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

Is then, the famous Desagulier's son
To learn the dialect of our Calidon?
Wiel, Doctor, since you think it worth your while
Sometimes on my laigh landart shrine to smile,
Accept the haleware, and, when ye gae hame,
Stand by your poet, and haud up his fame.
Gin ill-haird buckys girn and shaw their spite,
Your good word will gang far, and put them hyt.
'Tis sport to see a critick fuf and fling,
And, like a dron-bee, daftly tine his sting;
But the industrious whid frae flower to flower
Suck frae the sweet, and trip out o'er the sour.
While Arthur's Seat shall my Parnassus be,
And frae its twaesome tap my nag can flee
Around this nether-warld, its be my care
To gather images handwal'd and rare,
And gin I be sae kanny aft to please
The best—my mind will be at muckle ease,
Then, with a willing heart and fancy keen,
Its be my study still to strike at spleen

O worthy wight, whase genius great refines,
And puts in practice Euclid's unko lines,
Be ever blyth, and keeps a saul in heel,
Sae beneficial to the common weal.

Aug. 25th, 1721. Allan Ramsay.

A Dedication to The Fables

Sir

Much pleasd of Late with that delightfou way
the antients usd their Moralls to convey
in fable Quaint when Reason Sence & Rhime
Improve the mind and Beat ane equal Time
amongst the Rest this following pleasd my view
which in Braid Scots I have dresd up a new
and send it as a present Sir to you.

260

On The Dutches of Marlbrugh's offer of five hundred pounds to the poet that would make the best Elegy on the Duke.

Five hundred pounds! to small a boon
to put a Poet's muse in tune,
That nothing may escape her,
Should she atempt, the Heroick Story
Of the Ilustrious Churchill's glory,
it would not buy the paper!

A.R.

Annother Epigram or Epitaph on the above Subject [The Dutches of Marlbrugh's offer of five hundred pounds to the poet that would make the best Elegy on the Duke].

Here lyes the Ashes of a frame,
that did a Soull Heroick hold,
whose calm submissions to his Dame
to future ages shall be told,
Poor Sublaterns shall curse her name,
as long as posts are bought & sold,
Now, Sarah, I the premium claim,
take you these Lines, give me the Gold.

Epitaph for His Grace the Duke of Marlbrugh.

Here Lyes the Ashes of a frame
which did the Soul of Churchill Hold
The Boast of Britain whose great Name
Shall be throw wondring ages told
till time shall put ane end to fame
in fame his Acts shall be enroll'd
How he made Mighty Louis Tame
With Conduct Wise & Courage Bold.

On the Royal Company of Scottish Archers.

Who can with so much Envy be possest,
Not frankly to rejoyce to see at last
The Scottish Archers now again reviv'd;
Whose martial Deeds can hardly be believ'd?
These made great Rome her conquering Pride let fall,
And here defend her Friends with Ditch and Wall.
These with their Lives their Liberties maintain'd,
And bravely kept their Honour still unstain'd,
Thro' many Ages; to their Progeny
Delivering down their Laws and Country free.

261

Behold of pleasant Comrads now a Train,
Join'd, not for Glory, nor the Hope of Gain:
But whose approved Truth and Honesty,
With a fix'd Purpose of Integrity,
Makes all with sweetest Harmony t'agree.

Who neither do their Friends in Straits forsake,
Nor by envious Fame their Judgments make;
Nor from Pursuit of what is just recede,
For Pray'rs, or Threats, or Promise of good Deed.

If in Defence of Albion's Liberty,
The Rampant Lion shall be rais'd on high,
Guarded with Armies of such Gallant Youth,
Whose Breasts are arm'd with Courage and with Truth,
Their Foes must quit the Field, or lose their Breath;
Their pointed Arrows do give certain Death.

On the Royal Company of Scottish Archers.

Now Phoebus on our Fields doth early smile,
And gloomy Night is banished our Isle
Far South, beyond the long Capharian Bay,
While ancient Thule enjoys a Month of Day,
And Cattle on her lofty Hills do play,
Till Mid-day Heat makes them to seek the Shade,
Down in cool Glens, where they luxurious feed;
And loyally drink down the Cristal Spring
The Lion's Health, and own him for their King.
Thrice happy Beasts! . . .

The martial Genius of old Scotland moves
Now in the Breasts of those who Glory loves,
As in this Royal Squad of Youths, who dare,
If call'd, imploy their Bows In Peace or War.
If fierce Bellona sounds, they'll bend their Bows,
And send a Shower of Deaths amongst their Foes;
But in soft Peace, they then are Cupid's Care,
And with his Shafts they gently wound the Fair.
Sometimes to open Fields they do resort,
To gain Diversion by their manly Sport.
As the Olympian Games were first design'd
To animate and raise the human Mind;
So our chief Town a Silver Shaft bestows,
For which the Archers yearly bend their Bows;
Clade like those ancient Chiefs, who bravely stood
Their Country's Fence to their last drop of Blood.

262

An Habit which those Chieftains wore of old,
Braver than those now spangled o'er with Gold:
Still wore by them who are the purer Race
Of those great Souls, who were our Country's Grace.

The noble Weems, as Chieftain of the Band,
Adds to his Glory more, than to command
All great Britannia's Force by Sea or Land.
Eugene nor Marlb'ro ne'r led such a Train,
Thro' bloody Flanders to Ramillie's Plain.
Such were the Grecian Chiefs who did encamp
Before old Troy; not of the vulgar Stamp,
But Men of Worth, a great and valiant Throng,
Whose Minds were, like their Bodies, firm and strong.

Your noble Nestor, ah! his Loss we mourn,
Who now lies dormant in his silent Urn,
Last Year upon your Head appear'd the Sage,
Fraught with good Humour still, in Spite of Age.
All Hearts were glad to see his Lordship gay,
At such an Age such Vigour to display.

