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.