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 works of Allan Ramsay |  |
128
EPISTLE III. Gilbertfield August 24th, 1719.
Accept my third and last Essay
Of rural Rhyme, I humbly pray,
Bright Ramsay, and altho it may
Seem doilt and donsie,
Yet thrice of all Things, I heard say
Was ay thought sonsie,
Of rural Rhyme, I humbly pray,
Bright Ramsay, and altho it may
Seem doilt and donsie,
Yet thrice of all Things, I heard say
Was ay thought sonsie,
Wherefore I scarce cou'd sleep or slumber,
Till I made up that happy Number,
The Pleasure counterpois'd the Cumber,
In ev'ry Part,
And snoov't away like three Hand Omber,
Sixpence a Cart.
Till I made up that happy Number,
The Pleasure counterpois'd the Cumber,
In ev'ry Part,
And snoov't away like three Hand Omber,
Sixpence a Cart.
Of thy last Poem, bearing Date
August the Fourth, I grant Receipt;
It was sae bra, gart me look blate,
'Maist tyne my Senses,
And look just like poor Country Kate
In Lucky Spence's.
August the Fourth, I grant Receipt;
It was sae bra, gart me look blate,
'Maist tyne my Senses,
And look just like poor Country Kate
In Lucky Spence's.
I shaw'd it to our Parish Priest,
Wha was as blyth as gi'm a Feast;
He says, Thou may had up thy Creest,
And craw fu' crouse,
The Poets a' to thee's but Jest,
Not worth a Souce.
Wha was as blyth as gi'm a Feast;
He says, Thou may had up thy Creest,
And craw fu' crouse,
The Poets a' to thee's but Jest,
Not worth a Souce.
129
Thy blyth and cheerfu' merry Muse,
Of Compliments is sae profuse;
For my good Haivens dis me roose
Sae very finely
It were ill Breeding to refuse
To thank her kindly.
Of Compliments is sae profuse;
For my good Haivens dis me roose
Sae very finely
It were ill Breeding to refuse
To thank her kindly.
What tho sometimes in angry Mood,
When she puts on her Barlick-hood,
Her Dialect seem rough and rude;
Let's ne'er be flee't,
But take our Bit when it is good,
And Buffet wi't.
When she puts on her Barlick-hood,
Her Dialect seem rough and rude;
Let's ne'er be flee't,
But take our Bit when it is good,
And Buffet wi't.
For gin we ettle anes to taunt her,
And dinna cawmly thole her Banter,
She'll take the Flings ; Verse may grow scanter,
Syne wi' great Shame
We'll rue the Day that we do want her,
Then wha's to blame?
And dinna cawmly thole her Banter,
She'll take the Flings ; Verse may grow scanter,
Syne wi' great Shame
We'll rue the Day that we do want her,
Then wha's to blame?
But let us still her Kindness culzie,
And wi' her never breed a Toulzie,
For we'll bring aff but little Spulzie
In sic a Barter;
And she'll be fair to gar us fulzie,
And cry for Quarter.
And wi' her never breed a Toulzie,
For we'll bring aff but little Spulzie
In sic a Barter;
And she'll be fair to gar us fulzie,
And cry for Quarter.
Sae little worth's my rhyming Ware,
My Pack I scarce dare apen mair,
Till I take better wi' the Lair,
My Pen's sae blunted;
And a' for Fear I file the Fair,
And be affronted.
My Pack I scarce dare apen mair,
Till I take better wi' the Lair,
My Pen's sae blunted;
And a' for Fear I file the Fair,
And be affronted.
130
The dull Draff-drink
makes me sae dowff,
A' I can do's but bark and yowff;
Yet set me in a Claret Howff,
Wi' Fowk that's chancy,
My Muse may len me then a Gowff
To clear my Fancy.
A' I can do's but bark and yowff;
Yet set me in a Claret Howff,
Wi' Fowk that's chancy,
My Muse may len me then a Gowff
To clear my Fancy.
Then
Bacchus like I'd bawl and bluster,
And a' the Muses 'bout me muster;
Sae merrily I'd squeeze the Cluster,
And drink the Grape,
'Twad gi my Verse a brighter Lustre,
And better Shape.
And a' the Muses 'bout me muster;
Sae merrily I'd squeeze the Cluster,
And drink the Grape,
'Twad gi my Verse a brighter Lustre,
And better Shape.
The Pow'rs aboon be still auspicious
To thy Atchievements maist delicious,
Thy Poems sweet and nae Way vicious,
But blyth and kanny;
To see, I'm anxious and ambitious,
Thy Miscellany.
To thy Atchievements maist delicious,
Thy Poems sweet and nae Way vicious,
But blyth and kanny;
To see, I'm anxious and ambitious,
Thy Miscellany.
A' Blessings, Ramsay, on thee row,
Lang may thou live, and thrive, and dow,
Until thou claw an auld Man's Pow;
And thro' thy Creed,
Be keeped frae the Wirricow
After thou's dead.
Lang may thou live, and thrive, and dow,
Until thou claw an auld Man's Pow;
And thro' thy Creed,
Be keeped frae the Wirricow
After thou's dead.
| The works of Allan Ramsay | |