But where's Achilles? Will he ne'r be seen,
To head that merry Meeting on the Green?
Now proud old Priam with his haughty Son
Exulting fancies that the Field is won:
Their joyful Acclamations rend the Skies;
They swear by Jove, they'll keep the ravish'd Prize.
Return Achilles ere it be too late,
Clear up our Doubts, and stand the Shock of Fate.
Let nothing damp the Courage of the Brave:
In great Attempts, if just, the Gods will save.
Jove in the Air the Scales of Fate doth hang:
Thus spake Ulysses; thus old Homer sang.
Thus shall my Muse, though on a weaker Wing,
Fly to the End of Time, and ever sing
Their Praise, who love their Country and their King.

The Roundell to her Health

A Health to M--- O---
And lang may she flurish
But soon ye Gods a Gardner Grant
that's fit to watter sic a Plant
and Make the Maid a Nurish
Now fill the Bumpers Drink and Rant
A Health to M--- O---
and lang may she flurish

263

Fable of the Lost Calf

A Carefu' Cowherd anes had lost
A Calf, that him much Seeking cost,
His Labour vain, he near Despair,
No Means untry'd save that of Prayer,
The last Shift; when nought els will do,
Then to the Gods at length we bow:
Thus did our Herdsman, fill'd with Grief,
Petition Jove to shew'm the Thief
That with his Calf had run away,
And he would on his Altar lay
A Kid, the fattest of the Plain,
Should for his Godship's Use be slain.
His Prayer reach'd the high Abode.
We hear thee, (smiling) cry'd the God,
Have thy Desire.—Straight in the Place
A Lion star'd him in the Face.
The too rash Clown now shook with Fear,
To see the awfu' Brute so near;
Then to his Prayers he runs once more
To unpray what he pray'd before:
“Great Jove, said he, I know my Vow,
“But the unhappy Wish I rew;
“Remove the Thief, an't be thy Will,
“And I shall make the Kid a Bull.”
Thus Mankind oft importune Heaven
For what would ruine them, if given.

Epigram

[When Nell in Tears frae Troy came]

When Nell in Tears frae Troy came,
Thus to her Cuckold spake the Dame:
Tho Paris that young Lecher tall
Enjoy'd my Body, you'ad my Saul.
That I can well believe, quoth he;
But Faith the warst haff fell to me.

Another Epigram

[A well kend Cuckold made his brag]

A well kend Cuckold made his brag,
How much by Fortune he was lov'd;
And said in hearing of a Wag,
That under him the Warld mov'd.

264

That your great Glory yields to few,
In Truth, says he, cannot be quarrel'd;
For a' the Warld moves under you,
And your Wife under a' the Warld.

Another Epigram

[Lasses, like Nuts, at Bottom brown]

Lasses, like Nuts, at Bottom brown,
Are ripe, and shou'd be sought;
Else of themsells they will fa' down,
And syn prove good for Nought.

Songs from The Devil of a Duke or Trappolin's Vagaries (1733).

Song 1.

[I have a soft spirit & do what I dou]

I have a soft spirit & do what I dou
Dear Trapolin will have the guiding o't
While he talks & he smiles my hearts in a low
and now ther is no longer hiding o't
he hugs me & Jugs me and calls me his sweet
he ralles & Raves while he falls at my feet
by his constant adress his love seems complete
yet still I'm afraid of the abiding o't

Song 2. What should a Lassie do with an old man.

Flametta
O shoud Wanton fancy move you
Shoud you prove a naughty man
I shall think you never lov'd me
I shall hate you if I can

Trap.
Shoud your charming Beauty move me
'twoud but prove that I'm a man
you shoud believe I better lovd you
try, then hate me if you can

265

Song 3. Willy was a wanton wag.

Would you be the man in fashion
and prove wealthy safe & wise
indulge yourself in every passion
virtue learning fame despise
be rapacious bold & florid
Gold alone is the great prize
that takes from vices all that're horid
and makes us pass for good & wise
This clears a reputation tarnish'd
and it never yet was found
that the Gallows eer was garnished
with a hundred thousand pound

Song 4. The Lads of Dunse.

Complying denying
now free & now coy
Alluring & curing
Loves pain with it(s) Joy
with frowns or with smiles that kindle a fire
is a Lass that each Temper & age must admire
her Eye darts its glances
our heart feels its Ray
her power advances
as ours ebbs away
from charms so strong ther's none can retreat
for do what she will she is every way sweet

Song 5.

[A buxom young daughter]

A buxom young daughter
makes many mouths water
and the fops all around her will spark it
they say 'tis a Treasure
but gives us no pleasure
Untill they are Brought to fair market
while our cash is in chest
we are never at rest
for Robes are every where loose Sir
our Girls & our purses
are nothing but curses
'till they both are put out to good use Sir

266

Song 6. O'r Boggy.

The dog his Bit will often Quit
a Bulle to eschewe
The cock his corn will leave in Barn
annother cock in view
one man will eat annothers meat
and no contention seen
for all agree 'tis good to be
tho' hungry in a whole skin

But should each spy his mistress by
one contradict his suit
he Quits al fears & by the Ears
they fall together to't
Such Hinderers shocks mend Dogs & Cocks
and makes the gentle froward
He who wont fight for Mistress bright
in something worse than coward

Song 7. Colin's Complaint.

As the Bark when it parts from the shore
has scarce any distance between
yet at last by the Billows 'tis bore
where, alas! no more land's to be seen

So from virtue when once we remove
we attempt to return, but in vain
by the current of vice we are drove
'till we founder at length in the main.

Song 8. What tho' they call me a Country Lass.

