to sing
the primrose Buds the Gowan knots appear
with a' the rising Beautys of the year

167

But no to me this seson Gay & fair
can joy restore or mitigate my Care
Belinda's Death ay in my mind will ring
and sour the saftest sweetness of the spring

Lizi
and Cease ye Lambs to Bleet—cease faling dews
Cease streams to murmur, Echo to repeat
Yes weep ye flock aloud that hills may hear
Be ilka chrystall pearl of Dew a tear
for dear Belinda streams for ever Murn
for her let Echo sigh[i]ng sad return
the Dolefu Tale—while we with grief relate
her goodnes[s] Beauty and oer hasty fate

Colin
But now frae ilka fear of Greef shes free
and tastes the fruit of th'Imortall Tree
But mind she's freed frae a' our cares & strife
and born aboon where endles joys are rife
wher never enters sorrow sighs or pain
sae for her Loss ye Greetna but your ain

May
Ah hasty Death to pou her in her prime
when eild it sell is but sae scrimp a time
Thousands there are less usefou here beneath
we could have spared for her and wi Lesser Skaith
her words were musick and her deeds wer kind
fair was [her] frame and generous was her mind
nae spitefou passion e'er coud find [a] place
within her Brest or Cloud her Lovely face
Descended frae a Chief yet free frae pride
she did with meekness a' her actions Guide

168

Lizi
not siller showers in drouth mair kindly fa
than wer her welcome favour to us a'

[Colin]
nor is my heart nae mair than yours of steel
yes I our tinsell as severly feell
But stranger Reason comes to take my part
while you less Guarded sink beneath the smart
then dry ye'r Cheeks—and learn ye to Behave
ye'r sells like her then shall your virtues crave
Love in your Life and honour in your Grave

MACARONIC

Nil mihi rescribus at aman ipse vene
For your kitle Latine, in conscience I dinna kent bene,
Sed video right mikle, quo tendit ad meum honorem;
Sic silvae saltantis when cantylie I play before 'em
On my landart lyra—Castalides omnia ambitious
Videre this ferly new—weel be't sae, benignus Patricus,
Accipio for granted tu cogitas quid thou hast dictus,
And blythsum audire my pow is cum laurel amictus.
Ago tibi gratias. When ye come to Senex Fumosus,
Spero to se ye where a botle of the best shall rejoyce us.

Allanus Ramisaeus.

Edr., June 11, 1722.

SILVIA TO A--- R---

O Ramsay Rare wha Blythly can
Revive the Heart of Maid or Man
if you a favour will bestow
upon a Lass tho' very Low

169

in Rhime she here addresses you
and craves you'll send her somthing new
flames Raptures darts and hearts on fire
are Subjects I dont much admire
The only Thing I'd wish to have
is Somthing Gay but nothing grave
this favour if you'll grant to me
I shal Respect you till I die

Silvia

ANSWER Octr 1722

When Silvia asks wha can deny
wha has the use of ear or eye
yes I in either prose or Rhime
will serve the ffair at ony time
“If you a favour will bestow
that Sentance gars my vitals glow
but you forbid me to Imploy
or name the artilery of the boy
That Callan wha, Ill deedy Shit!
Sae afften on a Poets wit
makes a' his Arrows gleg at point
to Shoot young Hearts quite out of joynt
that done the Wean, black be his fa!
Skips to his Mam with a Gafa
and tells his Pranks—she claps his Pow
Syn frae her Stays new bends his Bow
gies his wee gab the ither Smack
tyes a fou Quiver on his back
with her ain garters—bids him gae
arround the Warld and burn & slae

He's on his march now to our City
wher I'm affraid he'll hae nae Pity

170

but kill some hundreds in a night
Where yielding Hearts by Candle Light
attend the dear deluding Charms
of Musick sounding saft alarms
which wakens up their Youthfu Glee
and gars them dust it chearfully

[_]

[Four lines illegibly deleted]

He has not yet forsook the Shade
where he has conquerd mony a Maid
then tent O Silvia how ye jest
with him or me his destin'd Priest
obligd, by ane I watna fate
aft at his Altars wild to wait
and sing his Victorys on the Plain
wher the mair Inocent are slain
or in the Brughs wher silk & lace
him aft Repulses with disgrace
and animates the scornfu Belle
his sharpest arrows to repell
tho shot frae wiggs as whyt as milk
or Brawns adorn'd with pearly Silk
when in Array ilk Lad & Lass
come arm'd in Bravery from the Glass
with a fring'd wastcoat Gowdspink Tryes
to save himsel frae Lintwhyts eyes
the shining Gems round Linty's neck
has aft'ner the same effect
But Love at some unguarded hour
Gets her at last beneath his power
and tho even arm'd in Gowd Brocad
he aften foils the Round facd Lad
and brings him on his Marrow Bains
Syn Craws when he the Victory Gains

Dear Silvia thus ye see in spite
of my design I'm forc'd to write
nor dare his dread command refuse
who Rules the Sovraign of my muse

171

The Pleasures of Improv[e]ments in Agriculture

[_]

[c. 1723]

[Dedication]

To the Honourable & Ingenious Fraternity for Improvments in Agriculter Planting Gardening &c Success Plenty & Joy their Humble Poet Begs them to attend his Landwart Lays while he attemps to Sing their Benficial & Generous Design, which we Introduce with a Text from the Renownd Sr David Lindsay in his conversation with Dame Rememberance about the State of Scotland you'll excuse its being Some Longer than a Common Sentance or So of Horace or Ovid

while we attempt to Chaunt in Rural Strains
Improvments in the Forest Garth & Plains
aid us ye Powers that changing Seasons Grant
with Dew & Rays to Nurish evry Plant
with flaming fancy fond of fit(t)er fame
fain wald we saftly sing sae sweet a Theme
that on ae styl our Labours may be seen
with Mantuan Maro & the French Rapin
These sung beneath the Mirtle & the Vine
upon the Banks of Tyber & the Sein
whilst we beneath a Hathorn farther North
upon the Caulder shore of Rowling Forth
may be allowd a drawback in our fire
if its allowd warm Beams the Bards Inspire
This Nation Long more keen of martial toil
than cultivating of a yeilding Soil
neglected Left each height & valey fair
without the help of art to natures care
she Plenteous did the Pregna(n)t mold adorn
with Bloming whins Broom Brackens Brier & Thorn

172

while Stagnnant Lakes o'er many straths did flow
wher Eells did sport & seggs did Plentous Grow
here ane Estate was hid beneath a flood
and flowry Parks lay buried under mud
wittness our Straitens Loch which we have seen
a wavy Lake now a Prolifick Green
of late by Rankeilier worthy lasting fame
whose Breast Glows with a Bright Inproving flame
now ditchd & hedgd and Circling Groves arise
to save its verdures from Inclement Skys
in these sweet walks beneath the Blooming Shade
the Citizen shall drop the cares of trade
while in the fragrant Scenes he takes delight
to Bask in Rising or in Setting Light
while Chearful rays throu Trembling Branches Glance
when they or Late or Early shoot askance
Here the Hermonious tennants of the air
to keep their Naturall consorts shall repair
thither in comely crouds the youthfull gang
in numerous Pairs to court shall Smiling thrang
no harm to virtue—This high powers aprove
when faith & honour are the Gaurds of Love
observing these ye Lovly plants with Ease
your Bon(n)y cheekys will but short time please
you'll follow out what renders you complet
if beauty neer with sence & action meet
by Education only you can rise
but Lasting Graces bless her tongue and eyes
that takes the most delight to deck her mind
Hope hear the sang which thy unwearied mind
for Publick good me thus to sing inclind
continou Best of Clubs Long to Improve
your native Plains and gain your nations Love
Rowse evry Lazy Laird of each wide feild
that unmanurd not half their Product yeild
shew them the proper season soils and art
how they may Plenty to their Lands impart
Treeple their Rents encrease the farmers store
without the Purches of one Acre more

173

[To the Duke of Queensberry]

[_]

[c. 1723]

Accept my Lord these honest Lays
that I have sowfd in Kathrines praise
and as they'r to her justly due
sae are a share of them to you
To you and to each noble mind
that waver not with ilka wind
Blaws frae the court like the slav'd Jouker
Wha sells good fame for filthy Lucre
while you and such as you my Lord
are by ilk gratefu heart adore'd
and well ye judge for alls a dream
without fair fame & Just esteem
which now are yours and still will prove
while Linton does his Nation love

A Pastoral Welcome To her Grace Cathrine Dutches of Queensbery on her coming first to Scotland June 1723

Wha's yon, dear Calli, shines on Nytha's green,
Sweet as a Naiad, gracefu as a Queen,
she appears new sent frae Heaven to Bless our Isles
yet seems na fremit by her friendly Smiles?

'Tis Her in whom a thousand Charms conspire
whose Brightness makes Inferiour rays retire
eclipsd by Beautys warmd with heavnly fire
now a young Prince of a brave Scotish Name
with equal Grandure meets the Dazling flame
and Beeks with ane extatick Love & joy
in Bleez Divine which could a World distroy

174

Sae Juno Charms the Awfu Thundere[r] Jove
and can in highest ardures meet his Love
while mortal Semelie sink doun to night
wishing for Beams too strong for humane sight

for Her late wisned parks revive in Hue
and Buding Roses bath themsells in dew
for Her the God of winds shuts up the East
and bids saft Zyphers fan her Lovely Breast
blaw Cawm ye winds shine fair ye morning Beams
you in the Woods, ye on the crystal Streams
while in the Shaw she Hears the Mavis sing
or tents the frisking Lambkins by a spring

Rejoyce ye Nymphs and sing ye ferlying Swains
when so Much Beauty Brightens on your Plains
such kindly warmth and nourishment she'll give
as mankind from the Suns fair orb recive
like Him she sheds benificence arround
and gars your glens with gladness a' resound
but like him too her shining charms deny
the rude approach of evry vulgar eye
while a' her Beautys Eyes & hearts command
her virtues makes them at due distance stand

Blest be [the] Fair, and lang may she shine clear:
but say my Bony Lass what brings her here?

She's mistress here of mony a Strath & height
that frae yon Lother taps wad tire your sight
adown clear Nyth wha does his Wimples guide
throw Meadows parks and woods on either side
sic frae the Alpine edges with delight
Hyperian Haughs apear to Travelers Sight
wha views on Arno's braes the Blooming Wood
frae Wreaths of Snaw neer Eelins with the flood
Braid are Her plains wher Ploughs make plenty Spring
high are the Hills wher a' her Shepherds Sing

175

for Her the fertile Rigs unumber'd bear
the Guilded product of the wheeling Year
for Her Ten Thousand Sheep & cowherds keep
the Rowting Ky & Shear the Bleating Sheep
for her as mony maids at Bught & Loan
gar milk in Torrents frae strute udders stroan

Rejoyce ye Nymphs and sing ye Chearfu Swains
when so much Beauty Brightens on your plains
Hark with what joy the Herds the Dee's & Hynds
Regard their princes with unrufled minds
with honest pleasure they proclaim their Praise
whilst all their Virtues a' their Spirits raise
not sae the Dowie Peasant can behave
wha to his Tyrant Lord maun be a Slave.
The Danube Tajo Tybur & the Sein
altho their Banks bear Lemons & the Vine
give not sae mikle glee as Nytha's plains
wher Liberty with needfu plenty Reigns
Then all of you wha're blest with sic a Lord
and Princess wha deserved to be ador'd
first thank your God & then Bow doun your heads
and kiss the ground where Bright Cathrina Treds
Rejoyce ye nymphs and sing ye Happy Swains
when so much Beauty Brightens on your plains

See see she comes Edina Busk thy Bowers
and make her welcome to thy Antient Towers
in Gay Assembleys bid your Sons advance
and lead your Lovely Doughters to the Dance
be Minstrells sweet and saftly tun'd the Sang
when the fair Angell joyns the Sparkling Thrang
yes Edin will frae Natures Purest Wealth
afford her a' that's fit for joy & Health
may joy and health and a' she can disire
be ever hers and late may she retire
To that great Spring aboon frae whence she came
in Ripest eild with ane Imortall fame

176

[To the Duchess of Queensberry]

[_]

[c. 1723]

Queensberys Come Thrice welcome Fair
Propitious Heavens peculiar care
it maun be sae els gifts divine
in saul and form coud never shine
in sic profusion bright & even
but in a favourite of Heven
Be blyth ye Lads on Nytha's dale
Lead out the Lasses to the Green
Blaw saft ye winds ye skyes be clear
Spring with thy flowers busk out the year.
Ye Clouds had aff the suns fair face
that he may bleez with blythsome grace
ye tunefu birds frae wild repair
and with saft musick fill the air
Queensbery comes. Guard her ye Gods
and with all pleasures pave her Roads
Nyth hears the news and blythly turns
around to all her crystal Burns
and bids them lilt oer Heugh & how
their Joys as frae their heights they flow
with gushing heart he lifts his Head
and tells it to his Brother Tweed
wha Echo'st fra his Banks sae wide
to Leader haughs & Teviots side
Clyd hears oer Tintock tap the din
and Roars it oer the Corhouse Lin
so loud its heard beyond the Tay
oer the still ness & Rapid Spay
The welcome Sound soughs throw the air
arround the Bush aboon Traquair
Fair flowing forth enriching Tide
auld Edinburghs Blessing and her Pride

177

in solem state Calms ilka wave
and Joyns in gladness with the Lave
and well he may wha kens hell share
with Nyth th'influence of the Pair
Queensberys Lord and his Fair mate
who dare be Noble to be great
while sauls hem'd in with scrimper views
slave out dull lives in scrapes & Bows
and stick at nought to reek their ends
sae far as their laigh sence extends
but like clung Tods worry bot reuth
whatever faus into their Mouth
and these scorn laits used lang sin syne
to tent laws Humane & divine
tho ilka hour damnation wait
to doom them their deserved fate
as they sail tween lifes craigs & shauls
unmindfu of their threed bare sauls
stand yont vile things ye make me sick
thus in your characters to keek
while I the praise of patriots sing
who love their Countrey God & King
The first twa slighted by your Tribes,
the Last respected as he Bribes
Ah coud the morall moral muse but win
ane of five score frae this curst sin
how Blyth shed be & ne'er repine
altho the deel gat ninty nine
But thanks to H--- there's some yet Great
wha will prove stoups to prop the State
But Thanks to Heaven their's a kind flow
whase hearts with publick ardure Glow
who have enough and strive to cure
the publick wounds that hurt the poor
by easing their half Broken Backs
of ilka ill placed heavy Tax
For This the honest Labouring kind
Shall lift to god his greatfu mind,

178

and he whas cast in Rougher form
dares push his fortune throw a storm
while Jarring tides [and] Tempests Gowll
will to the patriots Toom the Bowl
and bend his knee ilk even & morn
that sic as Queensbery were born
The Merchant with delighted view
his shelves with goods all loaden bow
while qu[i]ck returns of cash secure
his Trade & make his credit sure.
Mechanicks of all kinds shall sing
God bless our patriots and our King
who now haf gart thae dutys sink
that poisned a' our meat & drink
The Herd upon the green hill side
shall tent his bleeting care with pride
& count hou many ells do grow
of Claith ilk day on Goop & Ew
Reverse of servile sauls that stinge
at courts and to vile catifs cringe
Queensbery with superiour smile
Looks doun upon a nest so vile
whase Presence like the heavnly Ray
gives all arround a bleez of Day
while Independance props her state
being ever Good as she is Great
To patriots tune each chearfu note
and Queensbery be neer forgot

[Another Poem to the Duchess of Queensberry]

[_]

[c. 1723]

Why from us does Clarinda stray
from us so much in Love
Ah coud our wish engadge her stay
She never hence would move

179

Here like her self in noble state
She'd reign oer every heart
her Life attended with that fate
that still rewards desert

in that high orb in which she's plac'd
with splendor ever shine
her virtues with respect be gracd
next that we pay divine

Ah why has Braitain's Southern plain
more of the chearfull sun
why more alurements that can gain
from us sae blest a Boon

Ah Calidonia cease to boast
thy green and fertile dales
thy Lofty hills and Plenteous coast
but litle now avails

Clarinda Leaves you droop your heads
yet bless the Beautyous Dame
since she so Long has gracd your Meads
it has advanct your fame

Hope her return with all the shine
that on her virtues tend
but never foolishly repine
at what ye cannot mend

To please your idle fondnes shoud
this darling of your mind
endure each storm and bluster loud
our rains and roring wind

these chilling frost[s] & fleecy snow
that Burry half our years
the winter spates that plain oerflow
and naught that sweet appears

180

till with the gay Returning spring
these fly like morning clouds
then Nature all begins to sing
young smile the Dales & Woods

then with elated gust we tast
each spring and summers sweet
rais'd higher by the cold that['s] past
our Joys are then complete

O dear Clarinda may we hope
with the returning year
when genial rays nurse up the crop
again you will appear

Appear upon the Pictland fields
with all your happy train
of sweets and joys that ever yield
Pleasure to Scotia's plain

So may kind Heaven with length of days
and sounder Health prolong
a life that merits every praise
and the Best poets song

long save his Grace the noble Shield
of all that's Good & fair
long with his Bow t'adorn our field
with all his virtues rare

181

On the B[ritish] P[arliament's] design of Taking The Bounty off the Victual exported. Decemr 1724

1

Poor slav'd tho' covenanted Land
anes Independant brave dominion
how like ane Idiot doest thou stand
Sair Payd and forc'd to kiss the wand
and bend thy Craig benaeth the U---

2

Ye Selfish sencles Sniv'ling Crew
drums of Rebelion and disorder
Tak up your dainty Divan now
They'l neither let ye Bake nor Brew
unless ye Creep within their Border

3

But O, quoth ye, the good auld Cause
thrives well & we have preaching rife
besides oppression & hard Laws
falds doun your P---s to your B---s
and gars ye live the chaster life

4

well said! good women hard ye yon
how do ye like the consequence
ist possible a dull Mess Jon
can please ye with sae dry a tone
while ye gaunt for Benevolence

182

5

O wives & maidens young and auld
with all the Pith of Language bang us
flyte girn & pet & greet, & Scauld
that we may keep with Courage bauld
the Beggars Bennison amang us

6

Gie sons & husbands little rest
Brag how their fathers drew their whingers
an[d] if they thole to be opprest
ye'll look upon them at the best
nae Better than Italian singers

Magy Dickson

[_]

[1724]

1

Assist ye Creil wives ane & a'
of Musselbrugh & fisher Raw
in souching sang the sooth to shaw
of that slee wife
that after she was hangit staw
again to Life

2

O Maggy Mony a heart was wae
for thee upon that dreiry day!
and mony a ane for the[e] did pray
that Sindle wont
to mind themsells when thou right blae
the steps did mount

183

3

Young well-fard creature[s] aft ye[t] cryd
and mony a time their cheeks they dryd
when hangy round thy wyson tyed
the deidly cord
the stoutest wad have been sair fleyd
to be sae shor'd

4

But little cause hads thou to fear
where he that throw thy case coud steer
or thou wan to thy fiftenth year
by word & wryt
took care to gar deaths Stang appear
but a flae Byte

5

great casts of confort did he reich
while he aft takingly did teich
syne when they strave thy neck to streich
with pious knack
elegantly he pen'd a speich
that thou neer spak

6

But now thou canst be word of mouth
tell the Backslydings of thy youth
Shame a' the deils & say the truth
of what befell
when thou haff sleeping slak'd the drouth
of Willy Bell

184

7

Syne hou thou shook & grat for dool
to think hou like a Silly fool
in sacking Brat they wad thee Snool
when thou confest
Should Stand on the Black penance Stool
abone the rest

8

Since thou came out of deaths cauld grips
and fairer shines after Eclips
some threep when folk their siller slips
into thy purse
that in sic Temproulls runeth Snips
thy Sprituall Nurse

9

and what's the mater 'pose he do
for faith ther's mony a rary show
on which the currious cash bestow
that's of less worth
Then its to see & hear thee—O!
and him hald forth

[A Dedication for the Evergreen]

[_]

[1724]

These Antient Bards with stronger gift of Sence
than cadence Smooth and florid Eloquence
with nature close Pursued in wheeling Rhyme
dispisers of vile trope & fals sublyme

185

to[o] Long neglected by a barbarous age
Distracted with Preist craft & Party rage
at Last appear and of your Lordships Clame
your kind Protection to defend their fame
their merit's just, but merit cannot save
one from the spite of evry snarling slave
Slaves to a vain conceit & empty Skull
who Judge still what they Relish not is dul
as if forsuthe their tast should be a Rule
I Love and I awow I love these Lays

SOME FEW OF THE CONTENTS [of The Evergreen]

[_]

[1724]

Heir mighty James the First, the best of Kings,
Imploys the merry Muse, and smyling sings.
Grave Balantyne, in verse divinely wyse,
Makis Vertew triumph owre fals fleechand Vyse.

And heir Dunbar does with unbound ingyne,
In satyre, joke, and in the serious schyne.
He to best poets skairslie zields in ocht;
In language he may fail, but not in thocht.

Blyth Kennedie, contesting for the bays,
Attackis his freind Dunbar in comick layis,
And seims the fittest hand (of ony then)
Against sae fell a fae to draw his pen.

Heir Lethington the Statisman courts the Nyne,
Draps politicks a quhyle, and turn divyne;
Sings the Creation, and fair Eden tint,
And promise made to man, man durst not hint.

186

To rouse couragious fyre behald the field,
Quhair Hardyknute, with lanss, bow, sword and scheild,
With his braif Sonis, dantit the King of Norss,
And cleithed the plain with mony a saules cors.
At Harlaw and Redsquire, the sonis may leir,
How thair forbeirs were unacquaint with feir.

Quhen frae the dumps ze wald zour mind discharge,
Then tak the air in smiling Semplis Berge:
Or heir him jyb the carlis did Grissy blame,
Quhen eild and spyte takis place of zouthheids Flame.

Licht skirtit lasses, and the girnand wyfe,
Fleming and Scot haif painted to the lyfe.
Scot, sweit tungd Scot, quha sings the Welcum hame
To Mary, our maist bony Soverane Dame;
How lyflie he and amorous Stuart sing!
Quhen lufe and bewtie bid them spred the wing.

To mend zour morals, with delyt attend,
Quhyle Henryson dois guidness recommend;
Quhyle Truth throw his transport Fablis schynes,
And all the mynd to quhat is just inclynes.

Amangst these starnis of ane immortal bleis,
Montgomery's quatorsimes sall evir pleis;
His eisy sangs, his Cherry and the Slae,
Sall be esteimd quhyle sichs saft lufe betray.

Lindsay the Lyon, hardly here is sene,
But in the third Apartment of the Grene,
He sall appeir as on the verdant Stage;
He towind the vyces of a corrupt aige.

Thair Warkis I've publisht, neat, correct, and fair,
Frae antique manuscriptis, with utmost cair.
Thus to their fame, a monument we raise,
Quhilk sall endure quhyle Tymis telld out be days.

187

[FRAGMENT OF AN EPISTLE]

[_]

[c. 1724]

Is their a condition
Included in your Late commission
That publick shoud be sae Respected
That private friends Maun be Neglected?
Or rather is't some Lovely She
That rivals Mony Mae than me?
If that's the case, then I knock under
And at your silence shall not wonder,
For that same little Godie Amor
Makes sic a hildiegildie clamour
Where eer he gets the uper hand
That ilk ane else maun silent stand.

