The works of Allan Ramsay edited by Burns Martin ... and John W. Oliver [... and Alexander M. Kinghorn ... and Alexander Law] |
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The Horse's Complaint
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The works of Allan Ramsay | ||
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;
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.
Am I!—crys a poor Hireling Horse;
Toil'd a' the Day quite aff my Feet,
With little Time, or ought to eat;
115
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.
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.
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.
The works of Allan Ramsay | ||