Now that I'm Duke I'll strut right high
come courtiers flatter fawn & ly
what are the greatest more than I
but a stand by clear the way
and since so kindly is my fate
With this new face I'll put on state
and some shall fall as I grow great
I pant to see the day

267

Song 9. My Deary, if thou die.

Pure as the new falen snow apears
the spotles virgins name
unsullyd white her bosom bears
as fair her form & frame
but when she's soild her luster greets
the admiring Eye no more
she sinks to mud defiles the streets
and swells the common shore.

Song 10. John Anderson my Jo.

A statesman should employ his art
to increase his master's wealth
and study to rejoyce his heart
with pleasures cround with health
nor should he pillage from the croun
t'enrich himself or Heirs
or raise himself by pulling down
old brave descended peers
he ought to gain royall reward
for such as well deserve
and ever have a stayd regard
neer to let Merit starve.

Song 11. My Dady forbad.

such hang dogs of state
they swell up so great
by pimping by flattery & lying
that the crafty vile Rooks
make a blind of their Dukes
while their favours they are selling & Buying
but wee'll let them know
wee'll not be led so
as we please we will smile or wee'll frown Boy
we Tuscany's Duke
on no man will look
with any ones Eyes but our own Boy.

268

Song 12. Hap me with thy Petticoat.

Loves the young Heroe victory
and pamperd priests young nuns
do good men joy in clemency
and Willings in their punns
do poets take delight in praise
The Beau in Laces clean
so lov'd I and will all my Days
Poor banishd Trapolin.

Song 13. Yellow hair'd Laddie.

Some charm with their Descent and some with their face
Some inchant with a Manner & some with a Grace
Some only wish Riches to engage them for Life
while others value nothing but wit in a wife
But in my dear choice all excellencys shine
and point her out sprung from a source thats divine
Tho ane Enemie captive I viewed your desert
which darted a conquest on my yielding heart
and now without Blushing I own you my choice
since a Brother consenting gives cause to rejoyce
and since my heart vanquished no longer is mine
accept on and cherisht as I will do thine.

Song 14. Nansy to the Greenwood gane.

Now all's restored to rights again
and falshood is discarded
Let sounding Joys ring oer the plain
and virtue be rewarded
when cross events in life appear
that wrap in clouds their meaning
they give us pain but when they clear
they then are entertaining

since I'm no more a Duke can be
farewell to all thats stately
Come Flammie then let thee & me
strive to live kind & quietly
if we enjoy content & love
and tho our rents be scanty
our real joys may rise above
the petts of pride & plenty

269

Song 15.

[would ye be a man of fame]

would ye be a man of fame
and rise to courtly station
then be a pimp the noble name
will aid your elevation
soldiers may fight & Gamblers bite
and poets write their sence out
But pimps with ease their patrons can please
and best can make the pence out
Then fa a dri didle
Still at our devotion
if from our Grace youd hope a place
by pimping comes promotion

The merry meeting on The Moor

July 1749

Now tours the Sun with radiant glow
and zyphers brush the Height and How,
neigher the Steads, the Spaniels frisk,
the Hunters mount with humour brisk,
to range the Moor, & beat the Bent,
and bring down Powts, with fell intent

Three Knights advance into the field
wha to nae fae a foot wad yield,
tho born upon the Dragon's wing,
or arm'd with th'envemon'd sting,
attended by their trusty 'Squires,
and Nymphs in palfreys, and in Carrs,
who unaffraid can Deserts trace,
and look all dangers in the face,
the Mossy Hag, the Birns, and Bogg,
the Tempests while the Forrests shogg,
and all such draw-backs, are in vain
when they've a mind to take the plain,
unlike the Lazy city Fair
who downa thole the halesom air,
Now as the chearfu' menzie wheel
outo'er the wild, to gain the Sheil,
where Sportsmen their tire'd limbs recline,
and like auld Grecean Heroes dine,
accross their way, by Sathan sent,
a Serpent crawld out from the Bent,

270

uncoild it self, and forward sprung,
Hissing with venomd teeth & Tongue,
doun from his Carr the Guardian Knight
with Martial Ardour did alight,
the Nymphs from dangers to relieve,
by crushing that auld fae of Eve,
which he perform'd with as stout Arm a
as Hercules slew that of Lerna,
which he with a great Club destroy'd
our Errant but a Whip imployd,
with which the Sneak he breathless laid
Scorning to' file his shining blade
with blood impure,—and now again
they mount, and scowre allong the plain,
singing a conquest sae compleat,
While Ecchoing Hills the notes repeat.

Far in the uncultivated waste,
by good Sir John, a Bower is placed
The Architecture, all designed
of the exactest rustick kind,
and sae well form'd, above and under,
beyond the pith of Thieves to plunder,
nor cormorants, wha fleece by acts,
can make it pay the Window Tax,
There feasted we, with much delyte,
nae sauce like a keen appitite,
and blest be clever Calderwood
wha cookd us up the savoury food,
such was the dish Rebecca dress'd
for which, auld Isaac, Jacob blesd
The Tribes wha were by Moses led
whase Tables were in Desarts spred,
from the red sea, to Jordans ford,
never beheld a rougher Board,
or crownd with mair substantial dishes
to gratifie the sharpest wishes,
than we sat round, nor easyer flowd
good humour, in the Age of Gowd,
when sullen Jar, & party strife,
coost nae dark Shades on social life
nor was there wanting as good liquour
as ever ratle'd in a Bicquour,
which all might drink, as they incline
of ale, or watter, punch, or wine,
nor must the Bon-bouch be unsung
which phenix like frae Ashes sprung,

271

well pepperd with the salt of peat,
the gusty Morsell close'd the Treat,
and chearfully ilk waggan chin
fill'd up all blanks that were within,
while freedom prompt the Jovial Jest,
and finish'd out the Rurall Feast

A. R.

On false Greatness

1

Stand aff ye giddy, gawky, thrang,
to what-e'er classes ye belang,
frae Cottars up to King's
if you'r of Truth & Justice scant
and Social lore, & honour want,
ye are but worthless Things.