Allan Ramsay Bard to the Royall Company July 13 1724

[_]

[LINES WRITTEN UNDER HIS SIGNATURE IN THE ROLL OF THE ROYAL COMPANY OF ARCHERS]

Apollo Patron of the Lyre
and of the valiant Archers Bow
Me with such sentiments inspire
as may appear from thee they flow
When by thy special will and dread Command
I sing the merits of the Royal Band

188

[The Men of Totness Town]

[_]

[c. 1725]

O Trusty men of Totness Town
Stoups of your Countrey & the Croun
be neer in doughty deeds dung doun:
and far as Reaches,
the blast of fame, be your Renown
for making Speeches

Lord but your Last ane was wel pend
That Devon Heroes did Comend
and mony men their lungs now lend
to that address
Sure what ye say nae man can mend
or Rhimes make less

The jacks may now have little Hope
and all their dreaming fancys drop
ye've gien them kicks upon the dowp
now their Pretender
Bred at the Elbuch of the Pope,
May Claim surender

for set he foot on British sands
with Beeds and Ava Mary Bands
while the Heroick Totens Stands
and men theirin
He will find wark for all his Hands
and a payd skin

get but your Wills ye'll surely make
Herod & Pontius Pilate Quake
when Mother Kirk is at the stake
or Trade's a strugling
or ought that dares attempt to break
your Gainfull Smugling

189

That happy way of yours by whi[c]h
Ye get the start of growning Rich
so that ye need nor spur nor switch
(when swords & axes
And Guns ding sogers in a ditch)
to pay your Taxes

Now after this Prelude of praises
which all to generous hearing raises
we do beseek that in like phrases
you would once more
pen ane Adress, for in all Places
we sell a store

Not Colins gainst the Phrophecy
nor Whiston 'gainst the Trinity
Nor Sachevrell 'gainst Liberty
eer better sold
each Sentance of your oratry
is worthy Gold

from ag'd who wear the Gravest look
to children in their spelling book
from stars to him leans on his crook
all do Confess
none coud a dish more merry cook
than your Adress

we, Totnes, each your Humble Slave
not only ask but Nations crave
annother speech so wise and brave
so said or sung.
the french and dutch already have
it in their Tongue

190

By us its greatfully confest
your writings make us drink the Best
and tho our farthing[s] rarley last
Lang in our purse
yet I subscribe for All the Rest
your servant, Birss.

[A Poem to Mr. Drummond]

[_]

[c. 1725]

Scot worthy Scot when you departed
sunk daylie till quite Broken hearted
he dropd his clay to take his Place
amongst the Best of Adams Race
to Pass a sweet Eternity
in friendship Smiles, & Hermony
of this we'r sure, since souls that Love
goodness and Justice mount above
Yet Drummond Lives, Long be his yeares
his Pleasures many few his cares:
from principles of friendship kind
youre frequent in his Social Mind
wha Langs in Kenedys to meet ye
and prompts the willing muse t'invite ye
that Rarely fails good will to shew
when askd by such as Him or you
Tho oft in Pet she droops the wing
when frost and snaw are taking leave
and Pleasures on the Sward revive
and now the Archers' Bosoms Glow
and wear the Bonnet & Bend the Bow

191

your Presence at their council Board
or in the field will joy afford
our wines are Good in nought weer Scanty
and for diversions we have Plenty

[A Jacobite Poem]

[_]

[c. 1726]

while my Dear Master far frae hame
a Loyal Exile Bravely strayd
with vile & vulgar hieghts my name
soon fled & soon my sweets decayd

Then was I spoild by the rude crew
of Saxon & Batavia Race
Minesia Blush! for maist by you
Thy spitefull arts wrought my disgrace

The silvan Gods then Great & Sma
refused around my skirts to sing
Left me in pet, & warst of a'!
my Argentine denyd his spring

They a' cryd out yon witherd Brae
and straths around's no worth our care
They now can neither sing or say
since our Lovd STRUAN is not there

But as they glided frae my Brow
they tald me to had up my heart
I shoild again My Master view
again shoild meet & never part

192

He like the morning star shoud shine
Usher to James our Royall sun
who with his friends would soon combine
to finish what they had well begun

While thus I stood Blasted and bare
neglected flowerles[s] sunk in greif
The Ranoch Heroe ends my care
Returns and gives me full relief

[_]

Obliterated by damp.

------ welcom chief of stallwart make
------ of the outward form and mind
------ whan can your dauntles courage shake
------ what to your countrey make unkind

Whom Palas Mars & Phebus Bred
in Learning, Hermony, & Weir
who better speaks who sings more Glad
and who in stour can stouter steer

Now he's Returnd I lift my head
adornd with Lawrell to the skies
on my green edge sweet Gowans spread
and Lilly with white Roses rise

Now Guardians of the wood & springs
with Nymphs & Neriads round me dance
while my ain Orpheus blythly s[i]ngs
in consort as the Train advance

The Muses leave the Grecian height
where they [were] wont to howf langsine
have chosen me and less delight
in Helicon than Argentine

193

Me bright Apollo makes his Throne
wingd pegasus upon me feads
Slavery and Rapine now are gone
and Loyalty with Truth succeeds

Ye gods who Justice Love look doun
and as you promisd hertofore
would you all Scotlands wishes crown
James with his Golden Reign restore

Again the Royal Band in fair array

[To the Royal Company of Archers]

[_]

[c. 1726]

Health Joy and all that Makes Life easy flow
to the Brave Band that Bauldly Bend the Bow
Cease Gloomy Sauls to Snarl at Blythe deray
nor grudge the chearfu mind a Social day
Sigh oer your Trash vile Nigards & be Slaves
till you unpitied Starve into your Graves
Ye publick Rovers a' thats sonsy sell
to pang your pride your Bountith sure in H---
while honest minds unsourd with clogs sae vile
can cast their cares aside and sometimes smile
smile at each wretch with vice & spleen oprest
well kenning Life is but a farce at Best
Let heavy heads there solemn nonsence Brook
and ward aff freindship with a sullen Look
Tis yours ye Royal Band with Joy to trace
beneovolence in ane annithers face
Ladys demand & flowry field invite
The Scotish Archers on the Plains to meet
frindeship & generous Love that only give
the Bliss that makes it worth ones while to live
Let sounds melodious Echo throw the air
and free ilk hearty archer Banish care

194

meet every youth who tyes of friendship bind
let him be fremit-fled who lags behind
be deemd a creeping span[i]el of state
and be the Butt of Bonny lasses hate
But to ilk archer who in good array
helps to adorn the March and Gambols gay
May ilka Patriot be his friend & prope
and softest Beauty gratifie his hope
These are rewards that can make life flow even
only bestowd on favourites of Hevven
Hail to the patriot chiefs who Grace the Band
May they still brook as they deserve command
May still their publick generous thought d[i]fuse
a joy unkend to those who power abuse
to latest ages may their fame desend
and to esteem their offspring recomend
Let sounds melodious echoe throw the air
and far frae noble patriots banish care
Clarinda smiles Calista looks serene
in lovely state they press the flowry green
a Thousand Beautys coppy from the pair
and by the Imitation look more fair
O Best of Paterns may you ever shine
the Leading Stars of Graces maist devine
when springing Beautys yet in lovely Bud
shall act with grandure what is wise & good
not rightly understood by Cloudy wights
who cannot place things in their proper light
to grace whats just convincingly theyl say
Clarinda and Calista Led the way
Let sounds melodious Echo throw the air
and far frae Patriot Beauty Banish care
Let spareking Bumpers Blythl[e]y wheel arround
and with the Best & fairest Toasts be crownd
such healths as makes the honest heart to Glow
of every worthy Scot who draws the Bow
and scorns to act a damnd or dirty thing
against his countrey conscience and his King,

195

who can look doun with virtuous disdain
on sic as dar trock them baith for gain
Dear Clara too in whom the Graces meet
with amacordia every way complete
with charms divine awaking softest Love
adorn the field and the parade approve
stand yont vile Things you must not interfere
with their Just Joys to whom their rights are dear
Dear be his Nation to ilk Archers heart
so may just heaven pay hame his high desert
with sic rewards no canker can destroy
when thers no conscious guilt to sour his Joy

[To the Royal Company of Archers]

[_]

[Edinburgh] [c. 1726]

what Joyous Din thus strikes my Ear
what mean these preparations gay
for what these clangors loud & clear
that in my night strikes up a day

P[oet]

Great Dame lift up your awfull head
and view the amiable show
Behold your Brave and Stalward brood
who march to draw the martial bow

Their Native Courage dignified
with art[s] Easyest dress

[_]

(The fragment ends here)

196

[A Marching Song]

[_]

[c. 1726]

O Come Let us be Joving
& merry mery Roving
come let us all agree
Then to the Links weer going
our Bows and arrows showing
with Rank and file in order
as every ane may se

O Calidonia wonder
the next line is a Blunder
how proud now may ye be
They Daylie are Increasing
in hopes of New Succession
to free us frae oppress[ion]
& bring us Libertie

[To a Gentleman in Ireland]

[_]

[c. 1726]

Safely oer the Hibernian Strand
your Blyth Epistle came to hand
But my Proud Muse was at a stand
when first We Red it
when she tween dock & Pos[t]script fand
Nae man to Dad it

what Father's he that thinks't a shame
to let his Yellings bear his name
far less shoud Poets Sons of fame
Desert their Lays
when none of mankind have a Claim
to sae much Praise

197

and Better Loost and Sae ye think
wha at my fauts sae kindly wink
and Ruse me my Rimes in Clever Clink

[_]

(The fragment ends here)

To my unknown Corospondent in Irland

[_]

[1726]

Frae Thee unkend a second Time
I own t'ye I have Honourd been
wher Praises and reproof in rhime
you have bestowd baith kind & keen

A Thankless chiel is wordy blame
but sindle seen to affront our gang
and had your Letters tald your Name
I wadna awin my Debt sae Lang

Besides alowance maun be given
to poets of the truest kind
who can nought till indulgent Heaven
with Inspiration Warm their Mind

your Roundells row awa sae right
and what ye think sae smooth ye tell
that speak ye as far up the Height
as Wanton Willy or my Sell

Now that's a compliment indeed
for faith I'm unko sweer to roose
ilk poor pretending Loger head
that hob'ling Rapper-Gaws a muse

Ye may appear when eer ye please
for be the swatch that ye hae glen
I can observe that native bleez
that makes the Poets saul sae sheen

198

for me thank God I hae sung Gaily
and goten be't Baith fame & dollars
taking the start by arts right wylie
of some mair wise and better Scholars

To be oer wise oer Learnd oer Grave
neer claimd my wishing fond desire
I Like to ramble Laugh & rave
and glent with flaughts of Native fire

without Restraint I take my flight
neer minding what sour carpers say
while's dull enough whiles unko bright
I let a friend gang with a fae

when auld and cushlock I design
to weed my warks that Rankly grow
till then I'll not ae fancy tine
that wamles warmly in my Pow

As yet I'm canty & alive
fast rearing up annither colum
as Bony as I can contrive
by vulgar call'd a second volum

to be in Quarto at a Guinie
for first rate Patrons of renown
that has and can turn with their Cunzie
the same in Octave for a Crown

Farwell my friend and lang be Happy
but mind, O mind! ye're Made of Clay
whilk if ye keepna blythy sappy
ye'll gyssen geg & mool decay

Then drink doun spleen & ilka care
yet still within the tether Length
of Reason, that ye may play fair
baith with your cunzie & your strenth

199

My Service to all friends Hibernian
whose tunefu-sauls superiour shine
aboon the crowd whose dark discerning
relish no sweetness in the nine

Farwell again and I pray kiss
for me ilk bony Lass ye hear
with Heavnly Smile repete my Lay
lilt oer my sang & kindly speer
for Sir your & thier

Agust 30 1726

On the Ever Green's being gathered out of this Manuscript By Allan Ramsay who had the Loan of it from the Honourable Mr William Carmichaell Advocat Brother german to the Earl of Hynford
[_]

LINES WRITTEN AT THE END OF THE BANNATYNE MANUSCRIPT

In Seventeen hundred twenty-four
did Allan Ramsay keen
-ly gather from this Book that store
which fills his Ever Green

Thrice fifty and sax Towmonds neat
frae when it was colected
let worthy Poets hope good fate
throw Time they'll be respected

ffashions of words & witt may change
and rob in part their fame
and make them to dull fops look strange
but sence is still the same

200

And will bleeze bright to that Clear mind
that loves the antient strains
Like good Carmichael Patron kind
To whom this Book pertains

finis qd Allan Ramsay

July 6th 1726

MOLLY MOG

[_]

[c. 1726]

The Druken dull swagering Rake hell
May wallow in Stews like a Hog
Let him grumph till his poxy [?] Bones ake all
I'd healfuly kiss Molloy Mog

No sooner I saw the sweet creature
Than the conquering Archer slee Rogue
Shot my heart throw & throw from each feature
So sweet, of my dear Molly Mog

Court Ladys may coxcombs decoy
With e'vry fine fashion in vogue
For me I had rather enjoy
Stark Naked my dear Moly Mog

The alcove & coach are bewitching
And aft to the ugly a Scogue
To me a Low Celler & Kitching
Is Heven with my dear Molly Mog

The English shall hate Beef & puding
The Irish shal quat with his Brogue
The Scot shall have no Gentle Blood in
His viens e'er I slight Moly Mog

201

The Turkish sareglios ye go see
And search ev'ry Jew's Synagogue
And Antichrists Nunreys ye'll no see
Ane fairer than my Moly Mog

ANSWER [TO LADY SOMERVILLE'S POEM]

[_]

[1728]

Thus honourd by a Muse divine
Gives joy above all measure;
The generous lays so darling shine
Words fail to paint the pleasure.

Now I am sure my sangs are good
And all of taste will love 'em;
They must be dull that call them rude,
Madam, since you approve 'em.

Spleenatick wights may rail aloud,
The criticks I defy them;
The first-rate poets may be proud
To be thus blest as I am.

One may his equal recomend,
Having a left-hand view,
But when superiours condescend
To praise, we're sure it's true.

Madam, allow your Muse to fly—
Sublime will be the flight;
You can, and have a title by
Hereditary right.

202

This quality with all that's great,
Sweet, good, and wise are yours.
To guard my patroness's fate
Joyn, all ye upper powers!

[To William Somerville]

[_]

[1728]

with hou much art and turn polite
can Som'rill['s] Muse with Ease
Throw off the sour and draw the sweet
and every party please

while Britains Mighty King's refusd
by a Bold British swain
to Pass who deems himself ill usd
if broke his Bounded plain

The slave whose neck admires the yoke
and licks a Tyrants hand
will say this should a prince provoke
and racks & Ropes demand

while on the other rugged side
the Oliverian sour
run out as far and take a pride
t'affront and tred on power

from Both extreams your Equal mind
Both prince & subject clear
in Lays perspicous and refined
from flatery free & fear

203

The farmer who so bold behaves
you raise above Base Loads
And George who scorns to reign o'er slavves
you've clasd among the Gods

THE MILLER AND HIS MAN:

a Counter-part to The Monk and the Millers Wife. a Tale

[_]

[c. 1728]

That Husbands sometimes in their lives
may be as wanton as their wives,
the sequell of this Tale proves clear,
to all who like to read, or hear.

Halbert the miller, lately sung,
who with a schollars help, and rung
had driven a monk out of his door
wha'd gart his Bessy play the whore,

Some week therafter, when the light
grew mikle shorter than the Night,
and Corns were ruck'd up in the yard,
and nought but thumping flails were heard,
about this Time, their meal to tent
young maidens to the Mills were sent,
to Haby's Mill came bonny Jean
with rosie cheeks and jet-black een,
round were her haunches, jimp her waste,
tho but in Bodice she was laced,
The younkers gabs she made them watter
and uncko fain they wad been at her,

204

yet cannylie she shun'd their dandling
and kept her Jewel frae their handling,
Hab coost her mony a loving glower
and in his heart did wish to stow her,
lang in his breast he hid his smart
sighing frae legens of his Heart,
but by degrees he grew some baulder
and all his kindest thoughts he tauld her,
while the dear lass point-blank refused him,
and for his impudence missused him,
bad him gae hame to his ain Gawsie,
titter than tempt a simple Lassie,
Hab heard her as if heard her not,
pressing still forward with his plot,
where'er he met her late, or air,
whilk fash'd the young-thing very sair,
thus plagued, at last she tauld to Bess
his wife, the story mair and less.
I'm very blith, replyd the wife
to hear Hab has sae mikle life,
Let's nick him, in this merry mood;
'tis an ill wind blaws nane some good,
now my dear Bairn since ye're sae just
with this affair my sell to trust,
to cheat him, wee'll sae club our skill,
that hee'll ne'er tempt you at his mill,
the day's now short, and 'tis not right
to travell under cloud of night,
gae back and see your corn ground out,
and if my cowsie still prove stout,
and for a Grant be briskly bent
seem by degrees to give consent,
say that for anes, you'll be complyan
and tell the bed you are to ly in,
on hand we have sae mikle corn,
that he and Jock maun grind till morn,
sae when he thinks we're sound asleep
right sleely to your Bed he'll creep,

205

where I design to take my due,
by catching what he means for you,
while in my Bed, you may sleep soun,
and rise as leal as ye lay doun,

Thus the good-wife and pawky Jean
contriv'd to hoodwink Haby's een,
Streight to the mill the maiden went,
and after tigging, smild consent,
then rounded in his lug he might
come after midle of the night,
in stealing quiet as ony wreath:
and no to speak aboon his breath,
then all the favours that he wanted
should to his ain desire be granted,
Hab heard, well pleasd, the dear decoy
and worried oer the bait with Joy,
he clappd her round the neck sae sleek
and slaverd her frae cheek to cheek,
Jumpt in with all that she desire'd
to sic a bleez his saul was fire'd,

Now here, to make a lang Tale short
that we may hasten to the sport,
imagine that the Night's far fled,
they have sup'd and all gane to their Bed,
but happy Hab, and Jock his man,
wha maun attend the Mill till dawn,
the Noon of Night a while was gane
and a' was still as ony stane,
The moon was wysing to the west,
the Birds sat noding in the nest,
ther was nae noise, but mill-trows roaring,
and the hard labourd Threshers snoring,
when Hab, as pawky as a Theif,
staw sleelie to his loving Reif,
hooly and fairly did he tred
till he fand out the Lass's Bed,
Syne without either din or strife
e'en crap down quietly by his wife,

206

with dunting heart, kedgie and keen,
still thinking she was bonny Jean,
here let them kiss and court their fill,
for man and wife they'll do nae ill,
we draw the courtain here, tis best
to let you fancy out the rest,

Soon as wild passions get their vent
Reason returns, and we repent,
a crime commited, sinners feel,
conviction treding on its heel,
So fared it now with glunshan Hab,
wha hang his lugs, and threw his gab,
when he began to think if Jean
might, very likely, fa with wean
'twad, with the gracie, sink his credit,
soon as they came to ken wha did it,
then I, thought he, like an auld fool
maun for Adultry mount the Stool,
and for a year, stand like a Sentrie
in a sack-brab by the Kirk-entrie,
syne, warst of a', the girning strife
and curst reflections of my wife,
whilk ne'er will stint, till kindly death,
may prove my friend and stap her breath.

As thus his mind was driven with dread,
a lucky whim came in his Head,
Could I, thought he, perswade our Jock,
wha is young and crowse as ony cock,
to be gliff with Jeany kind,
'twad lift this burden aff my mind,
Sure, of the proffer he'll be fain,
the Deil's ay bussy with his ain.
Come hither, Jonny Lad, quoth hee
tell me young hash, what wad ye gie,
for a kind bout with Jeany Gream,
wha's lying in our house at hame,
with arms arround her head uplifted,
as saft and white as flour well sifted,

207

inviting to the tender tooly,
with breath like the pease bloom in July,

At this Jock's heart gade pitty-pattan
eegd on by flush of youth, and Satan,
he fidg'd and clew his heathery pow,
while his round cheeks began to glow,
Master, said he, my words ar few
I have nought els but a fat sow
She shall be yours by morning light,
if you help me to Jean this night,
the Bargin's haden, said the miller,
She's yours, and I'll direct you till her,
there, take this Key of the fore door,
slyd quiet and saftly oer the floor,
till ye come to the side-wa gantry,
that stands between the Ha and pantry,
there in the bed, that steeks with doors
the lovely lambie sweetly snores,
I leave the rest to your ain skill
to bring the lassie to your will,
She'll not be thraff, if ye be tenty,
to take the measures that are genty,
I gie ye leave your time to tak,
Now swith, and let me see your back,

Jock snoov'd away like ony thing
as streight as if led with a string,
to where the Good-wife took repose,
after the foresaid loving dose,
the lad himsell did canny guide,
and crap doun quietly by her side,
he thought her Jean,—she thought him Hab,
Syn very kindly, gab to gab,
they past their time till near day-breaking
at the auld trade of basket-making,
now having got his heart's desire,
Jock of the Sport began to tire
Startled for fear of a discovering,
Slade cleverly frae neath the covering

208

and staw out quiet, as quiet as coud be,
without e'er saying, Lord be w'ye,
the ungracious brush of foly oer,
Jock's wakened conscience 'gan to glower,
striking his heart strings to the quick,
with mony a grivious cuff, and kick,
ca'd him a wicked dog, to grein
by sic a trick to herrie Jean,
of what is ilka Maiden's pride
when she gangs to the Kirk a Bride,
but what he maist of a' did rew
was the daft tinsell of his Sow,
whilk now fell in his Master's cloutch
and put not sixpence in his poutch,

Here, Canty Muse, e'en take thy breath
till the good-wife has spread the claith,
for breakfast, and call'd Halbert hame
to comfort, and to stuff his wame,
with Eggs, tane cawller frae the nest,
to be synd down with Scuds the best,
Hab tenting with a stare right steady,
a swindging mealtith making ready,
speer'd at his spouse, wha was to eat?
all that great Table fu' of meat,
and these ten Eggs were in the pan?
indeed they're a' for you goodman,
quoth Bessy, smirkingly and leugh,
trowth ye deserve them well enough,
for I'm right certain since yestreen,
Ye've playd a manly part with Jean,
as ye imagined, while kind she
transfer'd your favours oer to me,
sae that instead of a young Lassie
you only kissd your ain auld Bessy,
and I'll refer'd now to your sell,
If ye can ony difference tell,

Halbert, by this, heard he was dung
but, very wisely, held his Tongue,

209

while Jean and Bessy were sae curst
to Laugh, till they were like to burst,
Hab in the Joke to[o] bare a part,
but had nae laughing at his Heart,
thinking how his ain doited pow,
had scrow'd him in the Cuckold' Row,
which gart him blate, and simple look,
and claw him where he didna youk,
fast frae them to the Mill he ran
to manage matters with his man,
and since he coudna better make o't,
to tutor Johnie not to speak o't.
O Jock, said he, ye're not to blame
that I have wrought my sell sic shame,
for our good-wife, wae-worth her for't,
has playd, last night, a bonny sport
chang'd Beds with Jean as they had plotted
sae by them we are baith out-witted,
I well deserve it, wha did tempt ye,
and on the graceless errand sent ye
now nae mair o't, but play me fair
and ne'er let on that ye was there,

On hearing this, Jock's vissage took,
a mair contented chearful look,
Dear master, ther's my hand, s[ai]d he,
the Tale shall ne'er be tald by me,
but mony a time I'll bless the day,
that by good luck it happened sae,
for since the deed, I have been sad,
but your good news now makes me glad,
for you must oun, 'tis very plain
that since our bargin was for Jean,
and not your wife, the Sow's my Ain

—Se vol. 2d octavo page 169. [This refers to The Monk and the Miller's Wife. See S.T.S. Vol. II, p. 146.]

