The works of Alexander Pennecuik of New-Hall, M.D.; containing the description of Tweeddale, and miscellaneous poems. A new edition, with copious notes, forming a complete history of the county to the present time. To which are prefixed, memoirs of Dr Pennecuik, and a map of the shire of Peebles, or Tweeddale |
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THE AUHTOR's ANSWER TO HIS BROTHER J. P.'s MANY LETTERS,
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 | The works of Alexander Pennecuik |  |
THE AUHTOR's ANSWER TO HIS BROTHER J. P.'s MANY LETTERS,
Dissuading him from staying longer in the Country, and inviting him to come and settle his residence in Edinburgh.
Some say I have both genius and time,
To make friends merry with my country rhyme;
And raise the strain of my coy modest muse,
From coarse spun stockings and plain dirty shoes;
And hear the birds, these sweet companions, sing,
To welcome home the verdure of the spring.
While herbalizing shady groves and mountains,
I quench my thirst by crystal streams and fountains;
There, joyfully, I sit me down, and smell
The flowery fields, and Heliconian well.
I am no Nimrod, to make it my care
To see a greyhound slay a silly hare;
Though I can follow that, when I have leisure,
For exercise, I swear, more than for pleasure.
The noble horse, that saves us oft from death,
I think bad sport to run him out of breath
When there's no need, it was not spoke in jest,
“Merciful men shew mercy to their beast.’
I love the net, I please the fishing hook,
In angling by the pretty murmuring brook.
To curl on the ice, does greatly please,
Being a manly Scottish exercise;
It clears the brains, stirs up the native heat,
And gives a gallant appetite for meat.
In winter, now and then I plant a tree,
Remarking what the annual growth may be;
Order my hedges, and repair my ditches,
Which gives delight, although not sudden riches.
So, when of these sweet solitudes I tire,
We have our trysts and meetings in the shire,
Where some few hours the tedious time to pass,
We sit and quaff a merry moderate glass.
Visits we interchange with one another,
In bonacord, like sister and like brother;
Which makes our harmless meetings still to be
A bond and cement of society.
And then into my garden, book, or study,
Far from the court, my friend, far from the woody.
While ye enjoy false pleasures in their prime,
Both gorgeous diet, and brisk claret wine,
Fine clothes, rich furniture, and gainful places,
Coaches and chairs to hide your crimson faces;
Bewitching music, concerts and clareens,
Of trumpets, hautboys, flutes, and violins;
Variety of converse, news from far,
Of Denmark, Pole, and the Hungarian war:
And yet for all that splendid show, you be
But paranymphs of vice and luxury;
For though you scratch and scrape together wealth,
Ye seldom brook long life, or perfect health;
The air you breathe, into your lungs affords
Nothing but smoke, and fumes of filth and t---s;
Which frequently your crazy corpse consumes,
Either with sudden death or tedious rheums.
Here one is choak'd with night-mares in his dreams,
There one of the sciatica complains;
This dies of iliac passion or the colic,
That drinks himself quite dead by way of frolic.
And yet, my friend, the counsel you give me,
Is that my dwelling in Old Reekie be,
Near unto Libberton or Foster's-wynd,
The old man may live cosie there you find.
I will not be so graceless, James, or bold,
To stifle him with smoke, though he be old;
Nor will I, to repair my former losses,
Consent he break his limbs in your stay closes;
But near to Stirling-Yards, or Heriot's Work,
Where he may safely breathe and let his f---t,
There must he quartered be, God's praise to sing,
For his refreshful breathings in the spring;
And when stern fate that breath shall countermand,
The greedy Grey-friar we have near at hand.
And for to put you lawyers in a fright,
Near this the gallows stands, that humbling sight.
Ye call yourselves the court of conscience,
And to the fatherless a sure defence;
Court without conscience, we may rather call you,
Repent for fear the plague of that befal you.