2

Tho to ten Thousand Acres born
all wavend with Crops of golden corn,
and slaves to bow before ye
if you are selfish, proud, and sour,
of humour fickle, dull, & dour
nane will in heart care for ye.

3

wha can help laughing in their faces!
that are maist fausly call'd their Graces,
wha're reverse of the Title,
heap honours upon honour's top,
it ne'er will make the matter up,
if that the Saul be litle.

4

full blest are they wha claim their birth
frae great forbears of valued worth
and imitate their merit
they'll still engage the world's esteem
wha muddy not the flowing stream
with an Ignoble Spirit.

Penk August 29th 1755 A LXXI R

272

An Exchange of Epistles

About the moneth, sir, of September
When you wer here, I do remember
I promised to write my mind.
Indeed, good sir, you were not kind.
Coldness in age is a great failing—
I match you there, but am not willing
That all the love from me shoud come;
This is a thing that's seldom done.
Least I be guilty of false charge,
Express your love by gifts that's large—
A diamond ring or a gold chain
Will ty me always to remain
To be your jo as herefore,
But tys of priests can scarce get o'er.
Yet bonny wallys in my time
Hath caught young lasses in their prime,
And realy you must owe such charms
For auld folks turn oftimes bairns.

His Answer

Dear Lady Gay, grant me I am auld,
Yet am I neither faild nor cauld;
And tho I wer a score of years
Aulder than you, we'r head-a-pears,
For I'm for generation stout
Lang time after your pipe's gane out.
I own indeed when kirtle woos
It spaes baith speed and luck to trews,
But gowden chains and diamond rings
Upon my troth are costly things
To gie a mistress in propine
Wha winna cast the knot divine.
In ae respect I'le serve ye brawly
With what maid loo, a bonny wally;
But gin ye ergh to be my wife
And hazard take of me for life,
The complement ye's never thumb
But for as mickle in its room.
And this, faith, you maun tak in hand
Or els the bargain winna stand.

Madam, yours

273

Bogi-Dow a Sang to the Tune of Jeny Beguild the wobster.

1

O had my Apron Biden Down
the Kirk had ne'er a kend it
But now the words gane throu the Toun
alake hou can we mend it
Now ye maun face the Minister
and I maun Mount the Pillar
and that's the gate that poor Fowk gae
for Poor fowk have nae siller

2

But what needs either Jock or I
care for the parish Taunting
Since a' we did was but to try
the Thing that we were Wanting
Nane Buys a Chease afore they pale
and prive gin they were Twenty
The Man that has a wife to wale
Why should he be less Tenty

3

Come Jock lets Joyn afore the Priest
Since that's the thing we maun do
That done fa frankly to the feast
and laugh at a' they can do
its marriage makes a mends for a
and sma's the skaith of Anti—
Then let's gae Sowder ilka flaw
Syn ca the Cutty Canty

4

Let silly woers sigh & jouk
that fear to make the Tryal
I like the Lad with Laughing Look
that will take nae denyal
but Round about the Hay Stack
and in amang the finkle
A Lad shoud gie a Lass a smack
to gar her Tocher Tinkle.

274

[Verses] To the tune of Over the hills and far away.

I

The Royall Youth may now advance
And safely bid adieu to France
And Loyal hearts will bless the day
For his return that's far away

2

The gracious Queen with tears of joy
Will welcome home the lovely boy
And gloriously resigne the sway
To him whom we should all obey

3

Hanover may now bid adieu
And also that rebellious crew
Who the Royall Scepter hopes to sway
Which belongs to him that's far away

4

Now Subjects now may freely sing
Soon may return our banish'd King
We no pretender will obey
When he comes home thats far away

5

Now Let us Since He's comeing home
Drink's safe accession to the throne
And nor regard what they can say
Who still would keep him far away

On Priests not marrying.

God send every Priest a Wife
and every Nun a Man
that they might live that haly life
as first the Kirk began

275

Saint peter whom nane can reprove
his life in marriage led
and a' good preists whom god did loove
their marryed wives had

Great Reason then I grant had they
frae Marriage to refrain
but greater causes have they may
now wives to wed again

for then soud not sae mony whoor
be up & doun the Land
nor yet sae mony Beggars poor
in Kirk & Mercat stand

And no sae miekle Bastard seed
throu out this countrey sawin
nor good men fremit fry shoud feed
and a' the sooth were knawn

Sen Christs Law and Common Law
and Doctors will admit
that priests that good yoak shoud draw
wha dare say contrair it.

On the Clergy's minding themsells mair than their flock.

Wae to the Herds of Israell
that feed nae Right the flock
but daintylie Batten themsell
Syne do the people mock

The silly Sheep are a' forlorn
and fawn to Wouffs a pray
Then Herds hae teendit a' the Corn
the Sheep can get nae Strae

They gathered up their Woo & Milk
of nae mair took they Cure
but cled themsells with costly silk
and siclike cled their Whoor

276

Therefore says God I will require
my Sheep out of their Hands
and give them Herds at my disire
to teach them my Commands

and they shall nowther feed themsell
nor yet hunger my sheep
I shall them frae my Kirk expell
and give them Swine to keep

[Fragment]

[Now had ye'r Tounge my Daughter Young]

Now had ye'r Tounge my Daughter Young
Replyd the kindly Mither
get Jonys hand in Haly Band
Syn wrap yer sells thegither
if he be kind I'm of the mind
ye do your Part discreetly
and Prove a wife will gar his Life
and Barrel Rin right sweetly