210

THE CLEVER OFFCOME

[_]

[c. 1728]

When Lewis the grand monarque rung
whose doughty deeds french poets sung
when he with shining sword and fire
o'er Europe strave to have Empire
then to win Hearts and be Commanders
french Beaux dance'd a' the gate to Flanders
tho ane of Ten came scarcely back
of his atchevments bauld to crack
in Honour's Bed they got their lair
and never dream'd of Lasses mair

Ane dafter that had a young Wife
which he had newlie tane for life
went with the lave to win renown
with hazard of a broken Crown
sair sighd his Spouse and like a Spout
frae her kind Blinkers tears gusht out;
Roars out, Oh! this will break my Heart!
but Honour call[s] and they maun part
and streight he leavs his sighing Dame
to fen the best she could at hame
And she, wise woman, was not slaw
some comfort, for herself, to draw
From such as like'd better to wield,
Love's darts, than Mars's bloody shield,

To make our Tale as brief's we can,
He joyn'd the camp and playd the man,
and raxing at imortall fame
he in the Gazet stuck his name,
thus stoutly standing brunt of fight,
he by his prince was made a Knight,

Now when the winter winds grew bauld,
and Heroes doughtna fight for cauld,
they to their garisons retire
to rest, & lay in winter fire,

211

then to his Hame the Knight withdrew
with victor's wreaths upon his Brow,
but aft, midst Laurells, sprouting Horn
may bravest wariors' fronts adorn,
when wives forsaken likes blyth meetings
better than sunkan sighs & greetings.
the case S[i]r Bertram found his Spouse in
was Ranting Dancing & Carowsing
with twa three gilpys young & souple
nae slaves to superstitious scruple
Hence Jealousie, that gnawing Evil,
that's oft in marriage most uncivell,
streight cram'd our Heroes head with care
to ken if Dearest playd him fair,
but how proceed to find the Truth?
well thought—“I'll learn't frae her ain mouth
“next friday she's to be confest,
“I'll be in haly muslin drest
“in this disguise by canny jugling
“I may pump out her secret smug'ling
pleasd with the thought, at Time, & place
clad like a father full of Grace
He met his wife in silent Room
where with austere and awfull gloom
“Said, Daughter, as you'd scape the fangs
“of Deils and purgotary's pangs
“hide not from me your least polution
“as you expect true absolution
he said—his bonny wife begins
and lays in light her lesser sins
then penetently next proceeds
to tell her mair Lacivious deeds.
“Ah! cryd she, tho a new beginer
“Alas! I've been a sinfu' sinner
“even with a Captain, Knight, and priest,
“These have layn heavy on my Breast,
She had gane on—had not her Dearest,
roard out upon his faithless fairest,

212

a vile ratrime of nasty names,
for playing at sic graceless games.
“what with a priest, vile wretch, s[ai]d he,
“pray, what do you take me to be?
My husband, answerd she right stout,
(who by his fury found him out)
“Ah, Lovie,! cryd the paukie Gipsie,
“Could ye think me sae dull or tipsy
“Sae arrant, & unkind a fool,
“As not to ken you throw a Cowl,
“you're jealous Deary without Reason,
“nor has my Love commited Treason,
“you are the Captain, Knight, & priest,
“whom I confest about in Jest,
“two Titles valour won to thee,
“a priest now you appear to be,
“most Reverend Father, now resolve,
“either to punish, or absolve,
“your tender, kind, & faithfull wife,
“who loves you better than her life,

Here wit & aprehension quick,
provd notable, at such a nick,
in transports all his joys danc'd,
believing't truth what she advancd,
he by the bite sae well was buckled,
he never thought himself a cuckold.

[A Prologue for Julius Caesar]

[_]

[August 19, 1729]

we Scarce dare hope in these censorious days
with all our dilegence to gain Much Praise
is it for Boys to act the fatal Doom
of Julius cesar and the fall of Rome

213

Some never to be Pleasd may duly say
we can expect no Pleasure from this Play
whoever thinks so, to your homes retire
and pelt your parts on those you please to hire
our Souls tho young are of a British Growth
they warmly breath[e] for Liberty & Scowth [OMITTED]

[_]

(Ten lines obliterated by damp and six lines deleted.)

and beter things from such who early aim
to front these rising hieghts that lead to fame
Let others joly dron away their youth
grope throw the gloom whilst we in quest of truth
discover how Ill governd Passions cause
their slaves neglect Reson & virtues Laws
and hury them at Last throw all that evil
to Infamy destruction and the Devil
Taught by the Muse that clearly points our way
we change our times & place[s] can display

[A Prologue to The Gentle Shepherd]

[_]

[1729]

By Languages at first we'r gently traind
to these Learnd fields wher wisdoms to be gaind
where various volums teach us how to think
but rest we here we doun to Pedants sink
but when aplyd like to a ray divine
they make the active man supperiou[r] shine . . .
we've with the Roman Buskin Laid aside
now brav'ry fierce Politicks—Plots & pride
and streight intend to shew in softer strains
how love & virtue looks on Scotias Plains
wher Inocence unpolishd goodness guards
and fully the low state of Life rewards
with easy sleep, health, joy, and rich content,
and open Truth of friendship best cement

214

Tho tis but shepherds that wee'r now to act ye
yet gentle audience we'd not ha' ye mistak ye
to think your entertainment will be rude
most men & all the Ladys think it good
our [Learned] Author, Allan thinks so to[o] but fears
the diction may ofend some nicer ears
we think not so, & therfore will proceed
to act the blythsome life that shepherds lead
Hapy the youth or son of Lord or Knight
too much his Lady Mother's fond delight
were he hid from himself and have the fate
of good Sir Williams son and Gentle pate
thus give us leave to pass our none-age Tyme on
well a' be Pates and Lesley's be our Symon

[An Epilogue for a Schoolplay]

[_]

[1729]

To day our Scenes have to your View desp[l]ayd
The consequence of cruelty & pride
The Tyrant falls while one Heroick chief
to groning Nations gives a brave relief
such beautyous Painting should engage each mind
to all thats generous noble just & kind
Then since Improvment now is all our aim
we surely may your smiles & praises claim
which if obtaind youl Quickly see each Boy
spring throw his Learning up to man with Joy

215

Richy & Edi

ane Eclogue To the memory of Sr Richard Steel

[_]

[1729]

Dear Richy Welcome to these Happy Scenes
where Joys unbounded shall reward thy pains
The Pains thou tookst to make all mankind steer
aboone the Rubs of Chance and Stangs of fear

R[ichy]
how Glad am I O Hapy Gaist to find
that Death wants power to change thy friendly mind
still dear to me was Edie Love & fame
and throw Eternity shall be the same
Lay Josie in these shaws sae sweet & fair
are we with fools to Tooly ony mair
maun we again watch wakrife throw the Night
and wast our days to set the wandrer right

Edie
Nae Mair O Isaac, needs thou draw thy Pen
To Please the Ladys & instruct the men
the Prude Coquet the Sharper prig the Beau
are names that nane in a' Elysium know
nor here nae party with detracting tale
Strive under thumb oer ither to prevail
here Lov & Honour in full splendor shine
and at annothers Bliss na shades repine
Not sae Below wher thou with wondrows skill
raind pleasure & Instruction from thy Quill
whilst Hid behind thy Borrowed name & Place
Thy Taciturnity and shorten'd face

216

Like haf a God or prophet thou wast praisd
and ilka ane thy fame & value raisd
but soon as eer thee Englishman came forth
one party ceases to extole thy worth
Then Thou Indignant publisher was named
and father only to fair fondlings fam'd
nor did they mind how faithfully and True
thou helps frae me & others didst avow.

[_]

(the fragment ends here)

THE ADDRESS

[_]

[c. 1729]

My Generous Patrons, who have lang
Approven of my merry Sang
Smiled at my tale and own I write
The Pastoral that gives delyte,
And that my Native Muse is able
For comick epigram and fable.
The higher strains I darena brag
Afraid in this I should prove lag,
Yet since in other lays I please
Thanks to Appolo, I'm at ease.
And will not Blush while I demand
Assistance from your helping hand
When I design, with tenty speed,
Fairly to print, that you may read,
The seven-years labours of my head.

While to my Patrons thus I pray,
Methinks I hear 'S[?]abella say,
“Cheer up, blyth Bard, nor cease to sing;
Nae critick sour shall clip thy wing:
I, with a thousand Beautys mae
Shall shield thee frae ilk surly fae.
We'll keep thy cottage tight and bein,
Thy pot in play, thy owerlay clean,

217

And slip into thy purse some store,
To breed thy son and daughters four
Please us, the Powers of Love and we
Will take peculiar care of thee.”

Ye Glorys of the British Isle,
As long as I enjoy your smile,
My cares shall vanish like a dream
Or mist that hovers o'er the stream,
Till Phoebus, with a bleez of day,
Forbids the damp t'oppose his ray.
'Twas [my?] study and my Pride
To have the fair upon my side,
And while you thus indulgent shine,
My gratitude shall ne'er decline.

“Fleech on,” cries N[?]abal, brag or pet
But de'il ye (one) doit frae me ye'se get.
Ye've gotten mair than your deserving,
While mony a better Rhymer's sterving
As ye should a, baith gude and ill,
With my consent, had I my will.
Gie glancing gowd for wicked rhymes?
O wicked fashions! wicked times!
Gie poets cash!—gie them the woody,
Swith to a garret, poor and duddy,
Till hunger has your bulk refined,
For the enlargement of your mind.

[An Elegy in Memory of William Aikman]

[_]

[1731]

Is there a Life where the reward
for Goodnes shall be fully payed
where virtues that the Best regard
shall in full lusture be displayd

218

Is their a Glorious calm repose
wheir neither Pain or Death appears
wher every Joy Transporting flows
unmixt with vexing cares & fears

Is ther a place wher Hermony
and Love springs from the Source Divine
wher souls from heavy earth set free
for ever like high Angels shine

There Aikman is where he Enjoys,
that goodnes which still graced his mind
Now, No Inferior care anoys
but as he wishd are all refined

O Best of men! the muse neglects
thy spirit for the first of art[s]
while she with melting mind reflects
on worth that captivated hearts

That Wisdom witt Each Gentle Sweet
which all thy other merits crownd
and make a man the most complete
To such a pitch are rarely found

None bad more fair to reach that height
than thy dear Boy whom Heaven still just
took from the clod in virtue bright
all free from Earths defiling rust

In all he thought or did or Said
Sich ane Hermonious Beauty ran
it humane Nature dignified
that such a Soul Informed a Man

The Double Loss gives double Pain
to all our weak & fond disire
that with good reason hoped again
in all the Son to view the Sire

219

How vain the Medling Mind of Man
that with his Narrow Bounded Sence
atempts complaint, or dares to Scan
the Maze divine of Providence

See the great universal scene
all things in fairest order Move
The almighty power does naught in vain
and its our duty to aprove

To you kind Sir whose generous h[eart]
Can sympathize in humane woe
I try to sing [of] his desert
whose Death makes floods of tears to flow

But cease self Love to promt our Sigh
Ripennd in virtues Heavens has tane
Our Aikman to his Native Sky
then 'tis but Weakness to complain

come my friend I wishd thee here
go with me to yon shady Glen
there from the world let us retire
to talk about the best of men

and let us give a loose to grief
Since our Loved Aikman is no more
our mutual sighs will bring relife
while we so great a loss deplore

I like the kind proposall well
he to my heart was ever dear
wher now for him such Twangs I feell
as makes all Joys in Clouds appear

220

How worthles is the lack of life!
hou soon the litle race is run!
Its pleasure few its pains sa rife
and shut up eer its well begun

Yet while on Canvas colours glow
t'imortalize the brave & fair
Painters unborn shall praise Bestow
on pices finishd by his care

if any come but near his way
the artist raptures warm shall feel
when a good judge shall chance to say
like Aikman[s] manner its Gentile

O Pope his much indeared friend
who far excells in tunefull verse
imploy thy Lays that worth comend
which we take pleasure to rehearse

no subject can more merit yield
wher truth suport the touring Theme
nor ever was a fairer field
for Bard by giving to get fame

Far[e]well dear Shades tho short your days
yet shall your fame and fair Renown
Last out with Time deserved praise
Throw ages shall your merits crown

My friend wipe of[f] that falling Tear
Let smiles again Light up our Eyes
if virtuously throw Life we steer
weell meet them soon above the Skyes

221

[A Second Elegy on William Aikman]

[_]

[1731]

[Clerk]
Welcome Dear friend I wishd to meet the[e] here
Soft Breath[e] the Winds [and] a' the lift looks clear
to yon Deep Glen wher sun beams sinle shine
throw Shading Birks let's hy & there recline
there freely let us give a loose to greef
our mutual sighs will bring us some relief
whilest we the Merits sing & soul sae even
that made our Aikman Sae soon ripe for heaven

F[orbes]
O Clerk I like the kind proposall well
for in my Breast sic tender Twangs I feel
that all that pleasd me once now dull appear
since we have lost the man to us so dear
what worth is Life it yeilds no stayd repose
when what we wish to keep we soonest Lose

Clerk
Take care it sets not mortalls to repine
with weak reflections [on] the Will devine
all that he breathd for her[e] below
and hinders merits flow to blow

[_]

(The fragment ends here)

222

[In Memory of a Youth]

[_]

[1731]

O Much Loved Youth for thee in tender Grief
with gushing Eyes ten Thousand Seek relief
who with delight beheld thy rising Shine
Blazing with splendor Humane & Divine
Thy Morning promised us a Beautyous Day
free from these Mists that cloud the Heavnly way
when Reason, Sacred Guide! in Shakles divine
and Blinded Zeal with Ignorance combine
to Banish Love & Quench the Holy fire
which makes the Soul up to its God aspire
Leaving the weak sunk in the Quags of Doubt
confirming in their vice the Godles Rout
Thoughts more Elate and of a higher kind
with raptures Glowd in our young prophets mind
he saw he knew & felt that God was Love
and taught the heart in amrous strains to move
Toward that source wher glories all abound
where all we wish & all we want are found
Alas! no more, we Hear the Heavnly youth
with Energy demonstrate Christian Truth
with all that force & Beautys which controll
the Burst of vice & captivate the Soul
to tred those pious paths that calmly Lead
the thristing mind to the Great fountain Head
where now enlarged from every Humane Strife
with Joy he Quaffs the Eternall streams of Life
There Envious detraction never wounds
nor is Low Intrest known in these Bright Bounds
There stormy Pride fierce anger sullen spleen
cease to pursue with stinges envenomd keen
But there in its meridian Blazes Bright
The Bond of all perfection and delight
The Grace we ought to grasp of greaces worth
much disrespected on this Hell-tinged Earth

223

He saw its Beauty & with pious care
Implored the gift from God & had his share
But cease kind friends to wast[e] your useles Tears
for him who now sormounts all pains & fears
Born up with seraphs wings he leaves this Globe
to be adornd with Lights Eternall Robe
he takes his Harp and tunes the Hermonious Strings
to his Patrons praise the Almighty King of Kings

[Reversal of Situation]

[_]

[c. 1732]

Now Now the Glorious Dawning Daws
on happy hill side haunters
for Lords & Lairds prop the auld cause
and vote for Covenanters

Turn up the white side of your Eeen
on the Kirk legislator
and bless the day that ye have seen
a Marrow Moderator

have seen what rarely has been known
throwout a course of ages
Patriots the patrons right disown
and vote 'gainst patronages

224

[A Prologue to Macbeth]

[_]

[1732]

In Mimick Scenes w' atemp with action Bold
to represent great Incidents of old
when Usurpation and Tyranick sway
did on brave Calidonia's vitalls prey
Till Heaven auspicous for the righteous side
defeat th'opressor in his height of Pride
Then Royal Malcom rose, in all thats Bright
Like the fair Sun after a stormy night
and made his Influense kind to all extend
his countreys father & its Bravest friend
This Night we hope to please whilst round we veiw
ane audience of a tast so Just and true
the Royall Band who nobly are Inspird
with Sentments that their Brave fathers fired
who like to think to act & Dress & move
Like them whose Memorys demand our Love
Justly demand these wreaths shall neer decay
highest Esteem and the Imortal Lay
Hail to the Royall Archers who delight
to Imitate these Guardians of our Right
may they with Grandure flurish & display
spirits still Brave brightend with all thats Gay
the worthy Paterns to the Rising age
and patronize the muses & the stage
by your Indul[g]ence will arise Refined
above the Insult of the Inferiour kind
which we'll despise whilst we Your favor find

225

KATE AND SUSAN,

A Pastoral to the Memory of John Gay, Esqr.

[_]

[1732]

The Bard whase carrols pleasd us weel
Whase happy fame shall last for ay
With men of wit and thinking leel—
This gain'd, he wad nae longer stay.
Tir'd with the turns of Fortune's wheel,
In virtues ripe, he sprang away
To Prior, Addison, and Steel.
God grant me, when my years are o'er,
To meet with these immortal four.

Katty

Your welcome, Susan, to our haugh.
Come, let's gae sing beneath yon saugh.
What's aills you that ye dinna laugh
With usual glee?
Ye're a' begrutten and look baugh;
I'm wae to s'ye.

Have ye been wrang'd in goods or name,
Or girn'd at by our cankard dame,
Or has some swankie nought can tame
Or ever mend
Done that whilk gars us a' think shame
Whene'er it's kend?

Susan

The spring-well canna be mair clear
Than I'm frae spots that maidens fear;
Sour reek and flyting I could bear
Wi' far less pain
Than what I thole for ane we ne'er
Shall see again.

226

He's dead! Oh Kattie, Johny's dead,
Wha daintily coud tune his reed
To please the brugh and chear the mead.
Nane drave away
The dronan frumps wi' faster speed
Than Johny Gay.

Katty

O death, again thy ruthless sting
Shall ne'er to mools ane better bring.
He was a comrade for a king,
And clergy might
And mimmest maidens hear him sing
With free delight.

On summer mornings Pate and I
By day-break in the eastlin sky
Aft to the highland sheils wad hy,
And a' the day,
While we on flow'ry braes did ly,
Sang Johny Gay.

Susan

To Gay and to ae other wight
We awe our thanks baith day and night,
Wha did frae rust and rubish dight
Blyth British tunes,
Which ane and a' began to slight
For outland crunes,

Crunes prick'd where princes, poor with pride,
To silly saftness sangsters ride.
Shoud we, to freedom born, abide
Sic fosie notes,
Notes that throw unkend language slide
And cheepand throats?

227

Katty

His ballads a' we blythly sung;
The[y] merry made baith auld and young,
And shall, while Britons have a tongue
To sing or say,
Be still in vogue, and praises rung
To gentle Gay.

How snackly could he with a sneer
Jybe chiels that sell their sauls for gear,
Nor past he porter, prigg, or peer
That fell in's way.
Nane hit their blots mair snell and clear
Than Gabby Gay.

Susan

O canty lad, what didst thou mean
With Sunday's coat and owrly clean
To leave our bughts and bleer our een
To seek renown
Frae ribbons blue and ribbons green
In London toun?

Had ony of them e'er the grace
To heez thee to some idle place?
A daft attempt in thee, alace—
Oer mickle wit
And honesty bleez'd in thy face
That mark to hit.

Katty

Yet dear Clarinda—bonnier nane
Wha grace the court or glad the plain—
Great, good, and bountifou, did deign
In gracious way

228

To prop, to credit, and maintain
The aefauld Gay.

His worth she tented, lik'd his sang,
And rais'd him frae the vulgar thrang.
May a' her years be blyth and lang
We sooth-fast pray,
Wha frae laigh poortith's wissen'd fang
Preserv'd our Gay.

Susan

Waesme! as aft as I shall keek,
On his bound Book, and Shepherd's week,
Saut Tears will flood adoun my Cheek
It shou'd be sae,
Since lang and bootless we may seek,
For ane like Gay—

I'm sure the Show-fouk o' the Stage,
Wha mint to mend the Gawky Age,
Will ne'er play o'er his Op'ra page
Withouten Grief,
For him wha bauldly durst engage
Wi' ilka Thief

Frae Thieves that under Coro'nets hide,
And in their Coach and Sixes ride,
To them wha o'er the Country wide,
Demand your Purse;
Throw' a' their Crooks he was our Guide,
And their great Curse.

229

Katty

His Roundels a' were snod and sweet,
Well taught he how to wawk the Street,
On drouthy Days, in Wind and Weet,
His Sonnet tells;
How we frae mischiefs, we might meet,
Should shield our Sells

Like snacky Easop too right slee,
He with a' Ranks of Men made free,
And wyl'd us frae our fau'ts wi' Glee
And Moral Saws;
Mair pithy, Men of Sense agree,
Than stonkard Laws.

Susan

If honest Teachers have a right,
To dwell where never was a Night,
If tunefu Sauls rise ever bright,
Sure virtuous Gay;
Lous'd frae his Cares tow'rs to the Height
Of Bleezing Day.

But see my Lass yon sooty Cloud,
Is burning with a stormy Thud
Lets kilt our coats and hame-o'er Scud
And cease to mourn,
For tho our Een should rain a Flood,
He'll ne'er return.

230

TO THE Rt HONble SUSANA, COUNTESS OF EGLINTOUN.

The Muse's Salutation, on New Years Day 1733 after the late sickly weather.

The Sun, with a' his haelsome Rays,
was far to southern nations gane,
dreary our nights, and short our Days,
Naked, and blashy, was the plain.
Nae verdent leaf wav'd on the Tree,
Nor flowers upon the meadows blew,
Spates flow'd in Lochs upon the Lee,
the Heights were of a wissened hew,
Nature waxd heavy, sour, and dowf,
Dumb were the tunefu shepherds' reeds,
Nor coud the Birds the carrols sowf,
But droopt the wing and hid their Heads.
The Lazy south wind tholl'd the mist
to hover thick, oercharg'd with Death,
Then feverish mortalls e'er the[y] wist
Glow'd in the Cauld and gasp'd for breath.
Even Eglintoun, the favourite
of Heaven, and its peculiar care,
With her dear Blosoms fair and sweet
had in the generall grief a share,
Blest Fair, still good as thou art great,
Ne'er misconstruct the will of Heaven
On virtue still waits happy fate,
And soon all oddness is made even
Some wandering twangs of humane pain
Make full amends for their annoys,
When by the canny cast we gain
A better gust for honest Joys,

Hast[e], Zyphers, blaw the welkin clear,
Drive a' the stagnant damps away;
Phebus return, with this new year
and bless us with thy Shining Day.

231

A good New Year to Eglintoun,
on her and on her Lovely Care,
Heaven pour thy best of favours doun
and lang a life sae precious spare,
Daughters of Thule that wad shine
With a' that captivates the Heart,
Copy a patern sae divine
And rise aboon affected art,
Do good things, in a gracefu way,
be never mean, nor puff'd with pride,
Mingle the solid, with the gay,
Beauty, and Honour, neer divide
Then shall the admiring world allow
that you've coppyd happylie and well
bright Eglintoun, the standard true,
in whom the conquering charms excell.

