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125

ANSWER II. Edinburgh, August 4th, 1719.

Dear Hamilton ye'll turn me Dyver,
My Muse sae bonny ye descrive her,
Ye blaw her sae, I'm fear'd ye rive her,
For wi' a Whid,
Gin ony higher up ye drive her,
She'll rin red-wood.
Said I,—“Whisht, quoth the vougy Jade,
“William's a wise judicious Lad,
“Has Havins mair than e'er ye had,
“Ill bred Bog-staker;
“But me ye ne'er sae crouse had craw'd,
“Ye poor Scull-thacker.
“It sets you well indeed to gadge!
“E'er I t'Appollo did ye cadge,
“And got ye on his Honour's Badge,
“Ungratefou Beast,
“A Glasgow Capon and a Fadge
“Ye thought a Feast.
126

“Swith to Castalius' Fountain-Brink,
“Dad down a Grouf, and take a Drink,
“Syne whisk out Paper, Pen and Ink,
And do my Bidding;
“Be thankfou, else I'se gar ye stink
Yet on a Midding.
My Mistress dear, your Servant humble,
Said I, I shou'd be laith to drumble
Your Passions, or e'er gar ye grumble,
'Tis ne'er be me
Shall scandalize, or say ye bummil
Ye'r Poetrie.
Frae what I've tell'd, my Friend may learn
How sadly I ha'e been forfairn,
I'd better been a yont Side Kairn-
amount , I trow;
I've kiss'd the Taz like a good Bairn,
Now, Sir to you.
Heal be your Heart, gay couthy Carle,
Lang may ye help to toom a Barrel;
Be thy Crown ay unclowr'd in Quarrel,
When thou inclines
To knoit thrawn gabbed Sumphs that snarl
At our frank Lines.
Ilk good Chiel says, Ye're well worth Gowd,
And Blythness on ye's well bestow'd,
'Mang witty Scots ye'r Name's be row'd,
Ne'er Fame to tine;
The crooked Clinkers shall be cow'd,
But ye shall shine.
127

Set out the burnt Side of your Shin,
For Pride in Poets is nae Sin,
Glory's the Prize for which they rin,
And Fame's their Jo;
And wha blaws best the Horn shall win:
And wharefore no?
Quisquis vocabit nos Vain-glorious,
Shaw scanter Skill, than malos mores,
Multi & magni Men before us
Did stamp and swagger,
Probatum est, exemplum Horace,
Was a bauld Bragger.
Then let the Doofarts fash'd wi' Spleen,
Cast up the wrang Side of their Een,
Pegh, fry and girn wi' Spite and Teen,
And fa a flyting,
Laugh, for the lively Lads will screen
Us frae Back-biting.
If that the Gypsies dinna spung us,
And foreign Whiskers ha'e na dung us;
Gin I can snifter thro' Mundungus,
Wi' Boots and Belt on,
I hope to see you at St. Mungo's
Atween and Beltan.
 

Run distracted.

The Muse not unreasonably angry, puts me here in Mind of the Favours she has done, by bringing me from stalking over Bogs or wild Marishes, to lift my Head a little Brisker among the polite World, which could never been acquired by the low Movements of a Mechanick.

Thatcher of Sculs.

Ironically she says, It becomes me mighty well to talk haughtily and afront my Benefactoress, by alledging so meanly that it were possible to praise her out of her Solidity.

A Herring. A Fadge. A course kind of leaven'd Bread, used by the common People.

Fall flat on your Belly.

A noted Hill in the North of Scotland.

Kiss'd the Rod. Own'd my Fault like a good Child.

The scribling Rhimers, with their lame Versification. Shall be cow'd, i.e. shorn off.

As if one would say, Walk stately with your Toes out. An Expression used when we wou'd bid a Person (merrily) look brisk.

The high Church of Glasgow.

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