[Fragment]

[When noucht but Zyphers shake the Plain]

When noucht but Zyphers shake the Plain
and Phebus shines serene
Her from her couch as from the Main
Arose the Cyprian Queen
Preserve these Charms you Liberal gave
your supliants ask nae mair
ye've Left us naithing els to crave
for one sae good sae fair
then Gard her Reward her
with a Brave numerous Race
such Sweetness completnes
in Ilka charme divine
whose Beauty in Duty
ilk muse is bound to sing
Still wishing that Blissing
She mony Bairns may Bring

277

[Fragment of a Song]

[I had a Rock & a wee Pickle Tow]

I had a Rock & a wee Pickle Tow,
And I wad gae try spining o't.
I Loute me doun and my Rock took a Low,
and that was an ill begining o't.
I Luntit, I Brunt it, it vexed me to death;
I waited, I fretted, and was unco Laith,
That my Rock & my Tow should meet with sic skaith,
an hae sic an ill beggining (o't)

[Fragment of a Song]

[O Maly, Mally, I can nae Langer Bear]

O Maly, Mally, I can nae Langer Bear,
My Spirits will fail me, if Put to further Tryall.
Why should a Tongue sae sweet, sic Een divinely clear,
Confound a poor Lover With ony mair Denyals.

[Fragment]

[with dire Remorse for Crime so black]

with dire Remorse for Crime so black,
which stents my saul upon a Rack,
a Burthen which no Humane Back
with Life can bear
Then I the final Part must act
and disapear.

Take warning from my horid case,
each pinchin wretch and Scant-of-Grace,
and drunken Sot whose firy face
Proclaim the fool,
and neer Like me become but Base-
-ly Satans Tool.

278

POEMS ATTRIBUTED TO RAMSAY

Lines writ on seeing Boys act the Tragedy of Cato in the Taylors' Hall, March 16, 1742.

[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

Courant: March 29

Hail, Cato! lovely youth, how didst thou shine
With graces borrow'd from the Roman line!
Thou set the godlike father up to view,
Pointing the virtues Britons should pursue.
The rising Cato made our hearts to glow
With generous pleasure and condoling wo.
When firm he stood, how venerably great,
Beneath his sufferings, and resign'd to fate!
Like an old oak that glories in his height,
Midst storms and tempests standing still upright.
What bosom swell'd not with a sacred joy,
To see great Portius in the tender Boy?
The true resemblance of his glorious sire,
Possess'd of virtues which all men admire:
His speech, his action, every thing confess'd,
The hero's sould lodged in the stripling's breast.
Marcius conspicuous shone, throughout the whole,
With Roman virtues and a Roman soul.
How well did Syphax act the treacherous part!
A Syphax in appearance, not in heart.
Lucius, mid'st civil broils calm and serene;
Unchanged, though fortune pleased to change the scene;
Which gives us hopes our Lucius, when of age,
Will act his part in life, as on the stage.
No sooner Lucia lent her friendly aid,
Than all resistless were her captives made;
Teaching the fair to listen to desert,
And banish fops and coxcombs from the heart.
How Marcia charm'd, when beautifully grieved,
By Lybian robes stain'd o'er with blood deceived!
Her secret passion now no more conceals,
Throws off restraint, and owns the flame she feels.

279

The little Decius, too, deserves our praise,
Wh' address'd the senate with becoming grace;
The just applauses of the audience won.
Express'd by claps on claps from every one.
Ye British youth! advance to mighty deeds,
Storing your tender mind with all the seeds
Of solid virtue, which will brave your fate,
And, tho, depress'd, will ever make you great.

The Thimble

[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

“In tenui labour: at tenuis non gloria.” —Virg.

What god shall I invoke to raise my song?
What goddess I of the celestial throng?
Shall bright Apollo lend to me his aid?
Shall chaste Lucina bring my muse to bed?
Oh! rather, greatest beauty of the sky!
I write for Lydia; hear your vot'ry's cry,
You gave your charms to her—What can you then deny?

All o'er this globe, where Phoebus darts his rays,
What strange variety accosts our eyes!
We see how nations variously incline,
How different studies favour different men;
Some love to chase the fox throughout the day,
Others to dance the winter night away,
Unlike to these, some love the trumpet's sound,
And cries of men, when gasping on the ground;
To some, of fancy warm it gives delight,
Instructed by the muses, verse to write
Of bards, some generals in fight rehearse,
Others with groves and fountains crowd their verse.
Greater than their's has fallen to my share—
A theme sublimer far demands my care,
I sing the thimble—armour of the fair.

Hail! heaven-invented-engine! gift divine!
You keep the tend'rest fingers free from pain.
Sing, lofty Muse, from whence the Thimble sprung—
The Thimble—safeguard of the fair and young.

In ancient times, ere mortals learnt the trade,
Bright Venus for herself her mantles made.
As busied once, in Cyprian grove she sat,
Her turtles fondly sleeping at her feet,

280

With hands alone to sew the goddess tried,
Her wand'ring thoughts were otherwise employed;
When,—lo! her needle—strange effect of spite—
Wounded that skin it could not see so bright;
She starts,—she raves,—she trembles with the smart;
The point that pricked her skin, went to her heart.
Sharp pain would not allow her long to stop;
“My doves,” she cry'd, “haste to Olympus' top”
The tim'rous beauty gets into her car,
Her pinioned bearers swiftly cut the air.
As quick as thought, they reach'd the sacred ground,
Where mighty Jove with Juno sat enthron'd.
“What ails my child?” to her then cried the god;
“Why thus in tears? What makes you look so odd?
Would you a favour beg?”—A while she stood,
Her ivory finger stain'd with purple blood;
Then thus:—“Oh! father of the gods,” she prayed,
“Grant I may be invulnerable made!”
With look sedate, returned the awful sire—
“Daughter, you do not know what you desire;
Would you to Pluto's gloomy regions run?
Would you be dipt in Styx, like Thetis 'son?
Could you unfrighted view Hell's dismal shore?
What shall I say then?—Go, and stitch no more.”