To Dr Robinson when at Edinburgh July 30th 1734

Now troth dear Doctor it is kind
and shaws a Cowthie Aefauld mind
in you wha live sae far away
on Brittain's sunny side of the Brae
to dawt and clap a Northern pow
owning his roundels easy row
I own I like the scawpy height
where men maist sib to Gods delight
yet pay my debts and school my Weans
by canny conduct of my gains
and fowk think that ane unko ferly
'cause poets play that part sae rarely

232

Thanks to Queensberry and the rest
wha gave what biggit up my nest
when Quarto volume chancd to get in
five hundreds frae the best in Brittain
for which I'll chant and shaw I'm gratefull
'till canker'd Eild make singing hatefull

[AN ELEGY ON THE COUNTESS OF MORAY]

[_]

[1734]

Sprung from the Brave Macculinmore
the generous stream enrichd her vien
that gave & gives our nation store
of Heroes that our right sustain
Joynd with a chief of worth & might
Whose heart the Royall currants move
Stuart in Campbell took delight—
May Campbells ever Stuarts Love

Just pious good and Generous dame
whose noble spirit mounts on hy
Tho Earth thy Mortall fabrick claim
Thy Praise & fame shall never die
but fragrant young as flowers shall spring
unfading as the Verdand bays
and evry gratefull heart shall sing
The Generous Lady Morray's praise
On fortha's Banks wher late was heard
Nought but the gay and chearful sound
while Morrays liberal hand debard
all wants and Dealt her Bliss arround

233

Now sullen grief shades every face
tears flow where smiles were usd to brood
While with a great yet easy grace
She grandure mixt with all thats good.

Let all who blosomned in her shine
To every mour[n]ful thought give way
tis a just debt none shoud decline
A nation should the Tribute pay

[In Praise of Caroline]

[_]

[c. 1735]

Allan
The weets awa the morning fair
nae rumbling wind desturbs the air
the Birds are singing throw the shaws
Echoes repete the watter faws
the Bees have left their waxy Bowers
to suck their sweetnes frae the flowers
a' things agrree in humour gay
to make this out a pleasant day
Then come my Lasie lets lean doun
here distant frae the dinsome Toun
and help me as thou aft hast done
to put my Landart pipes in tune

Muse
Ah Shepherd thou at last maun tire
for Eild will sloken out thy fire

234

consider on thy borrowed een
and fifty winters thou hast seen
since now thy youthfu flames away
forget to sing & learn to pray

Bard
Oh say na that again my Dear
I yet have health & fancy clear
& gust the pleasures of the plain
as heartyly withouten pain
as when you taught me by yon spring
My Gentle Shepherds Loves to Sing

Muse
I'm blith to hear't than ne'er be Dowf
as lang's ye can a sonnet sowf
I never will my help refuse
and now what subject do ye chuse

Bard
I fain would sing of Caroline
our Lady gracious sweet & sheen
whase goodness keeps our Joys alive
wha takes delyte to see us thrive
sent doun frae heaven without a flaw
a Nursing Mother to us a'
wha finds our pleasure & our pain
as touching as they were her ain
a thousand ways she has found out
to bring our happynes about

235

amang the lave the other day
her Lads & Lasies heard her say
That she & a' her Bony Breed
Shoud nae mair Busk in foraign weed
but cast a coppy to the Rest
by being in hamelt cleathathing dress[ed]
Now spinsters with the nicesest care
twine sma ye're lint and bleach it fair
Let lang extended webs be seen
like new fawn snaw on ilka green
Shepherds be tenty of your sheip
and frae their Backs a Treasure Reip
a Treasure that befar excells
hoards howkit out of Spanzie fells
ye Lads that Labour on the Loom
be nae mair fleyd for purses Toom
wark true & tight ye'll never fail
to have a clever canny sale

To the Countes of Eglingtoun with the bass-relief Bustos of the 12 Cesars

[_]

[1735]

These first Imperial twelve who blaze
So bright in antient story
Who did by noble conquest raise
old Rome to all her Glory
Attend you ladyship in Bust
were they in Being now
Sure Julius or the great Agust
would share the world with you

236

Dalkieths Welcome to Her prince

ane ode

His Grace Duke of Buccleughs return to Scotland 1735

Ye winds Ly Hush within your caves
auld ocean calm thy roaring waves
fair sun with brighter rays arise
and wheel arround unclouded skys
Flora & ceres lift your painted heads
oer gilded plains & verdant meads
Tune all your notes that spread the wing
and Joyn in concert while we sing
a welcome to our gracious Lord
by all his subjects Hearts adord
Thousands who his kind Influence feell
Grateful to Heaven devoutly kneel
that for them such a prince was born
whose crouding virtues strive t'adorn
these Honours that are handed Doun
from Royal Blood, & old renown
Thus all the good & great unite
to make his character complete.
Propitious power who ever guards
the patriot and his worth rewards
on our dear prince thy Blessing Shower
who coppying heaven Imploys his power
and all the virtues of his mind
in actions noble just, & Kind
witness the chearfull Smiles we trace
on every pleasd Depantant face
who're blest with such a happy fate
upon the Godlike man to wate
get up ye Nymphs & all ye swains
that dwell oer his extended plains

237

from mountains where your flocks you feed
from every Holm & flowry mead
wher millions of Black catle stray
and round the chry[s]tall margins play
from Ridges that the Dales adorn
with Richest Loads of various corn
with heartsome Look in best array
ye Blythsome Lads & Lases gay
soon as your healthfull labours past
and phebus dips down to the west
meet on the green & by the spring
lead out the dance & sweetly sing
your joys for your brave Lord returnd
whose absence you oftimes have mournd
and let this thought still chear your Blood
that he delights to do you good
and on your thriving neer will frown
whilst he esteems you as his own
beneath whose shining Influence
who is your Patron & Defence
flourish, strangers to the pain
[of] those who drag a Tyrants chain
and wish th'oppressor far away
while you Implore your prince's stay
Ye Scotian chiefs who oft decline
in your own proper Sphere to Shine
while like Satelitys you Roam
who'd shine the first Rate Stars at home
Coppy from Brave Buccleught the art
to gain the Love of every heart
by chusing on these field[s] to move
that God & Nature bids you Love
wher honours shall flow like a stream
from honest hearts that gush esteem
joynd with that humble will shall make
them for you all Hazards undertake
and if its cald for at their Hand
even hazard Life at your command

238

Hear us you powers who mankind rule
by your divine almighty will
Let Healthy Days of Lengthend date
Be our great Scots propitious fate
Croud all his hours with that delight
to which the Patriot has a right
The wish of all the best of Scots
from cheviot Hills to John a Grots
heard by the Muses who rejoyce
to Echo round the general voice
delighted with the task divine
to sing the virtues that combine
and give the Great the fairest shine

Epistle to John Wardlaw

[_]

[June, 1736]

My worthy friend, I here conjure ye,
By the respect I ever bure ye,
You'll let me ken, by your niest letter,
Why ye hae been sae lang my debtor.
I charge ye by these royall names,
Frae Fergus Furst, to Octave James,
As loyalty you still exprest,
To mind your friend whan he's distrest,
Distrest wi' little trading gawin,
And the driegh income of what's awin,
The curst peremptor, London bills,
That gif return'd, our credit kills.
Then there's the necessars of life,
That crave frae ane that has a wife,
House-hawding, baith in milk and meall,
And mutton, beef, and shanks o' veall;

239

Nay, now and then, aff care to syne
A sneaker, or a waught o' wine;
And that the getlings prove na fools,
They maun be hawden att the schools.
All these require the ready down
Frae us wha live in Borrowstown,
That neither hae nor barn, nor byre,
Washing, nor elding for our fire;
Nor sheep, nor swine, or hens, or geese,
Nor sarking lint, or claithing fleece,
Unless that Dubbies-land be staickit
By us, we e'en may strutt stark naiket
And starve—While ye jock upo' lands,
Have ilka thing laid to your hands
Of whatsoe'er ye stand in need,
Of your ain growth and your ain breed.
Frae udders of your kine and ewes
Your cream, your cheese, your butter flows;
Your eggs and chickens (best o' fare)
Are yours, withouten ony care;
The nursing hen asks nae mair pay,
But only what ye fling away;
Whane'er ye like ye cram your creels
Wi' trouts, and pikes, and carps, and eels;
Horse-laids of fruit bob on your trees,
The honey's brought you by the bees;
Roots for your pott ye hae in plenty,
Wi' artichoaks, and bow-kaill dainty;
For gryce and goslings, calves and lamb,
Ye've meickle mair, nor can ye cramm;
Your bannocks, grow upon your strae
Your barley, brings you usquebae.

From what I've said, its eith to prove
You shou'd not filthy lucre love;
What use for cash hae landwart lairds,
Unless to play't att dice or cards,
If useless in your poutch, 't wears less,
Until it grows as smooth as glass.

240

Now since it obvious is and plain,
That coin so worthless is and vain
Wi' such as you—Let me advise ye
Ne'er let regards for it intice ye,
To haud your hands o'er hard about it,
And since we canna fend without it,
Pray gather't up, white, yellow, brown,
And pack it in to our poor town.

Now either do this same, frae hand
Or keep it; and gie us the land.
Before you een sett wicked Tray,
That barking satt upo' the stray,
Yet cou'dna mak a meall of meat o't,
But wadna let poor horsie eat o't.
Wadd ye to what I say agree,
Ye soon wou'd ken what drinkers drie.

Thus far, Sir, I have merry been,
As a sworn enemy to spleen,
And hearty friends, like us, weell ken,
There's nought ill said, thats no ill ta'en.
My proper view, ye'll eithly find
Was mainly to put you in mind
I wad be vext, were ye unkind;
But never having reason gi'en,
I hope you're still what ye hae been,
As you in mony ways did show it,
The Friend and Patron of your Poet.

A. R.

UPON THE RIGHT REV(EREN)D RALPH ERSKIN

[_]

[1737]

Behold the man whose tunefull tone
would melt a very heart of stone,
When he against the Drunkard roars
or lays about him at the Whores.

241

O thou great whore of Babel fear
thy forsaid downfall draweth near
For Ralf the Seir, Ralf hath said
thou on thy Back shall soon be laid,
This is the man who far and near
the Marrow Moderns flock to hear,
Him prove these Brethren want a missive
that take the Oaths and Are Submissive,
Who blinded with the light of Reason,
find out no Godliness in Treason,
Obeying laws like Simple Sotts
to which Black Bishops gave their Votes,
Who only preach against our Crimes
but never touch upon the Times,
While Such in Common Doctrines juggle,
Great Ralf converts with Rhime & Ridle,
All hail Dunfermling's shining star
thy face & verse shall travell far,
And make mae people laugh & sleep,
than 'eer thy Sermons caus'd to weep.

MR. EBENEZER ERSKINS PROTEST

Against Five of his Elders for their Submission to Order & Government, and Summonding them from his Pulpit in Stirling to appear before the Tribunall of Jesus Christ—Versified.

[_]

[1736 or 1737]

Since ther is nothing should be done
in the House of him that rules aboon
but what sutes with his will—or mine
who am his plenipo Divine
and seeing the old Jewish nation
under the Antient dispensation

242

in observation were so strict
that not one nail or pin or stick
were shap'd or placed withouten order
in Tabernacle's rail or Border
how much more then should our new rules
be onserv'd by us who are greater fools
then hear ye Elders worst & best
me Ebenezer take protest
That in my kirk there may no flaw stick
by a sad sentance Ecles'astick
Tyranical and high Erastin
Confirm'd by magistrates unchristian
who without the least Marrow Grace
set up Roost Rullers of this place
and by coroboration drumbly
have broke the Kirk-house order comely
by wedging in, who we may call
Erastian Elders nominall
in number five—'gainst my Commanding
I saw besides the offering standing,
cash for the poor colecting, who
have not a title to do so.

On which for the exoneration
of my oun conscience & discration
I in my Master's name, and mine—
and each Seceding learn'd Divine
also in name of the Eleven
Elders wha ken the gate to Heaven
ound to have been true blew proffessors
by their most worthy predecessors
Prottest that now my Preaching here
connected with their standing there
may not infer homologation
of consequence to congregation
but whate'er loss the parish poor
may suffer by them at the door
be charg'd to them and all the unblest
Who dare to adhere or to assist.

243

on which forsaid before the world
I do as messenger and Herauld
of my great Master, in his name
summon all you that bear the blame
you intrometters with the Siller
Henry Christy—& Andrew Miller
Robert Banks and William Macbane
and Hary Allan for what ye hae done
all to compere with one accord
before Tribunall of the Lord
to answer what you have to say
for your said conduct on that day
as also I add summond letters
to all your aiders and abettors
oer all the Earth both great & small
with the black Diel to drive ye all
to his Tolbooth where flogs & fetters
may teach you to obey your Betters.

[On Church Patronage]

[_]

[March 1738]

Hear O hear ye silly sheep,
for sheep I well may call ye
who're now so snoold ye dare na cheep
Tho Patronages Gall ye

Oh on these days turn back your Eeen
when we were Brave & Bigg
and fought it fine on Rulion Green
and eke at Bothwell Brig

244

These These wer[e] Times ay Times indeed
when folk woud rather swing
or on a Scafold give their Head
as yeild to Lord or King

Now godles Patrons manage Calls
and had the Kirk but ill up
oer Bellys of ten Thousand Sauls
ye'r Vacancys they fill up

with Trucklers that will start at Treason
who wad with Marrow Mingle
the Ranting of their Sence & Reason
and Heathenish Morall Jingle

o fy for shame will no Bauld stirk
now head the Honest Rable
with forks & flails to free the Kirk
from all this Brood of Bable

THE MARROW BALLAD

On Seeing a Stroling Congregation Going to a Field Meeting, May 9th, 1738.

[_]

To the Tune of: Fy let us a' to the Bridal.

O fy let us a' to the meeting
for there will be canting there
Where some will be laughing some greeting
at the preaching of Erskine and Mair
then rouze ye up, Robie and Willy;
The lasies are raiking awa
in petty-coats white as the lilly
And biggonets prind on fou braw.

245

And there will be blinkan eyed Bessy
blyth Baby, and sweet lipet Megg
and mony a rosie cheek'd Lassie
with coats kiltet to their mid-legg.
to gar them gang clever and lightly
we'll carry their hose and their shoon
syne kiss them and clap them fou tightly
as soon as the sermon is done.

The sun will be sunk in the west
before they have finishd the wark
then behind a whin Bush we can rest—
ther's mekle good done in the dark.
There Tammy to Tibby may creep
Slee Sandy may mool in with Kate
while other dowf sauls are asleep
we'll handle deep matters of State.

And shoud we deserve the black stools
for geting a gamphrell with wean
Wee'll answer we're no siccan fools
to obey them that have the oaths tane.
when the lave's to the parish Kirk Gawn
on Sundays—we'll rest us at hame
an' runing to Hills now and than
Makes it nowther a Sin nor a Shame

Then up with the Brethren true blew
wha lead us to siccan delight
and can prove it altho they be few,
that ther is naebody els wha is right.
and doun with all government Laws
that areimade by the Bishops of Baal
and the the ves wha climb oer the Kirk waw
and come not in by a right call.

246

TO MR. JAMES HOME

Sir,

These two volumes come to prove
Your poet's gratitude and love
To you whose taste and friendly spirit
Encourage the least mints of merit
Impartially, without regard,
Whether in shepherd, lord or laird;
For which and many another favour
That bind me to my best behaviour
I from this honest heart of mine
Beg you t'accept this small propine.
Tho scant the value, yet believe
It is the best that I can give,
And the most proper, you'll allow,
For me to give to such as you.

Then with a friendly smile admit
Me 'mongst your laughing friends, to wit:
Shoot yont your Milton and your Pope,
That chant sublime from the hill-top;
Make me a birth whin that I may
Cram in with Butler, Matt, and Gay;
That when the spleen or ought that's sour
Attacks you in a drumbly hour,
With these may Allan come before you
And to your gayity restore ye.
If I in this can recommend
My Muse to you, I've gained my end.
And if you own that I can sowff
A song or tale, nor dull nor dowf,
At some with no small pride I'll sneer,
Whose noddles are not quite so clear,
And never tent their grumble
While you stand by your

Servant humble, Allan Ramsay.

From my closet in Edr, August 10th, 1738.

247

EPISTLE TO MR. H. S. AT LONDON NOVr 1738

To me, far in the frozen north,
in winter on the banks of Forth,
where Boreas thuds with all his Strength,
through Nights of eighteen hours of Length,
ther's hardly aught coud please me better
than friendly love & your kind letter,
Happy the man who needs not roam,
but when he pleases, from his home,
who, when the Summer fields invite
and healthfull Hunting his delight,
can tire out a whole pack of Hounds
upon his oun paternall Grounds,
then soon as Winter gins to frown
in Coach and Six wheel to the Toun,
there ratle about, in spangl'd cloathing,
in mighty hurry doing—nothing,
unless for Nation's good, or so
the Orator says—Yes or No.

But we, who by our cast of fate
have not been tagg'd to an Estate,
must rouze up all our thinking Arts,
to ravish fortune by our parts,
now here, now there, whiles up, whiles down,
plodding for Rhino, or Renown,
should put our Tallents to the Test,
and of our Bargins make the best,
for, while gay Hopes are our support
faith all our Labour's but a sport,
and in our turn, ev'n in their faces,
can laugh at Lords, & even their Graces,
who rust unactive, standing still,
turn heavy, having all their will,
sunk oft in spleen, of life they tire,
Born to their best, they rise no higher,
the Stream of Joy must still grow less
when no more springs make it increase,

248

Ye want to know, ye say, what passes
Amongst the Edinburgh Lads & Lasses,
'Mongst Statesmen, and Kirk moderators,
'Mongst Gamsters, Bawds, & fornicators,
Then be it known, in this same place
folk seem as little crampt with grace,
as the unhallowd crouds who dwell
from Wapping west to the Pall-Mall.
the Scarlet Whore, indeed, they snarl at
but like right well a whore in scarlet,
and here, in plenty, ev'ry Lad
may have them in all collours clad,
from the silk Damask doun to Tartane
that's manufactur'd at Dunbartane,
a choice of goods, & mighty cheap,
for one a pox or clap may reap,
if with but litle pains he'll try,
for sixpence wet & sixpence dry,
and, if he's not a simple Stirk,
may bite the Treasurer of the Kirk,
for now, none heeds that dismall Dunner,
unless it be some sighing Sinner,

Thus whore, & Bawd, Doctor & pox,
the Tavern & a large white Ox,
are the whole sum for Lord or clown
of the Diversions of our Town,
since by a late sour-snouted law
which makes great Heroes stand in awe
the morall Teachers of broad Truths
have gotten padlocks on their mouths,
fierce Bajezet, and bold Macbeth
Othello, Cato, & Macheath,
now dumb, and of their Buskins stript,
our stage is in its blossom nipt,
which spreads ane universall frown
to see a Theater pull'd down,
which for seven years, at small expence,
had pleasd, without the least offence,

249

advanced a great way to remove
that Scarcrow of all social Love,
Enthousiastick vile delusion
which glorys in stift-rumpt confusion,
gives sanction to Rebellious plots,
and finds out grace in cutting Throats,
which, in the reigns of James & Charles,
prompted these Covenanted Quarles
and heezd the Leaguers up the Ladders
to swing aloft in hempen Tedders,
now since the softener of this rage,
the mannerly reforming Stage,
is tane away, 'tis justly dreaded,
'twill be by Biggotry succeeded,
Divisions from Divisions spring,
and partys spiteful dart the sting,

My friend be blyth, nor fash your Head
with nick-nack of each different creed
that various molds the Golden Calf
from stile of Rome to that of Ralf
yet never from these virtues start
which spring up in an honest Heart
quite strangers to the party Squable
which mads the great & litle Rable,
enjoy your Laugh, your friend, & Glass,
and, with chast Love, a chosen Lass,
sleep sound & never break your brains,
whither the Turk, or Russian gains,

Farewell, & let me be your debtor
for what would over-cram a letter,
till we meet fairly nose to nose,
then balance shall be payd in prose.

250

ON GEORGE WHITEFIELD THE STROLLING PREACHER

[_]

[1741]

Now Reverend S[i]r, after your wandering,
your Theiving, whooring, and your squandring
you may rejoyce, that you at last
on Scotland happylie are cast
where wildnes oft starts to extream
and men of lungs may somthing seem
amongst old women of both sexes,
who admire what Reason's light perplexes
tho' mostly folk of every Rank
deem you a mumping Montebank
yet Self-Sufficiency and noise
new nonsence and a canting voice
oft pass for grace & Doctrine true
amongst the giddy-headed crew.

Here you succesfully erected
your stage and was by priests protected.
there acted oft, nor playd in vain
the fable of your Georgian Scene . . .
unless their souls they strive to save
by giving you—all that they have.

Hail Englangs bold St. George the Second!
who hast the Infernall Dragon weaken'd!
roar on loud Champion, neer knock under
till you have fell'd him flat's a flounder.

But may we ask by whose permission,
by what Authority or Comission,
by what Law Custom or example,
or who imposd a task so ample
on you to act and use a diction
like Apostolick Jurisdiction
who but your self did e'er assume
who but your self did eer presume

251

to hack about & ape these Leaders
who were the first great Gospell Spreaders
Paul & Peter both we knew,
but start-up Whitefield who art thou
Doubtles you'll not accept a post less
than that of thirteenth of th'apostles
of Methodists Generall Reciever
which some translate a grand Deciever
In common wealths where'er you haunted
a beggar snack as ever canted
All Hail, thou devilish deep Divine
whose Theologicall Engine
has got the start of Archimedes
All Hail, thou devilish deep Divine
offered, if given a proper Station
he'd move the Earth & its foundation
the place you've found, & we have seen,
eclipt a Tent upon the Green
in which your lucky stance you take
and make th'Inferiour world to shake
that some part therof with much speed
you have cleverly turnd Arse o'er head.

O Sovran Seer who by pretended
mission, with zeal officious blended
which rather looks like a possession
then aught of Sacred Inspiration
Thou'st by thy vague licentious claver
thy bauling bullocking behaviour
most subtily thy self intruded
on the mean croud & them deluded
At the loud roar of sound's expence
unaided by perswasive sence
yet their long ears have been much kitled
even while their simple souls you bittled
that they durst think nought good or holy
but what was said by Whitefield soley,
their Squinting Guide—to Mamon true
honest as a stockjobing Jew

252

fit qualitys for such a Jugler
a practised Simon Magus smugler.

For certain George this self conceit
of yours that blows you up this rate
must spring from an opinion vile
you have of this part of the Isle
We oun we have a share of fools
that on occasion may prove Tools
to villains who with fair pretences
can cast the glamour o'er their Sences
and artfully can throw in faggots
to kindle up their fanatick maggots
these set aside the greater part
are worthy and of true desert
Just Temperate learned Brave & wise
whose touring Geniouses can rise
sublime to all thats great & bright
beyond the reach of thy weak sight.