Devouring widows' houses, orphan slayers,
Though faith I think ye do not use long prayers;
Should I say 'twere, it too much honours you,
To spoil my pen on so despis'd a crew.
So, if you think this cuff be out of season,
Pray, James, return me either rhyme or reason;
Or, if you judge yourself severely knocked,
Remember, friend, that I was first provoked.
To make friends merry with my country rhyme;
And raise the strain of my coy modest muse,
From coarse spun stockings and plain dirty shoes;
And hear the birds, these sweet companions, sing,
To welcome home the verdure of the spring.
While herbalizing shady groves and mountains,
I quench my thirst by crystal streams and fountains;
There, joyfully, I sit me down, and smell
The flowery fields, and Heliconian well.
I am no Nimrod, to make it my care
To see a greyhound slay a silly hare;
368
For exercise, I swear, more than for pleasure.
The noble horse, that saves us oft from death,
I think bad sport to run him out of breath
When there's no need, it was not spoke in jest,
“Merciful men shew mercy to their beast.’
I love the net, I please the fishing hook,
In angling by the pretty murmuring brook.
To curl on the ice, does greatly please,
Being a manly Scottish exercise;
It clears the brains, stirs up the native heat,
And gives a gallant appetite for meat.
In winter, now and then I plant a tree,
Remarking what the annual growth may be;
Order my hedges, and repair my ditches,
Which gives delight, although not sudden riches.
So, when of these sweet solitudes I tire,
We have our trysts and meetings in the shire,
Where some few hours the tedious time to pass,
We sit and quaff a merry moderate glass.
Visits we interchange with one another,
In bonacord, like sister and like brother;
Which makes our harmless meetings still to be
A bond and cement of society.
And then into my garden, book, or study,
Far from the court, my friend, far from the woody.
While ye enjoy false pleasures in their prime,
Both gorgeous diet, and brisk claret wine,
Fine clothes, rich furniture, and gainful places,
Coaches and chairs to hide your crimson faces;
Bewitching music, concerts and clareens,
Of trumpets, hautboys, flutes, and violins;
Variety of converse, news from far,
Of Denmark, Pole, and the Hungarian war:
And yet for all that splendid show, you be
But paranymphs of vice and luxury;
369
Ye seldom brook long life, or perfect health;
The air you breathe, into your lungs affords
Nothing but smoke, and fumes of filth and t---s;
Which frequently your crazy corpse consumes,
Either with sudden death or tedious rheums.
Here one is choak'd with night-mares in his dreams,
There one of the sciatica complains;
This dies of iliac passion or the colic,
That drinks himself quite dead by way of frolic.
And yet, my friend, the counsel you give me,
Is that my dwelling in Old Reekie be,
Near unto Libberton or Foster's-wynd,
The old man may live cosie there you find.
I will not be so graceless, James, or bold,
To stifle him with smoke, though he be old;
Nor will I, to repair my former losses,
Consent he break his limbs in your stay closes;
But near to Stirling-Yards, or Heriot's Work,
Where he may safely breathe and let his f---t,
There must he quartered be, God's praise to sing,
For his refreshful breathings in the spring;
And when stern fate that breath shall countermand,
The greedy Grey-friar we have near at hand.
And for to put you lawyers in a fright,
Near this the gallows stands, that humbling sight.
Ye call yourselves the court of conscience,
And to the fatherless a sure defence;
Court without conscience, we may rather call you,
Repent for fear the plague of that befal you.
Devouring widows' houses, orphan slayers,
Though faith I think ye do not use long prayers;
Should I say 'twere, it too much honours you,
To spoil my pen on so despis'd a crew.
370
Pray, James, return me either rhyme or reason;
Or, if you judge yourself severely knocked,
Remember, friend, that I was first provoked.
POSTSCRIPT.
That some physicians err and disagree,Yea, kill their patients, faith ye do not lie;
If doctors should bring all their patients through,
Ungrateful fools, what should become of you.
| The works of Alexander Pennecuik | |