Ashamed—unsatisfied—away she hies
To try her fate again, beneath the skies.
“Shall I,” she said, “While goddesses well drest,
Outshine each other at a birthday feast—
Shall I in simple nakedness be brought,
Or clothed in rags? Intolerable thought!
No, rather may the blood my cheeks forsake,
And a new passage thro' my fingers take!”

In fertile Sicily, well known to fame,
A mountain stands, and Ætna is its name.—
Tremendous earthquakes rend the flinty rock,
And vomit forth continual fire and smoke:
Here, Vulcan forges thunderbolts for Jove,
Here, frame sharp arrows for the God of Love;
His Cyclops with their hammers strike around,
The hollow caverns echo back the sound.

Here, Venus brought her pigeons and her coach,
The one-eyed workman ceased at her approach;
When Vulcan thus:—“My charmer! why so pale?
You seem prepared to tell some dismal tale.
Does fierce Tydides still his rage pursue?
Or has your son his arrows tried on you?”

281

“Ah! no!”—“What makes you bleed then? answer quick.”
“Oh no, my lord, my husband! Know a prick
Of needle's point has made me wond'rous sick.”
“Fear not, my spouse!” said Vulcan, “ne'er again,
Never shall any needle give you pain.”
With that the charming goddess he embraced,
Then in a shell of brass her finger cased.
“This little engine shall in future days”
Continued he, “receive the poet's praise,
And give a fruitful subject for their lays;
This shall the lovely Lydia's finger grace—
Lydia—the fairest of the human race!”
He spoke—then, with a smile, the Queen of Love
Returned him thanks, and back to Cyprus drove.

When Venus, Lydia, with beauty blest,
She granted her the thimble with the rest;
Yet cannot brass or steel remain for aye—
All earthly things are subject to decay.
Of Babel's tow'r, so lofty and so proud,
No stone remains to tell us where it stood:
The great, the wise, the valiant and the just,
Caesar and Cato, are returned to dust;
Devouring Time to all destruction brings,
Alike the fate of Thimbles—and of Kings.
Then grieve not, Lydia! cease your anxious care,
Nor murmur lest your favorite Thimble wear.
All other thimbles shall wear out e'er long,
All other thimbles, be they e'er so strong,
Whilst your's shall live for ever in my song.

On the foregoing by ---

Fair Lydia's Thimble, Ramsay! to thy name,
Shall be a passport thro' the gates of Fame.

To the Memory of Alexr Strachan sometime School master in Pennycuik who died aged 80 years 1733.

[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

Beneath this stone old Strachan's laid
whose Looks made Belzebub affraid
he quick as lightning fled before him
lest with his Taz he had come o'er him

In Pennycuik strict was his rule
where long he kept his awful school
where with these Taz & canker'd looks
he gart young Scholars tent their Books

282

when he appeared in Blood-red Gown
Then trembled all the Bairns in Town

Soon as he reached the Stygian lake
even rugged Charon 'gan to quake
his wonted freight he asked not
but freely put him in his Boat
he had no will to run the Risque
of getting with the Taz a whisk
thus Sanders he got safely in
without a scart upon his skin

And soon as Cerberus saw the Carle
He hid his heads and durst not snarl
nor from him usual loaf he Beggs
but fled with's Tail between his Leggs
Hells monsters all before him fled
and soon he gain'd the Elesian shade

Howere these things the Poets feign
let Strachan's Bones in rest remain
His Scholar keen to recompence
his master's Care & Diligence
Erects this Tomb that so his name
May flurish with a lasting fame

Hardyknute,

A Fragment.

I

Stately stept he East the Wa,
And stately stept he West,
Full Seventy Zeirs he now had sene,
With skerss sevin Zeirs of Rest.
He livit quhen Britons Breach of Faith
Wroucht Scotland meikle Wae:
And ay his Sword tauld to their Cost,
He was their deidly Fae.

283

II

Hie on a Hill his Castle stude,
With Halls and Touris a Hicht,
And guidly Chambers fair to se,
Quhair he lodgit mony a Knicht.
His Dame sae peirless anes and fair,
For Chast and Bewtie deimt,
Nae Marrow had in all the Land,
Saif Elenor the Quene.

III

Full Thirtein Sons to him scho bare,
All Men of Valour stout;
In bluidy Ficht with Sword in Hand
Nyne lost their Lives bot doubt;
Four zit remain, lang may they live
To stand by Liege and Land:
Hie was their Fame, hie was their Micht,
And hie was their Command.

IV

Great Luve they bare to Fairly fair,
Their Sister saft and deir,
Her Girdle shawd her Middle gimp,
And gowden glist her Hair.
Quhat waefou wae hir Bewtie bred?
Waefou to zung and auld,
Waefou I trow to Kyth and Kin,
As Story ever tauld.

V

The King of Norse in Summer Tyde,
Puft up with Powir and Micht,
Landed in fair Scotland the Yle,
With mony a hardy Knicht:
The Tydings to our gude Scots King
Came, as he sat at Dyne,
With noble Chiefs in braif Aray,
Drinking the Blude-reid Wyne.

284

VI

“To Horse, to Horse, my Ryal Liege,
“Zour Faes stand on the Strand,
“Full Twenty thousand glittering Spears
“The King of Norse commands.
Bring me my Steed Mage dapple gray,
Our gude King raise and cryd,
A trustier Beast in all the Land
A Scots King nevir seyd.