To Dr Cunninghame

[Dr Cunningham and his lady's wishes for a return to their native soil when sojourning in Wales]

[_]

[1742]

On Pembroke plains we pensive walkd
when sighing we thought on
the Gowanie parks & Gowden Riggs
of our ain Clermiston

wher now with comely verdures crownd
the Plantings stoutly stand
The Thickets & the fencing Hedge
Set there by our ain hand

253

oft when the Cauldwalderians require
of us a an Pictland Sang
we find our pipes quite out of tune
and a the notes run wrang

How can we sing or laugh or dance
sae far frae friday Height
where Forth from Sterling to the Bass
with Beautys glad the sight

where fleecy flocks & Bearded Gaits
frisk throw the whinny Bloom
that chears the Sight; & fills the Air
with healthyest Perfume

Corsterph[i]ne hills when we forget
and Brither Willys Spaw
may we in Kilda be confind
to gang bare arsd in snaw

Tho fatness flows like a Spring Tide
with Pork & Pudding here
and pears & peaches are as rife
as dog-hips on the Briar

yet to our tast now far frae hame
come short in our esteem
to th'yellow Pound & Cauller egs
and sweet Corsterphine Ream

RESIGNATION

[_]

[February, 1744]

This world is freighted with wonders in store,
And we were sent to it to think and explore;
And when the due summons shall call us away,
No more's to be done but contented obey.

254

'TIS WELL THATS NOT WARSE

A Moral Tale

The Nights were Lang the frost was snell
the snaw wreaths deep on ilka Fell
when Travelers Sandy, Tam and Pate
met at ane Inn when it was late
the Beds were a' tane up but ane—
and not ae Guest was laid alane
on which these three maun do their best
to pigg together in ae nest
Slee Sandy he contrives it sae
to get the midst between the twae—
as warmest place, he thought, till Dawn
to what-e'er side the Claiths were drawn
now past his first and soundest sleep
he fand dificulty to keep
himsell frae rising to the pot
or setting a' the Bed on flote.
he doughtna think of ganging forth
Lest he should tine his cosie birth
Sae rather thought by way of Jest
to stroan upon his nighbour neist
who wakening with the Hovan glow
that frae his neck to heels did flow
Crys Damn ye Brock I'm a' bepisht
says Sandy be advised to whisht
ye're right well aff, sae never mind me
I'm shyting on the Chiel behind me.

The Moral

Thus others view in more distress
than us, makes ours appear the less.

255

[A POEM OF CIVIC REJOICING]

[_]

[c. 1746]

Let Edr heartyly Rejoyce
and waft her thanks up throu the air
Since by ane universall voice
Again Good --- fills The Chair
wha makes it all his care
To Meditate the Common weal
and does the Publick good prefer
to what Relates unto himsell

He Merits Praise who moves so just
That Envys self dares not Revile
upon His Candor we may trust
without disturbing fears of Guile
on whom even jarring partys smile
the Reason's plain they kenna how
detraction on his fame to wile
because that way their's Naithing due.

That Dame who has a Husband wise
and kens it too, with pleasure sits
Viewing his acts with Chearfull Eyes
& to his Rule with Love submits
Thus Edr like a wife comits
Her managment to them that Can
not feard for Loss or fainting fits
while --- is her good man

When fate's great Author is inclind
His blessings on a place to shower,
He raises men of upright mind
To had the rulling reins of power.
Those magistrates to angells tower
Who hate each avaritious crime
And by their prudence evry hour
Do good to thousands at a time.

256

[TO LADY DICK]

Decmr 20th 1746

Madam

Now when the furious Tempests gowl
and dampy vapours cloud the soul
while hid behind the masked sky
no Chearfull Rays rejoyce the eye
while slush and spate o'erflows the land
and trembling Trees all naked stand,
The featherd Minstrells droop the wing
with spirits sunk they downa sing
while thus the bleak and noisie storms
give winter all its horrid forms
why, Lady Dick, when we're involv'd
in the dull scene? are ye resolv'd
to keep so closs your Countrey Seat
and darn your Self in your retreat
The City pastimes thus refuse
and turn your self to a Recluse
Tho bloom of youth with every grace
Shines in your air your shape & face
Come and oblige our longing sight
and sing away the lengthen'd night
the friendly visit do not scorn
and the Tea Table ring adorn
which oft by party squable lours
where ther's a dearth of wit like yours.
but Madam here perhaps you'll say
I've glanc'd on what keeps you away;
to wit, the dull and spitefull jars
which flow from Rapin[e] blood & wars
and whirls about each giddy head
as pay, or superstition lead
to cangle, threep, & gogle sour,
with all the Malice in their Power

257

which they on every person vent
if from their nonsence they disent.

Madam, if I have guest your plea
I with your Ladyship aggree
'tis mighty just and one should take
all care to shun the envenom'd snake
The Haggard Look and tones unkind
sute ill with the hermonious mind

But there are souls, all thanks to heaven
of shining thoughts and actions even
whose social virtues are sublime
and think humanity no crime
these be your choice, and you can chuse
the best and all the bad refuse.

Madam accept of this short flight
with service to your Self & Knight,

From your Ladyships Most humble servt, A.R.

TO L[ADY] D[ICK]

Madam,

your quaint return to mine
I conn'd with pleasure every line
where you so easylie have hit
points of philosophy and wit
the arguments for your Retreat
are just are generous good & great.

Would Titled Scoundrells (that o'er-ride
plain honest men with paughty pride
and Steal & reave at every hand
to answer luxory's demand)

258

turn honest, and that plan pursue
so worthylie laid doun by you,
Brittain would brighten, Trade would flurish
and every branch of Credit nurish.

But while extravagant high living
brings in vile shuffelling & Theiving
to prop the glare of gentle fame
where nought remains o't but the name,
The industrious oprest by Knaves
must dwindle doun to silly slaves
with broken hearts to drag their Mancles
Clinchd round their Shaklebanes & Ancles,
yet force'd by fear to crub their Tongues
for fear their Riggings thole the Rungs
often bestow'd in large extension
by Knights of post & Lords of pension.

When thus accurst the Sacred Nine
dare not with proper lusture shine
for if their Votries sing ought snell
against these ugly Spawn of Hell,
ther's Dungeons pillorys & fines
to eclips them & their bright designs
wherefore Thalia crys bewar
my Bard & venture not too far
with morall satyre to refine
'tis wasting pearles upon Swine
retire from the ill-fated crowd
and closs within true virtue shrowd
thy self, from all curst party strife
the canker worm of pleasing life
Madam with Joy I heard the voice
which corosponded with your choice
and am resolv'd to raise my mind
like you above the Reptile kind
who crawl ignobley to wait
at courts & Levies of the great.
'tis grander far to tend the rise
of Beams that brighten up the skies

259

when radiant Aurora pours
doun joys on Man Beasts Birds & flowers.

Madam rejoyce & may each fear
be finished with this bloody year
but may th'ensuing win our praise
and bless us with more Halcion days,
and the Almighty goodnes grant
us all we wish & all we want.

M.Y.L.H.S. A.R.

Edr the last day of the year 1746

TO DOCTOR BOSWELL With the Two Vols. of my Poems.

These are the flowings from my Quill,
when in my youthful days
I scamper'd o'er the Muses' Hill,
and panted after praise.

Ambitious to appear in print,
my Labour was delyte,
Regardless of the envious Squint,
or growling Critick's Spite.

While those of the best Taste and Sence
indulg'd my native fire,
It bleezed by their benevolence,
and heaved my genius higher.

260

Dear Doctor Boswell, such were they,
resembled much by you,
Whose favours were the genial ray
by which to fame I grew.

From my first setting out in Rhime,
near fourty years have wheeld,
Like Israel's Sons, so long a Time
through fancy's wiles I've reeld.

May powers propitious by me stand,
since it is all my claim,
As they enjoyed their promised land,
may I my promised fame.

While Blythness then on health attends,
and love on Beauty's young,
My merry Tales shall have their friends,
and Sonnets shall be sung.

Sir, your humble Servant, Allan Ramsay

From my Bower on the Castle Bank of Edinburgh, March the 10th, 1747.

[EPITAPH ON ROBERT MYLNE]

[_]

[1747]

Faith Master Death, 'tis but a scurvy job,
To pay a visit to our friend ‘Old Rob’;
He liked good company, 'tis passing true,
But truly never would have thought of you.

261

AN EPISTLE WROTE FROM MAVISBANK MARCH 1748 TO A FRIEND IN EDR.

Dear friend to smoak and noise confine'd
which Soils your Shirt, and frets your mind,
and makes you rusty look, and crabbed,
as if you were bepoxed, or Scabbed,
or had been going through a dose
of Mercury, to save your Nose,
let me advise you, out of pity,
to leave the chattering, Stinking city,
wher pride, and Shallowness, take place
of plain Integrety, and grace,
where hidious Screams, would kill a Cat,
of who buys this or who buys that,
and through the Day from break of Mornings
the buz of Bills, protests, and Hornings,
besides the everlasting Squable
amongst the great and litle Rable
who tear their Lungs, & deave your Ears,
with all their party hopes and fears,
while ratling o'er their silly Cant,
learn'd from the Mercury, and Currant,
about the Aid that comes from Russia,
and the neutrality of Prussia,
of ffrance's Tyranie and Slavery,
of Holands Selfishness & knavery,
of Spain, the most beloved Son
of the old whore of Babylon,
the Guardian of her whips & fagots
and all her superstitious magots,
of all his gambols on the Green
with Hungary's Imperial Queen,
of Genoa's resolute resistance
without Napolitan assistance,
of passing Var, seiging Savona,
and breaking fidles at Cremona,

262

of how much Blood & dirt is cost
before a Town is won or lost,
of Popes, Stateholders, faith's Deffenders,
Generals, Marshals, and pretenders,
of Treaties, Ministers, and Kings,
and of a Thousand other Things,
of all which their Conceptions Dull,
sutes with the thickness of the Scull,
yet with such Stuff one must be worried,
that's through the City gauntlet hurried.

But Ah! ye cry the dear dear Dances
with Beautys brisk, who harm our fancys,
for five or six gay hours complete
in circles of the Assembly Sweet,
who can forsake so fair a field
where all to conquering Beauty yield.
no doubt while in this am'rous fit
your next plea's Boxes, and the pit,
where wit, and humours of the Age
flow entertaining from the Stage,
where, if the Drama's right conducted,
one's both diverted and instructed.

Well I shall grant it bears with Reason
these have their charms in proper Season,
but must not be indulg'd too much,
lest they the Soften'd Soul bewitch,
and faculties in fetters bind
that are for greater ends design'd.
then, rouze ye from these dosing Dreams,
come view with me the golden Beams,
which, Phebus, every Morning pours
upon the plains, adorn'd with flowers,
with me o'er springing verdures stray,
where wimpling watters make their way,
here from the Oak with Ivy bound
you'll hear the soft melodious Sound
of all the Choiresters on hy
whose notes re-echoe through the skie,

263

better than concerts of your Town,
yet do not cost you half a crown,
here Blackbirds, Mavises & Linnets,
excell your fidles, flutes, & Spinnets,
next we may mount the broomy Height
and wild, wide Landskips chear our Sight,
diverted with the bleating Tribe,
and plough-men whistling oer the Glibe,
Thus we, with little Labour, gain
firm Health, and all its Joyfull Train,
silent repose, the chearfull Smile,
which best intruding cares beguile,
and makes the Springs of Life to flow
through every vein with kindly glow,
giving the Cheek a rosie teint
surpassing all the arts of paint.
The Heights survey'd, we may return
along the Margin of the Burn,
where fishes will divert your Eye
while jumping up to catch a fly,
which taught the Angler first to wait
and Hook them with the tempting Bait,
next the fair Gardens we may trace
where art adds life to Native grace,
The Walls & Espaliers Load, & lined,
with fruits of the best chosen kind,
the Borders fraughted with delight,
to please the Smelling, & the Sight,
while Ecchoe entertains the Ear
when rais'd by Notes well tune'd, & clear,

Such Morning walks, the Balmy Air,
improves the gust for healthy fair,
and, when the Bell for Breakfast rings,
at heels you'll find Hermetick wings,
to reach a Table, neatly crownd,
with all that's hearty, hale, & sound,
where in the shining vessels stand
Blessings of Jacob's promised Land,

264

of which with freedom you may share,
for ceremony comes not there.
Nature refresh'd, you may retire
with Books that jump with your Desire,
if cloudy Skies keep you within,
you've Closets warm & free from Din,
where in the well degested pages
you may review the by past ages,
or, with great Newton, take a flight
through all the rolling Orbs of Light,
their order note their bulk & shine
'till fire'd with raptures all divine,
or with the pen, and pincell's aid,
trace nature out in Light & Shade
with freedom, in a bold out line,
like Sachi, or Salvator, shine.

If Zyphers, and the radiant bleeze,
invite you to the Shady Trees,
some hours, in indolence, to pass
extended on the velvet gras,
with Milton, Pope, & all the Rest,
who smoothly coppy Nature best,
their Lays inspired, peruse, and find,
what brightens, and improves, the Mind,
and carrys it a pitch beyond,
these views, of which Low Minds are fond.

This is the Life, all those have sung,
most to be wish'd by old, and young,
by the most Brave, and the most ffair,
where Least Ambition, least of Care,
desturbs the Soul, where virteous Ease,
and Temperance, never cease to please.

So Sayth, Sir your humble Servt Allan Ramsay of Edr in his Grand Climaterek

[_]

Followed by a drawing of a caricature head, possibly a self portrait.

265

To the Lairds of Annandale Conjunctly & Severaly A. R. not Greeting, wishes them all a good Bridle-Hand

[_]

[August 17, 1748]

Let Lairds of Lockerby take tent
how they their Paughty Shoarings vent
against a Troop wha think nae mair
on flieing Naigs to Scowr throw Air
then Lads of Annan think to bratle
round Cheviot Heights for English Catle
nor think to daunt them with your huffing
your witty Kicks & merry Cuffing
Such fundamental reparties
their Dowps will never brook with Ease
but if they should, what then, they'll crack
they were set on behind their back

As for the auld gash Edinburgh Bard
He fears not either Lord or Laird
if they'll but fairly take the field
and feight with Weapons He can weild
for when Apollo lends him Quivers
he'll bring them down as they do plivers
He owns the Dons of Annandale
the Walls of a Goose-pye can Scale
tho on Rock, Beef and Hams its founded
and with a Ditch of punch sorrounded
yet his upon the Castle-Hill
will try their valour pith & skill
for being the fav'rite of Mons-Meg
the Patroness will Lift her leg
and shaw them a Confounding trick
by farting Bullets twa foot thick
besides what further may be done
by thunder-bowts brought frae the Moon

266

She too is on the Poets Side
and ev'ry bonny lass & Bride
frae Salway firth to Caithness Wick
No Sweeter Supports can he seek
sae Lairds even as ye like be bawlan
Your Ladys will take care of Allan

The Gods take care of Cato

[To George Clerk of Drumcrieff)

[_]

[Sept. 15, 1748]

Dear friend, t'enjoy Life arright
a man should rather turn his sight
On those who in their Stations move
below him, than on those above.
To be by vain ambition led,
to have fifty Thieves in livery clad,
with Cooks from frothy ffrance all able
with foolish fare to spread my Table,
Supported by large funds of wealth
and funds more worthy peace & health,
than to wheel the Luxurious round
of Pleasures sensuall and unsound,
I had rather like the earlyest men
on herbs and Acorns make a fen,
all free of Buz in health to sing
while cheap I quaf the Cauller spring,
and pass my circling hours with Joy
which glaring pride should neer destroy,
with neither Drabs nor Duns opprest
to croud my Dreams or break my rest,
or hinder me to bless my sight
with Nature in a proper light,

267

while by the fresh & rosie Dawn
I haunt the Stream or trace the lawn.

That mortall's foolish beyond measure
whose pride enslaves his truest pleasure,
and makes him act what's vile & low
to keep of Greatness a vain show,
weak coward minds who cant endure
the Scandall of being reckond poor,
preferring vice with titled shine,
to humble virtue's Rays Divine.

Blest is the man whose happy fate
has plac'd him 'twixt the Small and Great,
who independant can make choice
of life, both free of Toil and Noise,
and can, in Leasure hours resort,
to Streams & Moors for healthfull Sport,
and for delight, and manly ends,
enjoys his Garden, Books, & ffriends.
O George, you have it in your power
to sweeten life each wheeling hour,
while in the virtuous list you stand
and passions guide with Steady hand,
Indulgent Heaven has given you all
that's needfull on this rolling Ball,
with a Help Meet whose merits prove
her well deserving of your Love,
while Beauty, Sence, & Virtue, claim
Stations in Rolls of worthy fame,
then to your Lot your wishes bound
so shall your life with Joys be crown'd,
nor envy him whose wider fields
than yours an higher Rentall yields,
for tis Content can only claim
every Estate to make the same,
since happynes then is confin'd
to the emotions of the mind,
the Odds will turn out very Brief
between Dumlanrig & Drumcrief.

268

[THE EXCOMMUNICATION OF RALPH ERSKINE]

[_]

[1749]

The Synode to old Sathan sends
the Compliments of all his friends
to inform him, by their right Divine
they intend to make him a propine
of Brethren who reprov'd grow stiffer
and in some whitty-whattys differ
doing our cause sa mekle skaith
by favouring the Burgher Aith
for which we Masters Gib & Brown
to raise your Belzieships renown
have come to a full resolution
for fixing our constitution
by solemn excomunication
to sneg such off from their salvation
and first we shall begin with Ralf
that bungling ballad singing calf
who in his rhiming fidle didles
turnd the plain gospell into ridles
for which and taking Aiths to Kings
and whateer clips Seceding wings.
To cure all such upsprouting evils
we give him up to all the Devils
to lick him with their Taz so snell
doun the deepest pot of Hell.

269

VERSES ADDRESST TO THE MAVIS WELL WHICH FLOWS IN THE GARDENS OF MAVIS BANK

O fountain, favourit of fate!
hou early happy is thy state
soon as from Earth's dark cells thou springs,
at thy clear Head, the Mavis sings,
Joyn'd with th'hermonious choirs of mirth
to hail & celebrate thy birth,
no sooner thou beholds the light
than Nature's beautys glad thy sight,
and Flora with her frag'rant gales
all her refreshing scents retails,
Pomona with luxuriant Loads
Presents the Nectar of the Gods,
delighted with the croud of sweets
which Thee to Paradice invites,
with rapid rush, adoun thou pours
to incorporate with the fruits & flowers,
their roots to lave, & drouth expell
Midst them thy stores collected swell,
into a pond which to the Eye
reflects the glorys of the skie,
reflects the Nymphs of gracefull mein,
who tred arround thy margin green,
and with their songs artfull & sweet
make Ecchoe from thy Head repete,
was it oer thee, say limpid spring,
that the vain fop his head did hing?
where, daz'led with his oun dear Charms,
he fled the enamour'd virgin's arms,
Ay sure it was, for here, poor voice!
near Thee residing makes her choice
whence, from on high, she sees below
her still belov'd Narcissus grow—
O fountain, favourite of fate!
what muse thy merits can relate!

270

hou gratefull to the Taste, hou good
to staunch our drouth, & cool the blood,
for ever may thy spring still flow
and on the cheek make Health to glow.

A. R.

Mavis-Bank, June 15th

TO Sir ALEXander DICK OF PRESTONFIELD, BARONET, WITH MR. RAMSAY'S POEMS IN THIS AND SECOND VOLUME

My worthy friend, whose polish'd mind
Springs far aboon the common kind
Since in my verses you can find
What prompts your praise,
Allow yourself to be propined
With all my lays.

When I was clever, blyth, and young,
In strain stile of my mother tongue
What Nature dictated I sung.
Now as on columns,
Them fair, forever, I have hung
Up in these volums.

O! may they always have the power
To tune your saull, should it grow sour,
And clear up ilka gloomy hour.
When spleen is fashous,
May they make cankerd care to cour
With smiles sagacious.

271

May you and your fair partner lang
Enjoy life free of ilka twang.
To con my tales and sowf ilk sang
Can pleasure bring
Till ripe in years aloft we spang
With saints to sing.

Our sauls then freed frae hools of clay,
There we may hope to sing and say
All that is great, divinely gay,
And flights extend
O'er space immence, wher joy and day
Shall never end.

Qd Allan Ramsay the Auther.

Anno Domini: 1755 Etats suae LXX.

AN EPISTLE TO JAMES CLERK, ESQ. OF PENNYCUIK

Blyth may he be wha o'er the haugh,
All free of care, may sing and laugh;
Whase owsen lunges o'er a plain
Of wide extent, that's a' his ain.
No humdrum fears need break his rest,
Wha's not with debts and duns opprest;
Wha has enough, even tho' it's little,
If it can ward frae dangers kittle,
That chiels, fated to skelp vile dubs thro',
For living are oblig'd to rub thro',
To fend by troaking, buying, selling,
The profit's aft no worth the telling.
When aft'er, in ane honest way,
We've gained by them that timely pay,
In comes a customer, looks big,

272

Looks generous, and scorns to prig,
Buys heartily, bids mark it down,
He'll clear before he leaves the town;
Which, tho' they say't, they ne'er intend it;
We're bitten fair, but canna mend it.
A year wheels round, we hing about;
Hes sleeping, or he's just gane out:
If catch'd, he glooms like ony devil,
Swears braid, and calls us damn'd uncivil:
Or aft our doited lugs abuses,
With a ratrime of cant excuses;
And promises they stoutly ban to,
Which they have ne'er a mind to stand to.
As lang's their credit hads the feet o't,
They hound it round to seek the meat o't,
Till jointly we begin to gaud them,
And Edinburgh grows o'er het to had them:
Then aff they to the country scowp,
And reave us baith of cash and hope.
Syne we, the lovers of fair dealing,
Wha deem ill payment near to stealing,
Rin wood with care how we shall pay
Our bills against the destin'd day;
For lame excuse the banker scorns,
And terrifies with caps and horns;
Nae trader stands of trader awe,
But nolens volens gars him draw.

'Tis hard to be laigh poortith's slave,
And like a man of worth behave;
Wha creeps beneath a laid of care,
When interest points he's gleg and gare,
And will at naithing stap or stand,
That reeks him out a helping hand.

But here, dear Sir, do not mistake me,
As if grace did sae far forsake me,
As to allege that all poor fellows,

273

Unblest with wealth, deserv'd the gallows.
Na, God forbid that I should spell
Sae vile a fortune to mysell,
Tho' born to not ae inch of ground,
I keep my conscience white and sound;
And tho' I ne'er was a rich heaper,
To make that up I live the cheaper;
By this ae knack I've made a shift
To drive ambitious care a-drift;
And now in years and sense grown auld,
In ease I like my limbs to fauld.
Debts I abhor, and plan to be
Frae shochling trade and danger free,
That I may, loos'd frae care and strife,
With calmness view the edge of life;
And when a full ripe age shall crave,
Slide easily into my grave.
Now seventy years are o'er my head,
And thirty mae may lay me dead;
Should dreary care then stunt my muse,
And gar me aft her jogg refuse?
Sir, I have sung, and yet may sing,
Sonnets that o'er the dales may ring,
And in gash glee couch moral saw,
Reese virtue and keep vice in awe;
Make villainy look black and blue,
And give distinguish'd worth its due;
Fix its immortal fame in verse,
That men till doomsday shall rehearse.

I have it even within my pow'r,
The very kirk itself to scow'r,
And that you'll say's a brag right bauld;
But did not Lindsay this of auld?
Sir David's satyres help'd our nation
To carry on the Reformation,
And gave the scarlet whore a box
Mair snell than all the pelts of Knox.

274

Thus far, Sir, with no mean design,
To you I've poured out my mind,
And sketch'd you forth the toil and pain
Of them that have their bread to gain
With cares laborious, that you may,
In your blest sphere be ever gay,
Enjoying life with all that spirit
That your good sense and virtues merit.
Adieu, and ma' ye as happy be
As ever shall be wish'd by me.