VII

GO, little Page, tell Hardyknute,
That lives on Hill so hie,
To draw his Sword, the Dreid of Faes,
And haste and follow me.
The little Page flew swift as Dart
Flung by his Masters Arm,
Cum down, cum down, Lord Hardyknute,
And rid zour King frae Harm.

VIII

Then reid, reid grew his dark-brown Cheiks,
Sae did his dark-brown Brow;
His Luiks grew kene, as they were wont,
In Dangers great to do;
He hes tane a Horn as grene as Glass,
And gien five Sounds sae shrill,
That Treis in grene Wod schuke thereat,
Sae loud rang ilka Hill.

IX

His Sons in manly Sport and Glie,
Had past that Summers Morn,
Quhen lo down in a grassy Dale,
They heard their Fatheris Horn.
That Horn, quod they, neir sounds in Peace,
We haif other Sport to byde;
And sune they heyd them up the Hill,
And sune were at his Syde.

285

X

LATE late Zestrene I weind in Peace
To end my lengthned Lyfe,
My Age micht weil excuse my Arm
Frae manly Feats of Stryfe;
But now that Norse dois proudly boast
Fair Scotland to inthrall,
Its neir be said of Hardyknute,
He feard to ficht or fall.

XI

ROBIN of Rothsay bend thy Bow,
Thy Arrows schute sae leil,
Mony a comely Countenance
They haif turnd to deidly Pale:
Brade Thomas tak ze but zour Lance,
Ze neid nae Weapons mair,
Gif ze ficht weit as ze did anes
Gainst Westmorlands ferss Heir.

XII

MALCOLM, licht of Fute as Stag
That runs in Forest wyld,
Get me my Thousands Thrie of Men
Well bred to Sword and Schield:
Bring me my Horse and Harnisine,
My Blade of Mettal cleir.
If Faes kend but the Hand it bare,
They sune had fled for Feir.

XIII

FAREWEIL my Dame sae peirless gude,
And tuke hir by the Hand,
Fairer to me in Age zou seim,
Than Maids for Bewtie famd:
My zoungest Son sall here remain
To guard these stately Towirs,
And shut the Silver Bolt that keips,
Sae fast zour painted Bowirs.

286

XIV

And first scho wet hir comely Cheiks,
And then hir Boddice grene,
Hir Silken Cords of Twirtle twist,
Weil plett with Silver schene;
And Apron set with mony a Dice
Of Neidle-wark sae rare,
Wove by nae Hand, as ze may guess,
Saif that of Fairly fair.

XV

And he has ridden owre Muir and Moss,
Owre Hills and mony a Glen,
Quhen he came to a wounded Knicht
Making a heavy Mane;
Here maun I lye, here maun I dye,
By Treacheries false Gyles;
Witless I was that eir gaif Faith
To wicked Womans Smyles.

XVI

SR Knicht, gin ze were in my Bowir,
To lean on Silken Seat,
My Ladyis kyndlie Care zoud prove,
Quha neir kend deidly Hate;
Hir self wald watch ze all the Day,
Hir Maids a deid of Nicht;
And Fairly fair zour Heart wald cheir,
As scho stands in zour Sicht.

XVII

ARYSE, zoung Knicht, and mount zour Steid,
Full lowns the schynand Day,
Cheis frae my Menzie quhom ze pleis
To leid ze on the Way.
With smyless Luke and Visage wan,
The wounded Knicht replyd,
Kynd Chiftain, zour Intent pursue,
For heir I maun abyde.

287

XVIII

To me nae after Day nor Nicht,
Can eir be sweit or fair,
But sune beneath sum draping Trie,
Cauld Deith sall end my Care.
With him nae Pleiding micht prevail,
Braif Hardyknute to gain,
With fairest Words and Reason strang,
Straif courteously in vain.

XIX

Syne he has gane far hynd attowre,
Lord Chattans Land sae wyde,
That Lord a worthy Wicht was ay,
Quhen Faes his Courage jeyd:
Of Pictish Race by Mothers Syde,
Quhen Picts ruld Caledon,
Lord Chattan claimd the Princely Maid,
Quhen he saift Pictish Crown.

XX

Now with his ferss and stalwart Train,
He reicht a rysing Heicht,
Quhair braid encampit on the Dale,
Norss Army lay in Sicht;
Zonder my valziant Sons and feris,
Our raging Revers wait,
On the unconquerit Scottish Swaird
To try with us thair Fate.

XXI

MAK Orisons to him that saift
Our Sauls upon the Rude,
Syne braifly schaw zour Veins ar filld
With Caledonian Blude.
Then furth he drew his trusty Glaive,
Quhyle Thousands all arround,
Drawn frae their Sheaths glanst in the Sun,
And loud the Bougills sound.

288

XXII

To join his King adoun the Hill
In Hast his Merch he made,
Quhyle, playand Pibrochs, Minstralls meit
Afore him stately strade.
Thryse welcum valziant Stoup of Weir,
Thy Nations Scheild and Pryde;
Thy King nae Reason has to feir
Quhen thou art be his Syde.

XXIII

Quhen Bows were bent and Darts were thrawn,
For thrang scarce could they flie,
The Darts clove Arrows as they met,
The Arrows dart the Trie.
Lang did they rage and ficht full ferss,
With little Skaith to Man,
But bludy, bludy was the Field,
Or that lang Day was done.

XXIV

The King of Scots that sindle bruikd
The War that luikt lyke Play,
Drew his braid Sword, and brake his Bow,
Sen Bows seimt but Delay:
Quoth noble Rothsay, Myne I'll keip,
I wate its bleid a Skore.
Hast up my merry Men, cryd the King,
As he rade on before.

XXV

The King of Norse he socht to find,
With him to mense the Faucht,
But on his Forehead there did licht
A sharp unsonsie Shaft;
As he his Hand put up to find
The Wound, an Arrow kene,
O waefou Chance! there pinnd his Hand
In midst betwene his Ene.

289

XXVI

REVENGE, revenge, cryd Rothsays Heir,
Your Mail-coat sall nocht byde
The Strength and Sharpness of my Dart;
Then sent it throuch his Syde:
Another Arrow weil he markd,
It persit his Neck in twa,
His Hands then quat the silver Reins,
He law as Eard did fa.

XXVII

SAIR bleids my Liege, sair, sair he bleids.
Again with micht he drew
And Gesture dreid his sturdy Bow,
Fast the braid Arrow flew:
Wae to the Knicht he ettled at,
Lament now Quene Elgreid,
Hie Dames to wail zour Darlings Fall,
His Zouth and comely Meid.

XXVIII

TAKE aff, take aff his costly Jupe
(Of Gold weil was it twynd,
Knit lyke the Fowlers Net throuch quhilk
His steilly Harness shynd)
Take, Norse, that Gift frae me, and bid
Him venge the Blude it beirs;
Say, if he face my bended Bow,
He sure nae Weapon feirs.

XXIX

Proud Norse with Giant Body tall,
Braid Shoulder and Arms strong,
Cryd, Quhair, is Hardyknute sae famd
And feird at Britains Throne:
Tho Britons tremble at his Name,
I sune sall make him wail,
That eir my Sword was made sae sharp,
Sae saft his Coat of Mail.

290

XXX

That Brag his stout Heart coud na byde,
It lent him zouthfou Micht:
I'm Hardyknute this Day, he cryd,
To Scotlands King I hecht,
To lay thee law as Horses Hufe,
My Word I mean to keip.
Syne with the first Strake eir he strake,
He garrd his Body bleid.

XXXI

NORSE ene lyke gray Gosehawks staird wyld,
He sicht with Shame and Spyte;
Disgracd is now my far famd Arm,
That left thee Power to stryke:
Then gaif his Head a Blaw fae fell,
It made him doun to stoup,
As law as he to Ladies usit
In courtly Gyse to lout.

XXXII

Full sune he rais'd his bent Body,
His Bow he marvelld fair,
Sen Blaws till then on him but darrd
As Touch of Fairly fair:
Norse ferliet too as fair as he
To se his stately Luke,
Sae sune as eir he strake a Fae,
Sae sune his Lyfe he tuke.

XXXIII

Quhair lyke a Fyre to Hether fet,
Bauld Thomas did advance,
A sturdy Fae with Luke enragd
Up towards him did prance;
He spurd his Steid throw thickest Ranks
The hardy Zouth to quell
Quha stude unmufit at his Approach
His Furie to repell.

291

XXXIV

THAT schort brown Shaft sae meanly trimd,
Lukis lyke poor Scotlands Geir,
But dreidfull seims the rusty Poynt!
And loud he leuch in Jeir.
Aft Britains Blude has dimd its Shyne
This Poynt cut short their Vaunt;
Syne piercd the boisteris bairded Cheik,
Nae Tyme he tuke to taunt.

XXXV

Schort quhyle he in his Sadill swang,
His Stirrip was nae Stay,
Sae feible hang his unbent Knee,
Sure taken he was fey:
Swith on the hardened Clay he fell,
Richt far was hard the Thud,
But Thomas luikt not as he lay
All waltering in his Blude.

XXXVI

With cairles Gesture Mynd unmuvit
On raid he north the Plain,
His feim in Thrang of fiercest Stryfe,
Quhen Winner ay the fame;
Nor zit his Heart Dames dimpelit Cheik,
Coud meife saft Luve to bruik,
Till vengeful Ann returnd his Scorn,
Then languid grew his Luke.

XXXVII

In Thrawis of Death, with wallowit Cheik
All panting on the Plain,
The fainting Corps of Warriours lay,
Neir to aryse again;
Neir to return to native Land,
Nae mair with blythsom Sounds,
To boist the Glories of the Day,
And schaw thair Shyning Wounds.

292

XXXVIII

On Norways Coast the Widowit Dame
May wash the Rocks with Teirs,
May lang luke owre the Schiples Seis
Befoir hir Mate appeirs.
Ceife, Emma, ceife to hope in Vain,
Thy Lord lyis in the Clay,
The valziant Scots nae Revers thole
To carry Lyfe away.

XXXIX

There on a Lie quhair stands a Cross
Set up for Monument,
Thousands full fierce that Summers Day
Filld kene Waris black Intent,
Lets Scots, quhyle Scots, praife Hardyknute,
Let Norse the Name ay dreid,
Ay how he faucht, aft how he spaird,
Sal latest Ages reid.

XL

Loud and chill blew the westlin Wind,
Sair beat the heavy Showir,
Mirk grew the Nicht eir Hardyknute
Wan neir his stately Tower,
His Towir that usd with Torches bleise
To shyne sae far at Nicht,
Seimd now as black as mourning Weid,
Nae Marvel sair he sichd.

XLI

THAIRS nae Licht in my Ladys Bowir
Thairs nae Licht in my Hall;
Nae Blink shynes round my Fairly fair,
Nor Ward stands on my Wall.
Quhat bodes it? Robert, Thomas say,
Nae Answer fits their Dreid.
Stand back, my Sons, I'll be zour Gyde,
But by they past with Speid.

293

XLII

AS fast I haif sped owre Scotlands Faes,
There ceist his Brag of Weir,
Sair schamit to mynd ocht but his Dame,
And Maiden Fairly fair.
Black Feir he felt, but quhat to feir
He wist not zit with Dreid;
Sair schuke his Body, sair his Limbs,
And all the Warrior fled.