Your ever obliged, humble servant, Allan Ramsay.

Pennycuick, May 9, 1755.

275

(2) Poems for which dates have not been established.

277

Spoke to a Chapin Stowp

still friend we seldom hear thy voice
unless when thou art very Toom
and then thou makest a Clinking Noise
thats hard allowd from Room to Room
how opisite art thou & we
we litle say when Boss within
but soon as tightly chargd with Thee
we coud ding Gossips with our Din

when eer we Please we gar the[e] spew
and Laughing think it curious game
but if the jest we aft renew
thoul gar us do the very same
yet art thou freind to every wight
wha moderatly thy aid Imploys
thou makes the havy saul grow light
and makes the Brighter aft rejoyce

with thee a Kindred I Pretend
we Baith took rise out of a mine
I strive the warld by mirth to mend
as tha attemps by Bringing wine

The Ingenious and Entertaining Interlocutory of The Reverend Presbytry of Inverness

The Presbytry considering well,
and Presbytrys should well consider,
that taking formal proofs and leal
may put the Members in a Swither

278

Their Judgments jumble and perplex
whilst what's advanced 'gainst each approver
hinc inde might the Brethren vex
and Some few pious frauds discover

Protract the Time, our Time that ought
To be on wives and Glybs bestow'd
cause people Swear each Secret thought
such swearing Should not be alow'd

Hence did resolve, wisely and fairly!
that taking of a view compounded
Of proces by the bulk thus Squairly
in order to have Sentance grounded

and giving Judgment therupon
they will have as unbias'd regard
to Willy Schaw and Polson John
and Heritor of a kail-yeard

and to the dross of christian people
who in the primitive old way
enjoy the most beneath the Steeple
and for the Blessing nothing pay

as to the Magestrates each one
who with their power make Such a pother
or Heritors who throw the Bone
that makes us worry one annother

Thus to both sides we'll have regard
impartialy and wherfore not
but spite of Council Lord or Laird
our Man must have the casting vote

279

[A PRAYER]

Father and friend of Humane race
thou greatest first and best
Fountain of light of life and grace,
Supremely good and blest

Whose hand unseen conducts us still
Unseen moves all below
Whose power and goodness most we feel
Whose nature least we know

Each year moneth Day may they begin
& rule their course by thee
Whose voice their courses taught to run
and bade all nature be.

Thee teach me through thy ways to trace
in thy works to explore
in nature to See nature's cause
and that first Cause adore

Save me from vanity and vice
teach me thyself to know
point out the path to real bliss
and guide me where I go

Bestow the clear well judging head
on me and heart humane
That let no prejudice mislead
in this no passion reign.

280

Inspire my Breath from envy free
with Social warmth to glow
to Joy when others blest I see
and to grieve at their woe.

Teach me to drop the friendly tear
to heave the gentle groan
that I may ne'er shut heart or ear
against the injurd's moan.

let not my love in narrow bound
be to a sect confind
but Strech its wide embrace arround
all creators and mankind

O send contentment health and peace
ought els if Thou ordain
may I with chearfulness embrace
and never vex in vain

blest, may I thankfully receive
distressd thy hand adore
rejoyce in what thou art pleasd to give
nor envy who hath more

Riches thou knowest if best or not
be that to thee resign'd
let ease and virtue be my lot
and bless me with a friend

281

Then grant when life's short scene is o'er
in peace I may ly down
conscious of innocence secure
I'll dare the life to come

my prayer, when fit thou hear'st, allow
not fit, unheard may't be
My will to thine still let it bow
and own thy wise decree

Great Soul of all this mighty frame
may loud thy praise resound
let all Creation sing the same
the universe arround.

A Note of a Papist's Preaching

A pious parson, flesh & Blood
Thus to his hearers did Begin
Belive't Beloved for your go[o]d
Adultrie is a Mortall sin

Id rather ilka month said he
with ten young virgings lay my flame
than anes in Ten years verylie
to midle with a maried Dame

282

[A Reply to Critics]

My Bonny Tale on Lovely Grace
gave London Grubs the spleen
and that they might bedirt its face
the[y] fell to wark bedeen

But only Tague & Rook coud do't
These metled Satyr made!
The first cryd C---t, his nibour Brute
and that was a' they said

But Snarling Brute and Baudy C---t
maun Learn with Sence to rise
eer they Reek up my Wings to pluk
Laigh Scoundrels I dispise

[Defiance of a Critic]

Thou envious Thing without a name
spur Gaw'd with mean malicious Spite
secure my Honour and my fame
I scorn all trash that thou canst write

Translation be the Pedandts task
it is beneith me to Translate
but in fair Rays I like to Bask
and shining paterns Imitate

Thus I somtimes sic masters view
and with delight their Beautys see
and can up hill the steps pursue
faster than thou crawls after me

283

To deviat from ones naturle way
I oun 'tis very rarely seen
thy naturale is Like ane ass to Bray
and swear out Rhimes that naithing mean

Let Horace sleep!—he near coud tire
Touch not his ashes! he has none
he's all oer Brightness, Life & fire
too dazaling for a drivling dron

I'll Rouze the Prophet who forsaw
far back in the Agustan days
that I should sing oer Dale & Law
his notes in Calidonian Lays

Thus waken me ye Bards to come
but thou my hiden enymie
be sleep and heavy ness thy Doom
be Buryd in Obscurity

be cursd with Spleen to gar the[e] Gloom
frae this to All Eternity
wha Impudently darest presume
to name thy Nonsence poetry

[Ane Epitaph]

[Here Lys ane author wha had made]

Here Lys ane author wha had made
a muckle volume by his Theyving
And thought to Live whan he was Dead
But chancd to Die while he was Living

284

[An Epigram]

[no Labour is too great for pope]

no Labour is too great for pope
and what coud Puzled Priors muse
none but ane empty snarling fop
Like Thee will to their fame refuse

On Allexr Mitchell Butler to the Earl of Wigtoun

Here honest Sandy Mitchell's earded,
wha was ane enemie to drouth
And's Master's friends with care regarded
and kindly usd to weet their mouth

He hated ilka thing was sour
In conversation or in wine
and did whate'er lay in his power
to make men's sauls & noses shine

If fowk according as they live
be after death—as doctors think
we have good reason to believe
he's not where wights want mirth & drink

[To a Painter]

Painter to the[e] the Gods are kind
before them gratefull bow & ask
their influence to thy hand & mind
to finish fair thy daring Task

285

Bold thy atempt with light & shade
to Imitate the amrous shine
of Beauty Ravishingly Bright
[and] make all dazling & Divine

Thy Maitins said, the steady hand
and all the Justice of thine Eye
let the fair Linaments demand
till Judges can no errour spy

Then shall thy fame get such a heave
that doun again it neer can fall
if striking liknes thou dost give
to Beautyous Walace Ker & Hall

[Leap Year]

A Loyalist with Blyth design
his measures strave to lay
to have his Spouse bear him a Son
the twenty nynt of may

but sae it was he quite forgot
that it was a Leap year
which by a day just Baukd his plot
which had fawn out perqueir

and quite Reverse tho neer it Rung
which furnisht freinds with Laughter
in stead of giving Charles a Son
George honourd with a Dauchter

286

[Epigram]

[Jock upo' Land had Sons eleven]

Jock upo' Land had Sons eleven
and Bony Daughters nine
The Lads were brawny tall & even
the Lasses cheeks did shine

John (says my Lord) what gars your weans
thrive better than our Elves
Replys the Clown we're at the pains
to get our Bairns our Selves

The Hand preferd to the Hat a Epigrame

Ae Day a Bonny Lass and Braw
gat on the open street a fa'
The Wind Blew up her sark like milk
far higher than her Hose of silk
To ilka ane her conquering Spade
like a spred Eagle was displayd
Mean time came by a sighing Brither
wha tenting this Mark of his Mither
as it had been to say the Grace o't
he laid his hat upo' the face o't
Crys out the Lady Lying flat
Kind sir ye may tak aff ye'r Hat
Ye'r Loof is Braid enough for That

287

[Old Age]

When I was a Lusty young fellow
My sword it was tipit wi steel
Baith Magy and my Lady
They Likeit my metle fou weell

But now I'm grown auld & I'm faild
and donna do as I was wont
The Lasses in our Toun End
Crys Jony yer weaponis grown Blunt

[Unrepentant]

But what need Either Jock or I
care for the Parish Taunting
since a we did was but to Try
the Thing that we were wanting

[Cards and Politics]

a knave of trump when catch ye—play
baith ace and faces dings;
then paughty sma cards, wha but they
can cut the craigs of kings?

Britain was like a pack of cards
when Oliver was trump;
the rif-raf cowd king lords and lairds
and head gave place to rump

288

To a Gentlman who would have me always to write Epigrams

That's your advice I Thank you for't
but My Muse better bred is
for, Tho ye Like a Thing that's short
sae disna a' the Ladys

[The Dying Parishioner]

a Drinker sair on his Death Bed Lying
sent pressin[g] for the Parish Preist
to come (&) comfort him when dying
and help to Ease his troubled Breast

the man of God came in great haste
with Pious mind & heart right wae
to help his now departing Ghaist
as far as words & prayers might gae

a while he sat awaiting when
he'd bid him Pray or give advice
but mickle was the monk mistane
for Colvin's lust was some mair nice

these had nae hand in his device
for thus besought he the Divine
Good Sr for Peity Love or Price
procure me some Burgundyan wine

he Kend the Priest did often dine
with a good Lord that was na sweir
to sloken drouth[y] sauls in pyn
with Burgundy or Claret Clear

289

This was his Reason hale in sending
for the Right Revrend Mr Troter
wha left him with sma hopes of mending
a Saul in sic Dry Clay a Cotter

but help the Levit loot him ly
nane to assist him now was found
Till a Samaritan came by
and Pourd french Bawm in to his wound

Blyth Colvin saw the Glas gae round
Just at the closing of his Lease
in Burgundy his pains was Drownd
& syn he flited aff with peace

[Friendship]

Sir while I ly within your Arm
I'm safe well pleasd and kindly warm
having my servant at a Call
my Thoughts rise high my soul grows Tal[l]
nor do I ever fear to die
while thus I in your bosom Ly
if ther I ever chance to spew
the same on me you may renew
thus we by mutual Love shall Bind
our selves in one and plesure find
till by the stern comand of death
we shall be forcd to yield our Breath

290

THE DISTRESS AND COMPLAINT OF MUSTAPHA FOR LOSS OF HIS FUR

A Dogrell

'Twas now the merry moneth of May
the Gowans spangling ilka Brae,
when Dogs grew as debauchd as man,
and after mapin Bitches ran,
then for their Doxies fight pell-mell
when an ill-timed mischance befell,
to Mustapha, a dog of merit,
of pauky Laits, and courtly Spirit,
Supperiour to continouall snarling,
was still sagacious in his quareling,
a very wise and cunning Coward,
bauld among Curs, to Mastives toward,
Well clad he was, o'er Rigg & flank,
with a broun curllie fur and rank,
whilk baith his sides and hipps did deck,
as braw, as a young Lady's neck,
his hinging eyebrows shade his een,
sae thick they scarcely coud be seen,
which made him look as grave & staunch
as some great Dons who fill the Bench,
This foresaid Dog, thus warmly clad,
a favourite by his master fed,
now in the shining Summer days,
had his full share of skiping flaes,
that, in voracious flocks, did nip him,
which prompt the Coachman to clip him,
to ease him of that waukrife levee,
that throw his hide suckt out his gravie,
which had th'efect—but then, alace!
it twin'd him of his portlie grace,
stript of his Ministeriall fur,
the Spaniel seem'd a sneaking Cur,

291

with nothing of that noble air,
and gracefullness, of his long Hair,
while streight, to every head of Block,
thus cowd, he grew a laughing stock,

On which he ran, as fast as able,
to see if nighbours in the Stable,
Sorrell, Blackie, Nab, & Balsan,
would treat [him] in a kinder fashion,
but Ah! these Catle didna ken him,
and not ae friendly snowk wad len him,
but took him for some snarling whelp,
that was stown in to bite & yelp,
and when he seyd to fleech, & lick them,
they heez'd up their hind hooves to kick him,
vext to the heart, ne'er fawn a swoond,
three times he yould, and thrice gade round,
syne doun with faulded feet, he lay
in a bye Hole, upon the Strae,
and with his Heart all in his Hose,
he lifted up his bluberan nose,
and to cauld waws, of sweating stane,
he gowling loud, thus made his mane,

“Alake! how pittyfull I look,
“thus lying naked in a nook,
“misken'd, and slighted by the scorns
“of ilka Beast wears hooves, & horns,
“wha at me neither flung, nor Butted,
“while I in Curlie glorys struted,
“then my least smile wad heezd ilk hope
“and made them blyth to lick my dowp,
“ther was no Dog in all the Citty
“was mair esteemd, or thought so witty,
“while high in favour with my Lord
“by Courtiers all I was ador'd,
“Black be that Day, and never fair,
“on which from me they cut the Hair,
“be warned by my unlucky fate,
“ye skipers of the kitle state,

292

“and eek ye Rullers who appear
“hoold up in Honours, for a year,
“mentain that Solemn look & air
“which make the litle vulgar stare,
“and to your Husk pay homage due
“when all within it wad not do,
“as frequently Experience shaws
“men clad in majesteriall Braws,
“seem Pows of pithy penetration,
“hewn out to grace sae great a Station
“but soon as stript, and laid aside,
“their sinking value lays their pride,

“Oh! soon grow forth ye curls of mine,
“Oh! soon again in ringlets shine,
“Outo'er my Skin, frae Snout to Tail,
“that I these happy days may hail,
“when these regards I can make sure,
“neer given to powerless, & the poor,

This said he stuck his nostirls deep
between his hips & fell asleep.

THE TYKES TOOLY

Of all the Rangers of the Moor
fair Juno was the greatest whore,
none froister scowered the Knows and Bogs,
She was a Toast among the Dogs,
but, ah! what dire mischeifs are spred!
from ills, by Love and Beauty bred,
Empires distroy'd, and private Jars,
Assasinations, bloody wars,
thus fierce were Toolys 'mongst the Tykes
for Juno, when she took the sykes,

293

even blood-relation pled no grace
'mongst the Love-bitten barking race,
The father in the madest Ire
'gainst the Son's throple did conspire,
and uncle curst thought it no sin
to rive his yowling nevoy's skin,
for Juno's Love, the panting croud
Shew'd all their fangs, & gowld aloud,
Ringwood, Ranger, Tray, & Towser,
Ventured their heart's blood to espouse her,
The rageing Pack, all in a fury
Gowl, snarl, & bite, & tear, & worry,
'till many a Dog with gaping wound,
and horrid yelling, bitt the ground,
and meikle blood, and dirt, was shed,
before the Amorous plea was redd.

Like them the Humane race appears
who go togither by the Ears,
and think it an Heroick play
to murder thousands in a day,
and when the Bloody race is run
by either side ther's nothing won,
Our Tale, this Morall fairly teaches
Mankind act oft like Dogs & Bitches.

THE BROAD HINT CUNNINGLY ANSWERD

In ripened years, when Blood flows cool,
then mankind cease to play the fool,
grow very cautious, grave, & wise.
and prodigall of good advice,
the courses that themselves run throw,
they hardly to their Bairns allow.

294

Patricius for his merits known
which none who knew him would disown,
was now arriv'd to that same age
which can oppose love's fiercest rage,
tho in his youth, some would debate it,
he took a Rugg when he could get it,
He had a son, a hearty youth,
who lov'd to smack a pretty mouth,
the lad was lively, brisk, & keen,
not much to ceremony gi'en,
who thought, when nature was inviting,
one should not take too long entreating,
nor cavil much about her Laws
when one could show a good because,

Some maiden auld of envious nature,
or chaplain, sour malicious creature,
officiously had told the Laird
that his son John had no regard,
to Laws cannonicall or civell
but amongst Lasses playd the Devil,
Thought fornication was no sin,
and whored about throw' thick & thin,
unterified at claps & poxes,
Repenting-stools or the Kirk-Boxies.

One evening as the son & father
by a warm Ingle sat togither
where tired with Rambles of the Day
upon the hearth lay favourite Tray
to whom thus spoke by way of squint
the squire that son might take the hint:

Ye silly cur, what is't bewitches
you thus to galop after Bitches
the live-lang day oer Riggs & Bogs
fighting with all the wicked Dogs
wasting your strength for litle thanks
and getting riven spauls & shanks?”

John understood his father's drift
when luckylie to lend a lift

295

a little whelp of humour gay
woud fain have had some game with Tray
he pauted at his hinging luggs
and somtimes at his tail he druggs
which sport the auld & sullen Tike
by snaps & girns seem'd to dislike

John to the auld dog spoke, thus slee
get out ye cankerd curr cryd he,
your Eild & Sourness gar ye snarl
and with the wanton whelpie quarell
you have forgot—(your manners tell)
that you was anes a whelp your Sell.

BABBAND AND TITTYPOW

A Persian Tale Imitated from the Original of Yas Marnalla, Pleasant to Siuvatio, Governour of the Three Spicy Valeys.

How lady after she grew sickly
Without a testment drapt aff quickly,
To nae sma tinsel of stepdoughter
When twa grave pows came in and hought her
I sing the tale to toun and landart,
And verity shall be the standart.
Nor need I the lang-nebit diction
That's aften used to varnish fiction.
Thus far, as porter or Swiss sentrey
Preface well bred stands in the entrey.

Then wauk in, gentles, we are just showing
The honest stepmother a going.
Baband the dervise, her relation,
Bestows what's calld for in his station;

296

Of which he gies a rantan rug
Of thae things grown amaist a drug—
Whyt een, heh heys, and greetin grunzie,
And sic wares as cost little cunzie.
E'en while she had the use of breath
And his right not secured by death,
In part of payment the sweet singer
Steals twa gowd rings frae aft her finger.

In the mean time snack Tittypow
Is doing a' that e'er she dow
To see that ilk thing be in order
When Madam's on the mortall border.
This she performs wi' meikle care
Till the rich relict is nae mair.

What joy it gies dependant's heart
When wealthy friend daigns to depart!
Now there's nae cheeks blabed wi' tears
But blythness throu' forced glooms appears.
Soon's Atropos had used her gooly,
A' hands to wark about the spooly.

“Deal honest,” quoth stepdoughter heires[s],
“Ye's get a skair and that right fair is.”
“Young miss, ye'r servant,” quoth Mess Jon,
“There is nae testment; pray, stand yon.
Lear to be civil in your carriage.
Ye're nae bairn of the second marriage,
Nor did ae drap of her blood ever
Glow in your cheek or warm your liver.
But wee ar her ain nearest of kin
And think it nowther shame nor sin
To nick ye fine and upo' sight to
Sease ilky thing she claimed a right to.
Tis mair, indeed, than I expected,
But since the latter-will's neglected,
Come, lass, gie's in a glass of claret—
A hale fou bottle, let's nae spare it.
I plainly see that ane had twice
Better be canny than be wise.”

297

He took his penfou very dously,
Then fell a plundering unco crously,
But quarrel shor'd to happen niest
Tween Tittypow and canny priest
Till he was forced to condescend
That Titt should have her dividend.
“Then this be yours and that be mine;
All's fair, an ther's nane els comes in.”
Nought in the house escaped their cloutches,
With very meal they cramn'd their poutches.

What in our youthhood we recive
We natruly bear to the grave;
Tho set a beggar o'er a leal flock,
His mind will hanker to a meal poke.

A butter lump, in May well sauted,
Their gabs baith watterd to be at it.
The holy man linkt out a lingle
And hav'd it soon wi' little pingle,
Then slap dash nievs in nuckle deep
Ilk ane their parts peremptor keep.

Speets and racks, pots, pans, and caudrons,
The lady's messen and poor baudrans,
Bowies, lugies, spoons, and dishes,
And things wherin fouk s---s and p---s
Are a' laid hands on by the truffer.
The cocks and hens, poor fowls, maun suffer;
Alak, yer kind auld lady's cavie
Frae hungrey maws nae mair will save ye.

Now whiles a tiptaes, whiles on hunkers,
They scrambled throu presses and bunkers.
'Mang mony things the garesome harlot
Fand a gay miekle deug of scarlet
And cryd she'd keep it a' thegither
For under-mutches to her mither.

To these fair miss had sma regard
And without scruple coud have spared,
But when she saw ilk sneaking divel
Sae cursed greedy and uncivil

298

To take the jewels and the rings,
The watch, and sindrey castly things
That had pertaind to her ain mither,
Gi'en to her stepdame by her father,
Her heart b[e]ing fou—as well it might—
She asked them as her proper right.
Reply'd ane o' the duddy kin,
“Whisht, Mestres, gie's less o' yer din.
It setts you well, indeed, to speer
Gin wee'll twin wi' sic wally gear
To beet your vanity and pride.
They'll look as well hung at my side.”
“Ay, sister,” said the cussion dadder,
“Really, sic things make wenches madder.
They shouldna hae diamonds and watches
That deal in fardingales and patches.
I coudna answer to my conscience
If I consented to her vain sense.”
Neist when they had this point decided,
The siller plate maun be divided;
Which they perform'd with equal scales
And left fair miss to bite her nails.
Wow, but they coud bauth laigh and clean,
Frae gowd and siller to a preen.
Bootless she strave her case to mend—
She's ay snigg'd off at the wob end.
Beds, bousters, blankets, sheets, and codds,
Courtains, hingings, twilts, and rods,
Table linnen, body cleathing—
In short, the greedy rooks left naithing.
They gutted servant lass's bed,
And thus grave Babband to her said:
“Ye maun gae hame and spin wi' me
Or els ye's ne'er be pay'd your fee.
But for sae lang, mind what I tell,
Young miss may lair to sair hersell.”
The very sheets they sought away
Off bed where this young lady lay;

299

Wi' much difficulty and skill
Only in this she gain'd her will,
And that indeed was nae sma ferly
When ilka thing's consider'd nerly,
For the sweet creature to her sorrow
Oblidg'd was a' things else to borrow.
They left na the worth of a snishing
But stoury floor and bare partition.
A mop was like to saw dissention
And jumble up a great contention,
But after meikle wark and cangle
(Deel speed the liars, threep and brangle!)
Auld cleave-a-hair wi' solemn face
He spake and said: “Here lys the case.
My wife, ye ken, lives far frae Reeky;
Then Tittypow I woud beseek ye,
Since ye live here upo' the spot
Gie her the map, and nae mair o't.”
“I'll hae,” quo Titt then, “spite the nose ye,
The lady's breeks that keept her cossie.”
“I beg your pardon,” quo Mess John,
“Upon your a---e they's ne'er gae on.
They for my spouse will do fow fine
And stap her gab frae seeking mine,
Wha aftentimes has wat her cheeks
Because I wadna yeild the breeks.”
“I'll draw them aff again,” quo Titt,
“Gin e'er her buttocks in them sit.
Then had your chafts, make nae mair stir,
I loo to be as warm as her.”
Now ye maun ken after auld Madam
Was boughted wi' the bairns of Adam,
They sent express for further augment
Of former stock to glean ilk fragment;
Moolings of plumbcake, short bread, bisket
Gart soup-up clean into a basket,
And wine left or in glass or stoups,
Wi' a' remaining candle dowps

300

That douminies loos dowps may a' say
Was well observ'd by servant lassie.
Well, embassy was trew transacted,
And crumbs and dribles up were paked,
After transferd with carefou care
Into hands of dividing pair.

What qwam of conscience it coud be
Possest them, mair's than kend by me—
But back, O generous, they sent
The bitts and dribs, rare complement.
But dire mischance! There is a sort
Of greedy gleds hing at the port,
Wha for the sake of king and land
Grip a' the goods are counterband
And pro and con ne'er stand to argue.
These made a seasure of the cargo,
Syne after claught to his skair
And swaloud this sma bill of fare.

Frae a that has been sung or said
Some application should be made.
First, for improvement let me tell ye
In a ye do forgetna selly
And never slight a gowden offer
[To]gather gear into your coffer.
[Think] but a freet these auld wifes tales
[Of] justice wi her kittle scales,
For ane that's rich can eith exhoner
His making free [w]ith her and honnour.
If you wi' brass can theek your front
And pit a good grave face upon't,
Ye may scelp throw baith thick and thin,
Do ought and ne'er be charged wi sin.

A second lesson's worth your hearing
Tho ne'er a barrell better herring;
That is, men may have great preten[ses]
To sanctity, yet want the sens[es]
Of real virtue and good man[ners]
If they of lucre can be gainer[s].

301

This I have scottished frae a scroll
Of a gush oriental drol
Frae virteous vien to—Awband
On ilky Tittypow and Babband.

AN ELEGY ON MR. SAMUEL CLERK RUNNING STATIONER

Ye curious Readers now may Cark,
And greet frae aff your Cheeks the Bark,
Since doolfu Death, that greedy Shark,
Has cut the thread
Of Life, and sent poor Samuel Clerk,
Doun to the Dead.

Wha now alace! when its in Season,
Will publish Span-new Rhime and Reason,
Mix't now and then with blads of Treason,
Folks are sae fleed—
There's few will venture Craig and Weason,
Since Samuel's Dead.

He was of a well-kend Vocation,
A Stationer without a Station;
Wha travell'd much to serve the Nation
Wi' Essays to read,
Against or for the' Administration,
But now he's Dead—

Just as the Pamphlet brought in Siller
He was ilk Party's pithy Pillar;
Nor did he value an ill-willer,
Yet bare nae feud,
To ony Man but Andrew Miller,
Whom he wish'd Dead.

302

When he was young his Parents kind,
Him for the Clergy Craft design'd
Amang the Brethren to have shin'd,
But his wise Head—
To Arts mair usefou was inclined,
But now he's Dead.

His Saul sublimer could na bear,
The Sturt, the Struggle, strife, and Steer,
Hair-cleaving, grano-salis weir,
About the Creed;
And calling ane annither Liar,
But now he's Dead.

Wharfor as said is he withdrew,
Frae that ill-hair'd contentious Crew,
Of the auld usance or the new,
Wha ne'er agreed;
In ought but the rich living view,
But now he's Dead.

In Claiths he was nor fine nor gaudy,
In Actions humble as a Cadie,
In Eloquence he spake braid Baudy,
With open mouth;
His greatest plague frae a gaw'n Laddie,
Was deadly Drouth.

Delicious Drams were his Delight,
Which every Morning set him right,
Nine to his forenoon upon Sight
He well could Skreed;
Besides a pint of Tipon-tight,
But now he's Dead.

303

Aft did his Landlady and He,
About the premises agree,
With pledge ye Samuel, and here's t'ye,
Which clear'd the Head;
And warm'd the Wame better than Tea,
And yet he's Dead.

What else he acted with this Lady,
The Muse say'th not, tho some are ready,
To swear he try'd to be a Dady,
But came nae speed;
He being not o'er stout or steady,
For sic a Deed.

Ye laughan Lads wha like good Liquors,
And in Platoons bend round the Bickers,
And with Deray drive down the Nickers
Your Sport suspend;
Sink your sad snouts like Seggs or wickers,
For Samuel's end.

Of all within the Walls of Reeky,
This should allarm the[e] maist, O Veeky,
Wha'rt posting the same road to Cleeky,
Wha in a Clink
Will up in Girdy's Cellar steek ye,
Withouten Drink.

Alake for him my Heart is wae,
For he was ne'er a Poet's Fae,
But did whatever in him lay,
Our Warks to spread—
For which his Fame shall last for ay,
Tho' he be Dead.

304

On Flavia's Fan

Thrice happy Fan whose Spreading Mount
Awakes the inactive Air
and forms the momentary gale
to cool the panting fair

If litle Engine such thy Art
that Art O let me prove
pour all the Tempest on my Soul
and cool the Flames of Love

Retract, mistaken fool! thy wish
nor urge the fond desire
what you recieve from Flavia's hands
but Serves to Fan the fire

So the poor fever parched Wretch
to the cool Fountain flys
Neglects Machaon's wise Advice
and draws & drinks—& Dies

[CHLOE AND DAMON]

Chloe, an amorous youth desired
Ane hieroglyphick she possest.
Long she denyd what he requird,
And prind it faster to her breast
Till some kind power on Damon's side
(That kens when words from thoughts are wide)
Pearch'd on the Bossom of the belle,
Staw out the prin, and doun it fell.
It fell a prize to Damon's share,
Who joyfull heard the lovely maid
Bid him his purchase keep with care;
Which he with chearfullness obeyd.

305

For why? The auspicious embleme bare
A heart wher 1 and 10 stood fair,
Which we read thus: tis 10 to 1
But he her real [heart

[_]

The word is actually depicted by a heart-shaped figure.

] may gain.

[A Compliment]

anes Cupid took a wandring fit
which frighted Venus out o'er wit
she sought him Lang and gart the Cryar
proclaim wha eer Brought her the strayer
on her Ceolestial lips shoud feast
cryd Colin here he's in my Breast
come pay or Bid Bennetta kiss me
Syn better than ye'r word ye'll Bless me

Banks of Forth

[1]

Say Chloe by what secret art
a glowing flame you do impart
throw ev'ry Breast, when tis well known
snow is not colder than your own
it gives the admiring world surprise
to see that Love who from these Eyes
wounds others with unerring Dart
Should prove a Stranger to your Heart

306

2

Throw varrious climates I have rov'd
and varrious Beautys seen unmov'd
my Heart preservd for you Alone
I lookd I lov'd & was undone
but ah so pleasing was the pain
fondly I hugg'd the fatal chain
nor would I tho I might be free
but live a captive still to thee

To A fa[i]r Quaker in [the] Dumps

A Song/Tune/Blest as the Imortall

[1]

Clear up My Marg'ret let nae care
cast Clouds upon a face sae fair
Examine by thy light within
and be convincd it is a Sin
to Rob the warld of a these Charms
which evry wondring gazer warms
wha Ravishd canna think the[e] Less
than Angell in a Quaker's dress

2

Thy Een that glance with sic a fire
as might a Druid daisd inspire
with warmest wishes werna made
sae soon beneath a Gloom to fade
Thy Mouth and Breasts where charms contend
which Best shall Please a Trembling friend
Shoud ken nae grief nor pout nor pant
or ought to favour a Complaint

307

3

O Margret Like the Friends above
wha have nae ither wealth but Love
dispise the dross dug frae the Hills
(with which the wretch his coffer fills)
and with a Love as pure as mine
within my arms with joy recline
recline thy Cheek upon my Heart
and bid farewell to Evry Smart

4

I'll be to Thee if thou prove True
refreshing as the morning Dew
Thou Like the Sun shall gar me rise
and a' the thoughts of Earth dispise
Thus Hov'ring oer the shaking Grove
a while the Pearly Liquids move
Till Beams with fuller ardures flame
and dew & Rays become the Same

[A Morning Song]

Coridon arise my Coridon
for Titan shineth Clear
who's ther that calls on Corridon
or who est that I hear
Philida thy true Love Calleth Thee
Arise then arise then! arise
Come feed thy flocks with me
Philida my true Love is it Thee?

308

I come then, I come then, I come
to feed my flocks with thee
Philida, render my Philida
that heart which cupids wiles
has ravisht from thy Coridon
with thy sweet Looks & smiles
Coridon thy true Love claims't of thee
or change then or change then
and give they heart to me
Coridon my shepherd I yeild to [thee]
be true then be truen then
and I'll give my heart to thee

[A Forsaken Lover]

Like Lightnings glent she glided by
but Ah the killing Dart
She sent frae her Inchanting eye
flew whizing throw my Heart
as thunder struck I stood right blate
while with a conquering air
she left me in their haples state
wha love ane unkend fair

O Bony Lass maun I return
back to Northumbrias plain
with bleeding heart my loss to mourn
neer to see the[e] again
Ah killing thought! ye guards aboon
or give her to my arms
or with some brighter beauty soon
relieve me frae her charms

309

[Fragment]

[my friend be thankfu for the Grace]

my friend be thankfu for the Grace
of 'scaping what aft cleeks in
The Cannongates a Kitle place
for Lovers to get Breeks in

[A Medley]

1

She's the only one of all her Sex
Thats Ignorant of her own Defects

2

Her sprightly wit & Beauty Charm
if Coquetry coud do no harm

3

The Drawers Tremble when he swears
Like him when a Drawn Sword appears

4

His Cloathes sae Richly trimnd with Lace
Engadge the Eye more than his face

5

Till he's engagd he'll love to range
But get him fixd he'll scorn to Change

6

the Glegest een coud never see
his acctions give his Tongue the Lie

310

7

His manly mind thinks naithing weaker
than win a mistres and forsake her

8

she['s] often Jealous of her Lover
which serves her Envy for a cover

9

he Courts ilk fair & dresses fine
but Love is Least of his design

10

if Thou wants weal[t]h he'll neer be true
for Intrest's his sum total View

11

he strives his mistress heart to gain
not for her oun sake but his ain

12

she's fair and Chast, heavens! baith togither
all thanks to Nature, and her Mither

13

his Wisdom Dignifies his Choice
and makes his Mistress' heart Rejoyce

14

he Thinks nane wise—O sympathy!
unless they're as great fools as he

15

her wit tends mair how to improve
her foly than her Sence or Love

311

16

her faults are few and these not ill
but ah her charmes are fewer still

17

no slander can give her ofence
being happy in her Inocence

18

Ther's allways ane speaks of Her well
and that Beloved friend's her sell

19

he's in a Bady house a Bully
while to some Raged drab a Cully

20

her Lovely tell [tale] Eyes discover
what her dear Tongue denys her Lover

21

by evry one she'll be alowed
a Charmer if she werna proud

22

she the Lest minds and Least admires
her sweets which evry bosom fires

23

his mind with Equal motion bears
the shine of Hope and dusk of fears

24

without the Sun a Dial's vain
Sae is this Nymph without a Swain

312

25

A Smile a Look, a grasp, or Kiss
of this dear Maid gives sweetest Bliss

26

her Graces unaffected Raise
our Admiration, Love, & praise

27

Her Heavnly Beauty will Submit
to naithing but her Lively wit

29

no pain or Labour he'll Refuse
to serve the fair his soul pursues

30

He Loves the muses and his care
in numbers saft to sing the fair

31

he greatest dangers can dispise
when fame [and] Cellia are the prize

32

Bachus and Love this youth command
But Bachus gets the upper hand

33

when Drunk he's Bauld as ony Bair
But fresh [and] tame as ony hare

34

She's chast that never yet perplext her
but nane e'er offerd that ee'n vexd her

313

35

her Lips wear a virmilion Glow
her accents all like musick flow

36

not Dress but she her Dress adorns
and evry Borrowed Luster scorns

37

her Limbs, Breast, face all of a pice
Like hers wha Raisd the Troops of Greece

38

her Eyes can gar mae Men knack under
than Jove can do with a' his Thunder

39

nae Litle ends his Loves can stain
he Scorns the sordid views of gain

[In Praise of Scottish Ladies]

O Climate happy sweet & Rare
Blest with Lovely constant Fair
whose Beautyous forms in Shapes & faces
their smiles their tuneful tongues & Graces

314

the Nations of the Earth excell a'
from China West to Portabella
from Lapland coast where witches Dance
to capes of Horn & Bon Esprance
mongst whom like the first orb of Light
the Lovely Hartford Glances Bright
whose numerous beautys as the Spring
Invite the muses all to sing
Charlot & Susan charming Twain
Pride and Boast of Glota's Plain
Sisters each with seraphick. . . .

[_]

(The rest obliterated by damp)

[An Evening Frolic]

when Daylight's [ane] short while seen
and gees are good to eat
To Dance away a winter een
and Laugh at wind and weet
a Gay wheen Lads and Lasess bein
ly in a ha' did meet
to shaw their metled shankies Clean
and witty Guilded feet

Three fidlers and a Bummin Base
were planted in a Nook
wha lilted up with miekle Grace
Corelli be the Book
they look like Lairds with siller Lace
their white Camrick Rufles shook
with fidles tuned and in their place
how nobly did they Look

315

THE VIRTUES OF SCOBIE WELLS

(A FINE SPRING NEAR THE HOUSE OF PENNYCUIK)

Hail Scobie, halesom limpid spring
whose virtues bid the Muses Sing,
Whose num'rous virtues claim regard
frae Cottar, Tennant, & the Laird,

When the intestine glows conspire
to set our crazy Hulks in fire,
Then Temp'rance and thy Cauller streams
best Slokens out the rising flames,

From Thee the laigh laborious Hind
can cheaply his refreshment find,
His Bannocks eats with halesome glee
and blythly synds it o'er with Thee,

And laughs at cares that gar the Rich
to ilka nook of the dadle fitch,
Thrice happy man thou can sleep Sound
when Luxury the Graceless wound,

Luxurious men your Draughts refine
by blending Scobie with your Wine,
And quench your Ruin's hell fire flame
with rowth of its Balsamick stream,
Then Safely & without a glunch
You may bend Bumpers of your Punch.

[TO THE EARL OF DALHOUSIE]

Hail to the chief of Ramsay's name!
On this propitious day,
On which you to the world came
Let all you clan be gay.
Ther's not a Ramsay the day will disgrace
With a sour look the joys of his face.

316

From such a race, my lord, ye spring
The fountain hides its head,
Ere analls wer or bards coud sing
[Or] barbrous swains coud read;
Yet by tradition and as history old
We learn the line was loyall, great, and bold.

Cease everything that may molest
Or interupt our mirth,
Now since this day is duble blest
With Clementina's birth.
O hapy day, in which to us was gi'en
The great Dalhousie and great James's queen!

Glyd smoothly Esk by his old tower
And tell it to the sea
How glad we are this very hower
Beside the Edgewell tree.
Old Ocean pleased, he'll raise his oozy head
And tell the tale up Tagus to Madrid.

What in your past ancestors shone
Center, great sir, in you;
Nor shoud I ad surpast by none
I give you but your due.
Long may you live till you gladly see
As large as ere it was, the Edgewell tree.

Long may you live, live till you see your hiers

[_]

(The fragment ends here)

[TO SIR WILLIAM BENNET OF MARLEFIELD]

from Publick Jars & Party Squable
that vex the Great and Please the Rable
Sir you've retird with as much Grace
and equal honour from your Place

317

as when in fields you drove the sword
or gave you[r] Councell at the Board
when you for Brittain dard her faes
or for her Intrest sums coud raise
still true to Justice faith & Right
your Character shines ever Bright
But why dear Sir may we complain
must Marlefield you thus strict retain
and all your smiles & witt engross
while friends deserted feel the Loss
my muse half Petted droops the wing
and snarls when Idiots bid her Sing
when merit faintly is regarded
and worth Like yours sae ill rewarded
But now the Muse wad fain Express
her wishes and with Blyth adress
in name of many to Beseek ye
not to desert for ay auld Reeky
wher a' your hearty friends desire
to se you[r] chearfullness Inspire
That Point wherin you never fail
when smiles Invite the witty Tale
Come then & with kind Pleasure trace
glad welcome in each friendly face
who wearyd with Politick din
and common jangle of out & in
wad be content to drap these Mobers
of faithfullness and friendship Robers

Spoken to Aeolus, in the House of Marlefield, on the Night of a violent Wind.

Why on this bow'r, bluff-cheeked god,
Sacred to Phoebus, and th'abode
Of Bennet, his much-dauted son,
Say, wherefore makes thou all this din,

318

In dead of night? Heh! like a kow,
To fuff at winnocks and cry Wow!—
I have it now,—Juno has seen
The fair Bennetas tread the green,
And them for bairns of Venus' guest,
Sae sends thee to disturb their rest.
Pray wauk your body, if you please,
Gae gowl and tooly on the seas;
Thou wants the pith to do them harm;
Within we're safe, and snug, and warm,
Kindly refresh'd with healthfu' sleep,
While to my cod my pow I keep,
Canty and cosiely I lye,
And baith thy bursten cheeks defy.

Sir William Bennet, who lived at Marlefield.

[TO SAUNDERS WOOD]

I read your Letter Saunders Wood,
And the main meaning understood,
Which is that ye like well the Air,
Of Pindus and nine Lasses fair;
On that Green edge with them to Sing
And quaff at the Pierrian Spring.
The worthy ardor I approve,
And Sauls of sic a Byass Love;
Without whilk turn I've aften thought,
The tuneless mind is good for nought,
But howking in Earth's guts for Cash,
Or throw' vile Party Dubbs to plash;
To craw upon a dirty Midding,
By doing a' there Leaders' bidding,
Be't ne'er sae scandlous or dull nonsense,
Without regard to Law or Conscience.
But these wha tend th'harmonious Nine,
Have in them something mair Divine
Whilk beets a brave, and generous flame,
That Lows up to Immortal Fame,

319

Which by them justly is prefer'd,
To a' the Gowd grows in the Eard—
And makes them ever true and liel,
To God, the King, and Common-Weal,
Then mount my Lad and be na fley'd,
Upon our Pinnion'd Nag to ride;
For tho he be mair fleet and skeigh,
Than ony rins on Sands of Leith,
And haes gi'en mony a Chiel a Coup,
That durst between his Shoulders Loup,
Wha war na of the native Band,
And held na right the Bridle-Hand;
Yet if the Muses kindly own ye,
He's canny as a pacing Powny—
Thus far to hearten you I've sung,
But as a critick had my Tongue,
Till you and I sall fairly meet—
Then I sall shaw in Plan or feet,
Of your Essay, what I observ'd in't,
Till then, incog. your humble Servant;

A.R.

[The Function of Satiric Poetry]

yours dated the Last Hagmynae
to me This Harvest only came
then that you've had driegh answer frae
your servant, yet he's not to blame

I'd neer deserve haff a' the Rusing
that you in sic smooth verse bestow
did I prove sweer or thraf refusing,
while kindly thus ye Strake my pow

320

But ah till I am realy dead
your Manuscripts, my dear delight
can ne'er through toun & Landwart spread
in fairest print to do them right

for snarlers here wha fully ken
my failings & my weakest side
wad tell me to my teeth I'm vain
blawn like a Blather fou of pride

that I'm deficent in descerning
and when I'm banterd do not know it
when Gentlemen of sprit & Learning
to shaw their wit can Blaw a poet

wherfore Sir when ye write again
O Say nae mair about My sell
praises make pride & pride makes pain
Lord keep us a'! pride Biggot Hell

The Har'st of fools are unco rank
Satyrick shearer[s] very Scarce
The world will cun ye Mekler thank
if you the publick good Pursue

Cut doun sned aff, pou frae the root,
These weeds of every vic[i]ous kind
that choak the growth of that fair fruit
that shoud adorn the humane mind

Tell Airtrus he should glow with shame
when he is chosen a siting Member
for Bribe to drop the patriots Name
and neer the Common well remembers

Ther Lumpus stalks a paughty dunce
that wad have poor wise chiels adore him
The Golden Calf forsooth will Glunsh
unless we a' fa down before him

321

Niest clap yon monkey up in Chains
that has been traveling for Improvment
who to his heels has sunk his brains
and glorys in a fauty movment

Tell Courtiers that a Lye a Sin is
and to the man of merit pleading
false smiles worse than ane honest Grin is
and promises forgot ill breeding

Teach clergymen that of Genius Clever
neer to support Piestick Asses
advice and pulpit janer[e]rs never
t'exceed their o'er lang half hour Glasses

Rouze Lethagaws frae out his dreaming
the man can think but is sae Lazy
he hums and drums about ay seeming
to greater Gowks as he wer crazy

Pray check the gloomin dinsome Brager
Tell a' the quaking men of Gotham
no be fiied when sic sall swager
they'r a' but coward at the Bottom

The misers if wor[t]hles worms & vile
Lick them to death you will be civil
to ilk ane worthy wha will smile
to see the moths huyed to the Devil

But gently touch the Ladys fauties
to me they a' seem sma & rare
to me I own the Bony Dawtys
can have nae faut if they are fair

322

[A Fragment of an Epistle]

[The ugly only are the spitefu]

The ugly only are the spitefu
and with this spite themsels they gaw
nor satyr need, and the delytfu
nae line o't to their Skair can fa
These ar a hint of Thousands mae
I give well wordy of their Licks
Lets thrash them till theyre black & blay
nor count their Love worth fidlesticks
The Love & notice of the few
whose spirits rise aboon the rest
all men shoud court if its their due
and for the favour gratefull bow
Sir as your Allan does to you
whose muse such kindness has exprest

[With a Gift of Books]

Madam please to accept this small
yet blyth diverting gift
that's ever ready on a call
to set our dumps a drift

for every thing ther is a Time
says the wise Preacheing King
wha sang the Best, then its no crime,
but duty, aft to sing

Mirth firms our health & gives a shine
to Beauty wit [and] sence
& gainst each care makes us repine
an easy sure Defence

323

Then madam these colections use
which I have culld with care
I'm still delighted when my muse
finds favour with the fair

[To the Lovely Lechmere]

who's yon fair Stranger with a mien
so gracefull Beautyful & sweet
whose Looks bespeak a soul serene
where all inviting Merits Meet?

'Tis Lovely Lechmere the delight
of all that worth & virtue Love
whose wit makes every one Polite
wherever she's Inclind to move

But see tho clear as Light she shines
She quick as lighting glides away
Edina sighs and sad repines
She can't engage her Longer Stay

How can she while throw Rural groves
or wandring by the limpid springs
our fair Assemblys tell ther Loves
Or form the Dance in rural Rings

O may we see her ance again
when frosty winter Blasts the field
and Scotian Beautys leave the Plain
and seek the city's Lower Bield

324

Then might we hope such as her sell
might here detain her many a day
such only have the charming spell
to make ilk moneth shine like a May

we own the Thames & Severns air
blows safter than on Tweed & forth
which af[t] forbids Agusta's fair
to make their visits so far north

but Lovely Lichmore has our thanks
and prases since She dard to try
and view the Plenty crowns their Banks
to give the vulgar herd the Lie

next thanks Dear Robinson to you
who think and can your Thoughts express
and since ye like to prop what's true
Bear to the Beauty this Address

promote her ilk Indulgent thought
in favour of the Pictland Plain
that to our joy she may be brought
anes mair to our Hope Park again

Sae may you Shine in Brittains House
Sae may your House with Grandure rise
May such as Lichmore be your spouse
whose sweets can soften Nuptial Tyes

you've seen a Sample of our art
in Building; Laying out our Ground
and how kind nature does her part
to make all usefull things abound

325

for wheat & wine fish flesh & foul
from ilk green Hieght & yealow field
from the fresh Lake or wavy Brine
weell not to many Nations yild

Then Like the faithful that were sent
to Cannan with a Lying crew
who hated like the Lave to Sclent
be Carliles Daughter Sir & you

[To Chloe]

To E'nburgh's reeky Towers Confind
while oer the flowry plains
the Jovial Lads & Lasses Kind
Sing Joys or sigh their pains
what notes would Cloe expect or crave
from one to Business a Slave
with a fa La La la

Happy the youth who in his Bloom
has a things at his will
whose purse, when pleasure makes it toom
his Riggs again can fill
This Lad with Ease may Dance or Sing

[_]

(The fragment ends here)

[A Poem in Honour of the Return of the Sons of Sir William Bennet of Marlefield]

since heavens so kind Brave Sir to Bless your Eyes
with these dear Pledges of your youthfull Love
Indulge your smiles while from their shining Skys
the Guardian Powers a mind like theirs approve
with arms expanded wide your Joys declare
and to your hear[t] Imbrace the welcome pair

326

who can express the sweet Paternal Glow
that warms the Breast of such a Generous Sire
O coud my Thought in happy Numbe[r]s flow
I have a Theme may all that Gay Inspyre
ye Sisters Sing a welcome to the pair
who merit Love from all thats good & fair

Behold these youth[s] your Hope their Mothers joys
their Kindreds Pleasure Numberous freinds delyte
after Long Absence Now the Late dear Boys
Mounting to men Return to Bless your Sight
Rejoyce brave Bennet banish evry care
Let all [arround Sing welcome to the Pair]

Your first from Brittains Court the most polite
wher grande[u]r in a proper Light is placd
from Nursereys of Larning, comes Complete
with old & Modren Education Gracd
Rejoyce ye hapy Parents in your Heir
Let all [arround Sing welcome to the Pair]

Your Second Hope, bold youth! who durst explore
in such green years the oriental climes
Cut Boundless Deeps to Antipodian shores.
attempt fit for a God in earlyer Times!
Rejoyce ye Parents in a son so Rare
Let all arround Sing welcome to the Pair

now Marlefield adorn thy fragrant Scenes
with evry Balmy Beauty of the year
deckd like the Queen of all the Nighburing plains
Like the first Paradice all gay apear
go Bath in silver Dew & Scent the air
with all your verdures welcome home the pair

327

Now Crown a Bowl with the most Generous Wine
Let none tast the Libation with a Gloom
be gratefull first to all the Powers Divine
who safely brought the Longd for Brother[s] home
Then Blythly round the Chearfull Bumpers share
in healths & hearty welcome to the pair

A PASTORAL EPITHALIUM

Strephon
Ho, Coridon, come on this mossy bank,
Lean down and press primroses fresh and rank.
I'm glad to see thee fraught with blest content.
Thou lookst as thou some pleasing thought wouldst vent;
Say, lovely friend, and give a reason why
Ther's so much gladness dancing in thine eye.

Coridon
Yes, my dear Strephon, it's not without reason
That I'm so blyth when ther's good occasion.
Do not you know Menalcus, the brave swain
That feeds his flocks on the adjacent plain?
This day of shepherds none more happy is,
For he's attained unto his long'd for bliss,
A long'd for bliss which oft did rack his mind.
But now the god of love, not always blind,
Has unto his best wishes proven kind
And granted him a bride as bright as day,
Who will with pleasure all his cares allay.

328

Strephon
O sweet surprise! I know the happy youth—
But who is she that will with softness soothe
His easy cares and with her pleasing charms
Clasp our dear friend within her snowy arms?

Coridon
With snow for whyteness they may well compare,
And all her frame so delicate and rare.
Her form all casten is in beauty's molds.
Thousands of lambs are lodg'd within her folds.
It's fair Melossa, who are fields did grace
With modest air and with a charming face.

Strephon
I've seen the fair Melossa—happy he,
If with her comely form her soul aggree!
Such a fair lodging surely was design'd
To harbor nothing but a virtuous mind.

Coridon
It was her bright virtue which did most commend
Her to the love of our discerning friend—
Thrice happy he, who hath the right to all
In this wise nymph, which we can virtue call.

Strephon
Well he deserves her, and the gods are just
To put so fair a jewell in his trust,

329

Who knows to manage well what he intends.
His solid fancy flys with nimble wings
Through various tracts and to him knowledge brings—
Knowledge, which teacheth us with a sweet voice
What's bad, to shun; and what is good, to choice.

Coridon
Come, shepherd, rouse thee. This is not a day
To loyter in; tune up thy pipe and play,
And I will sing untill the rocks rebound
And th'echo thirds us in our joyfull sound.
The murmuring rivulet will be the bass
While she o're little cattarchs runs her race,
And the mild zephyr with his gentle breeze
Will give a soft sound soughing through the trees,
And on their tops or in the open sky
Will sour and sing the little feathered fry.
And let it be the subject of our theme
To blaze Menalcus' and Melossa's fame.

Strephon
May the great Pan preserve their breeding flocks
Of kine and sheep and goats that climb the rocks,
Let no wolf enter on their verdant spot,
And keep them free of all sickness and rot.
Jove grant them plenty of[f]spring to survive,
That on these plains their names may ever live
And by such generous worth bear up their fame
That ages after may still bless their name.

330

[A Dialogue]

[George]
Here Dick according to our paction Take
Ten pices yesternight I wond two hundred
Three twelve moneths that thou has been in my service
Reciving 5 per cent of all my Gains
praythee use make of all this money

Dick
and what but your purse bearer have I been
you know that by our Bargin I obliged
my self when eer you chancd to run agroun
to furnish you with twenty yellow Boys
now calculate how often this has hapned

G[e]orge
phew! that can never Balance the account
thourt Certainly Grown Rich & Hoards thy Treasure

D[ick]
Rich! no no Sir there's very small appearance
This way for you or me to have that fate
wherfore as Long as these ten yelow Boys
are safe in my possesion I Design
to drop you for a master for perhaps
before the morrow they are no more mine

331

[On the Death of his daughter, Christy]

farewell sweet Inocence—ah while I think
on thy Least Lovelyness my Spirits sink
fain would I banish from my melting mind
each thought of thee and wish my soul less kind
but still in spite of all my stuborn art
the Torture of Reflection Pains my heart
faint grows my fortitude do what I will
I hear & see the Beautyous Pratler still
Ah must I never never smiling see
again the little flaterer at my knee
with words half form'd delytfull to my Ears
which shined with witty thought Beyond her years
alace no more must these deserted arms
enfold my tender Bloom of Budding Charms
heart Rending thought—the Darling spirits fled
and the fair faitures fades in Deaths cold Bed
that Lovely mouth which oft I prest to mine
these twinkling Eyes that matchd the Brilants shine
now cease to smile, the sparkling stars are set
while death too early claims the Humane debt
flow freely Tears and ease my akeing soul
my Greifs too strong for Reason to controul
assist me hopes of ane Imortal Life
and endles Bliss unmixed with pain or Strife
Thither my Christy spotless heavenly flame
To(o) good for this vile world Returns from whence it came

[Fragment]

[To Harts and Hares Nature gave heels]

[1]

To Harts and Hares Nature gave heels
Horns to the Bull to Eagles wings
ffishes she armd with sins & scales
With his stout fang the Lyon dings

332

2

With wisdom and a Brawny Arm
man claims to bear the Sovraign Sway
to keep the Tender fair from harm
what Sheild what arms have they?

3

A gift surmounting all the rest
altho it weaker seems than ony
yet is befar strongest & best
wha can resist or wrang what's Bony

ON THE MARRIAGE OF Mr BULL PREACHER AND Mrs MARY ------

As o'er the Seas, the God that Lap a'
The Bony Lasses, bore Europa
In form a Bull he did her carry
Sae Mr Bul o'er the Queens ferry
Transported his red headed Mary
The Bul of Bulls great Jove was fired
with Lust & streight to consumate retired
but tho a God was quickly tired
when he had done he Bravely Scorns
to be confined and draps his Horns
casts aff his Cloven Cutes & Syne
forsakes poor Miss & turns Divine

Our Christian Bull tret his with honour
with Rings and Rites & fleeching won her
woo'd Closs & keen made her his wife
and swore to be her Stot for life
and ran his nodle in a noose
nane less divine than Jove can loose

333

and tho his horns are scarcly sprouted
that they may Lenthen is not doubted

O Mary gently guide thy Bull
Tho his Divinity grow dull
and like Europa safe to sail
hald by his horns & steer his Tail

The Last Speech just before he hangd himself of Caleb Bailey who was Blawn Blind Breaking doun with Gun Pouder some curious Remains of Celtik Antiquity at Abery to mend a Park dike

Hard fate of mortalls sic as I
Whase cloudy souls in darkness Ly
untill the outer shots deny
their usual aid
Then with Remorse we clearly spy
how we have strayed

my Souls agast my Spirits sink
I quake I start I faint & shrink
whilest I veue from the Infernal Brink
my dreadfull doom
I hate to Live yet dare not think
on Hells dark Gloom

for what the wise have fond Regard
thousands of wasting years had spard
These monuments wise men Regard
while proven Truths their cares reward
I like a Clown
to clout the dike arround my Yard
een Blew them doun

ah would I neer had known that Land
wher now no more these Pillars stand

334

broke doun by my illfated hand
Cursd be the day
------
------

To late I wish amaidst my Pains
That I had never seen these Plains
wher stood the Beautifull remains
of antient Time
Which I demolished ugly the stains
atend my Crime

Tis done, & Peace has fled my Mind
for now alace I'm doubly Blind
to Latewith horrour ah I find
my self a wight
unfit to mix the Humane kind
or Live in Light

while Salsbury's old colums stand
while Hartford and his searching Band
shall spread their fame oer evry Land
For antique skill
ah me the deeds of my Base hand
will chaff them still

for which they'll justly curse my dust
while Poets of Satyrick Gust
Shall make my mem'ry Stink & Rust
in Iambicks Keen
Since what I've done might give a B(urst)
Of Praise the Spleen

Now life grows hatefull without hope
all comforts gone and I must grope
about if I can find a Rope
it will seem civel
when I t'oblige the world thus drop
doun to the Divell.

335

[Fragment]

[You only You have the Ascendant gain'd]

You only You have the Ascendant gain'd
oer all my Joys and Hiden I've mentaind
A civel war between myself and me
between base custom and true love to Thee
false force of fashion poor unworthy Cause
which binds our Bashfull Sex down to its Laws
the hated bondage I Shake off and must
or vent my Love or blended be with dust

Then hast thee Sovraign of my Pulse and breath
And give me joy & Life or Scorn and Death
Ah yet I Blush Attackd on either Side
between my Inate Modesty and pride
I've said enoug [sic] few words in Love are best
when first we meet my Looks shall speak the rest

[Fragment]

[Like twa fell flesher Tikes inurd to Quarrell]

Like twa fell flesher Tikes inurd to Quarrell
with horid din about a bane they snarle
Straight rise their bristly furs red glow their Een
up curl their snouts & all their teeth are seen
enragd they make th'attack with Widend Jaws
and tear each other with sharp tusks & claws
Thus but oer aften trifles Raises Strife
which never ends but with some foolish Life

Like as the hungry Gled with hasty fleight
doups doun & puts the powtrie in a fright
while some illfated wandring bird must fa
with ruefull cheeps in his dead griping Claw
oer late it then its last portyoul may sing
that left the safegard of kind Japoks wing

336

Like a robd fox that sees the Eagle rise
and bear his yet Blind Cub up towards the Skys
Lang may he Gove and bootles youl & yelp
while to his nest Jove's Bird conveys the whelp
To his mid Region fort the Prey he brings
whilk Lowrie ne'er can Rescew without wings

So have I seen a craft[y] cat oft Play

[_]

(MS breaks off here)

[Fragment]

[Should Angells from the Heveans descend]

Should Angells from the Heveans descend
and say one Partys Right
Their oposite would Still contend
and shut their Eyes on Light

Reason debard ill nature Rife
self views & cant uncivil
Completes a wight for factious Strife
makes him a wasp, in Social Life
and agent for the Devil

[ON JOHN NORIE]

of judgment Just & fancy Clear
Industrious tho not avaricious
no Slave to groundles Hopes or fear
Chearfull yet hating to be vicious

from envy free tho praisd not vain
Ne'er Acting without Honours warant
kind generous equal & Humane
As Husband Master friend & parent

337

So modest as scarce to be known
by glaring Proud concieted Asses
whose little Spirits often frown
on such as their Less worth surpasses

Ye'll own such a deserving Man
that in these out lines stands befor ye
and trouth the Picture I have drawn
is very like my friend ------

[_]

whose Real Modesty will not let me name him. (R.)

[Contentment]

Tho fortune Lour
tis in your Power
if heaven grant Bawmy health
t'enjoy ilk hour
a saul unsour
Contents nae Bairn of wealth

it is the mind
that unconfined
with Passions mean & vile
that's never Pynd
while thoughts Refind
Can Gloomy cares Beguile

How far frae hame
my friend seeks fame
and yet I canna wyte ye
t'imploy your fire
and still aspire
by virtues that delyt ye

338

Then Donald may
be even as Gay
on Russia's distant shore
as on the Tay
wher Usquebae
he us'd to drink before

but howsoeer
hast gather gear
and syne Pack up your Bagadge
and here at hame
come strute your wame
with good fat Beef & cabadge

THE SMUGLERS

A Satyr

The Muse attempts Inflam'd with honest Zeal
to Lash destruction from the Common Weal
With horrour we the frightfull scene pursue
While perjurd wights & Bankrupts Crowd our view
Who pushd by private ends regard no Tyes
and all the Laws of God & Men despise
While Robd of Peace and Rackd with endless care
the Smugler grasps at Wealth by Means unfair
the honest Merchants with contentment find
ane Easy flow of Trade with Peace of mind
serene they from the Ship unloads their Store
nor dread the Hawk-eyd Waiters on the shore
who ever to the Running gang appear
their evil Genius shocking them with fear
when hid by night they trace Remotest Roads
and sweating Toil to hide their Lawles Loads
if Noding Birds should rustle on the spray
they sweat & tremble while their hearts give way

339

to evry aprehension Guilt sugests
to frighted fancys & disturbed Breasts
not without Reason oftentimes for they
whom theyr obligd to trust their Trust betray
Thus the young Rakes wha dread thier Parents frown
and strives to keep their nightly trips unknown
he's given up to him who makes his fob
pay handsomely for the unlawfull job
Besides a custumary fine that's due
Deciv'd by her wh'alone the secret knew

[Fragment]

[While at his forge, the Imortal cuckold]

While at his forge, the Imortal cuckold
that's to the Bonyest Godess Buckled
was Pointing these mischivous darts
that Peirces young unguarded hearts
his Bony wife in hinny dipt them
her son as aft with wormwood tipt them
mein time to get a cast of craft
either of hard ware, or of saft
came in the furious God that Rules
when feilds are Clad with feighting fools
and when the weirs are oer gaes sculkan
to adorn the brows of Cheils like Vulcan
the mighty Mars with scorning moves
his Weighty Lance & Leugh at Love's
what Pudding Prick What Shures [?] qouth he
are these ye make sae Light sae wee
but soone the slee Unsonsy Brat
said theirs ane weightier—feel but that
I'll lay if you speak truth & plain
you'll own it Heavyer than your ain
mars took it but nae sooner took it
than that he fund he had mistook it

340

to se her Brawny spark beguild
in hope to gain be't Venus smild
but frae the Bottom of his Liver
he sight and ound the dangerous Quiver
was heavey—and that he'd back receive it
quoth Cupid keep it since ye have it

[Translation of Horace: Book I, Ode IV, lines 15–20]

Imaidiatly we'll a take flight
into the darker shades of Night
as storys gang wi' Ghaists to Roam
in Gloomin pluto's gowsty Dome
Bid fair good day to pleasures syn
of Bonny Lasses and Red wine
Then deem ilk litle care a crime
dare waste an hour of precious Time
and since our Life's sae unko short
enjoy't a'—ye've nae mair for't.

[Translation of Horace: Book I, Ode V]

What young Raw Muisted Beau Bred at his Glass
now wilt thou on a Rose's Bed Carress
wha niest to thy white Breasts wilt thow intice
with hair unsnooded and without thy Stays
O Bonny Lass wi' thy Sweet Landart Air
how will thy fikle humour gie him care
when e'er thou takes the fling strings, like the wind
that Jaws the Ocean—thou'lt disturb his Mind
when thou looks smirky kind & claps his cheek
to poor friends then he'l hardly look or speak

341

the Coof belivest-na but Right soon he'll find
thee Light as Cork & wavring as the Wind
on that slid place where I 'maist brake my Bains
to be a warning I Set up twa Stains
that nane may venture there as I hae done
unless wi' frosted Nails he Clink his Shoon

[Translation of Horace: Book I, Ode VI]

TO HIS GRACE JOHN DUKE OF ARGYLE

Harmonious Pope wha made th'Inspired Greek
in British phrase his winsome Iliad speak
shoud Son'rous sing what Bairns unborn shall Read
O Great Argyle ilk martial doughty deed
of thine in a' thy Conduct and Carreer
in Closet Schems & Rieking fields of wier
Campbells Brave Chief we mensfowly decline
to sing the Heroes of King ffergus' line
Corbredus Gald in feght unkend to tire
or Caractatus shogan Rome's Empire
A blateness shoars me sair that I wad tine
my sell and spill a subject sae divine
if I should mint aboon my sphere to flee
and sing the Glorys of Cround heads & Thee.
Wha can descrive the pusiant God of War
in's adamantine Coat & Brasen Car
drawn by fierce Lyons throu Ten thousand ffaes
garing their heart strings crack wher e'er he gaes
wha can at Bannockburn Bauld Bruce display
or Thee at Mallplackae forcing thy Way

342

Enough for me to draw a Countrey dance
and how Blyth Gossips drink the young wifes hans
with Ourlies Clean how Tam & me fou feat
wad Rin an wrestle Round the Rucks wi' Kate

Ode 7th

[1]

Some cry up Paris for good wine
Madrid brags her Potosie mine
and up wi't Rome for ferlies fine

2

Vianas an Emperial Seat
The Hogans keep their 'Dams right Neat
Aboon them a' London's maist great

3

But Arthurs Seat where Echos ring
and round those wawks fit for a King
wher glides the Clear Saint Anton's spring

4

Clyds Gow'ny Howms & Watter faws
the Louthian rigs & Leader Haughs
and Ed'nburghs high and hewn stain Waws

5

Delyt me mair than Spartas towers
or yet Larissa Bonny Bowers
or Tempes Greens Chequer'd wi' flowers

6

The suthren Blasts will cease to thud
grow mild & Brush away ilk Cloud
and let the sun Beams warm the Bud

343

7

Then if at hame Courting the fair
or in Rugh plains wher Cannons rair
O—Drink—and drive aff Care.

[To a Noble Lord]

My Lrd

When furious winds storm on the Mountain brow
oft fall the pines & stately cedars bow
the skillfull forester then tends the grove
to watch & prop the Plants belovd by Jove
when Raging Tempest threats with evry Sweep
to sink the hardy vessell in the Deep
The Pilot then with steady Eye & hand
Exerts his Skill to bring his charge to Land
Thus you My Lord (acquainted with each source
from whence the strongest Passions have their course
and by true Judment & a strenght of mind
Know when they should be Loosd & when confind)
Like a wise fforester take care to save
the Noblest Plant the Caledonians have
When such a Schok attempts his Bloom to Blight
as makes a Nation bend beneath its weight
O from the Sea of Greif & sinking Roar
of dire Reflection steer him to the shore
wher Resignation yields to soveraign fate
while Reason is Chief Minister of State
So may the Best of Blessings chear your soul
May long your days in circling pleasures rol
To him to you your countrey owes & pays
The justest Tribute of their Love & praise
Who as their Kindest Stars amongst them shine
When other Cheifs their Influence decline

[_]

The poem ends with two partly deleted lines:—

“May neer again the foreign Clyms Invite
Our Hamiltoun our Johnstoun from Their Plain.”

344

On the Birth Day of Mrs M. O. like her self fair & serene

Sept. 24th.

Hail to this fair Propitius Day
on which was Lovely M--- Born
Let Nature all that's Sweet display
and joy the Circling hours adorn

Still are the Roaring winds that Raise
Tempest and Terrour on the main
Bright are the Blythsome Beams that Blaze
and Scater Sweets oer evry plain

While Nature thus in Jovial Mood
Appears well pleasd with M--- Birth
Let Bachus warm our Ravisht Blood
and Love and Transport Raise our Mirth

Descend ye Graces from above
Come Venus with thy Smiling Gang
of Youth & Sport and Joy & Love
and animate the Chearfull Thrang

Who now with Sparkling Cups Resolve
to celebrate her Birth and fame
Whose witt and sweetness can desolve
and set the flintyest heart on flame

[Fragment]

[Rideat usque Suo et dilecto Phoebus Alumno]

Rideat usque Suo et dilecto Phoebus Alumno
Martis nonarum tertius usque pavor
Non sic fata Jubent nec nunquam fata Jubebunt
Ut foret illa dies Chara Suprema tibi

345

Now all ye Powers who Generous Love defend
who give Integrity ane happy End
O crown with pleasure all my souls desire
and Emma's breast with all thats kind inspire
for me who only health & being wish
enjoy in her so much of your own Bliss

I write no more Love whispers in mine Ear
Thy Emma's bright atractions shine so clear
Rivals may rise—this rouzes all my Mind
I come my fair, Lovd welcome may I find

[Fragment]

[But Thousands wheeld unheeded there for me]

But Thousands wheeld unheeded there for me
Love all my thoughts, & Eyes still turn'd on thee
Th'Italian chanting tunefull on the Stage
The Mimicks Lashing folys of the Age
for me Imployd but Idly all their care
when my delight in chief thy self was there

Ah tell me fairest can thy Heart incline
to Love and match a flame so pure as mine
does the Extatick Glow & Cloud by turns,
which the true Lover's Spirit damps & burns,
Checquer thy minutes?—happy wert for me
wouldst thou say yes my Henry tis for thee

The fondest Matron from the Hostile plain
her only Son reported to've been slain
recieving home in perfect bloom of Health
a Sculcking Bankrupt raisd to princely wealth
higher than theirs my Bliss would rise divine
were thy Love fixd on me & equald mine

346

Wealth, Shining blaze of Titles, & renown,
of wearers & supporters of a Crown
Stars, Coronets Gold Keys or whytend Rods
which mount th'Ambitious up to demi Gods
in vulgar view—Look litle all in mine
compared to one consenting smile of thine

Shoud fate sweep of the whole of Humane kind
we but exeem'd, in Emma's form & mind
I'd think of Bliss I had the fullest store
bow gratefull to the Heavens & ask no more

[Fragment]

[She Gecks as ane wad do her ill]

She Gecks as ane wad do her ill
when she Glaiks paughty in her Braws
then let the filly fling he(r) fill
for fint a Crum o' thee she faws

Nere dunt again within my Breast
Nor let her Scorn thy courage spill
Ne'er gie a sob abiet she preast
Best mends een let her tak her will

[Crambo]

he hates to be tyed doun for life
wild Rover! to a single wife
his hungry visage plainly shows
he to [his] wife prefers his Brose

347

last word Left out its sencles prose
then pray you sir turn out your Toes
and blaw that buble aff your nose
Syne prym it with a snishing dose
will please you better than a Rose
Button your Breeks ty up your hose
in play of Cramby we wrote those
and now we think it time to Close