Poems on several subjects

Oh Scotland! Scotland! hae ye not,
Though ye have stupidly forgot,
Ye have avow'dly cut the throat
Of Use and Wont;
And brought upo' you sic a blot
You'll ne'er surmount?

Had Use and Wont been to the fore,
As she lies buried in her gore,
It had advantag'd Scotland o'er
Nae little luck:
But now, unless ye her restore,
Ye're a' mere muck,

I need nae say, 'tis o'er well kend,
What Use and Wont was to her end;
She was to church and state a friend
While in her health;
Frae father to the son descend
She made our wealth.

Now sin' auld Use and Wont's awa',
The clergy, that should people shaw
The gate to heaven, are wood wrang a',
They're sae divided;
Religion's toss'd like ony ba',
And fair misguided.

A race of kings have fill'd our throne,
Twa thousand years and mair bygone,
Descended a' hail sale frae one,
Fergus the first;
But now in Scotland we have none
Sin' Wont's deceast.

We had baith parliament and king
In our ain land, and ilka thing
That did fo'k good, and gar'd us sing
Wi' merry mood;
But now we a' may turn the spring
Sin' Wont is dead.

Our peers and gentry were content
To bide at hame and spend their rent:
But now to travel they are bent,
Baith ane and a';
And crack their credit ere they stint,
Sin' Wont's awa.

Our landlords did nae grudge to see
Their tenants thrive, grow rich, and free:
But now, gin they win ae babee,
Without remead,
Their rent is rax'd to a degree,
Sin' Wont is dead.

Pride was nae in our land sae rife,
Nor prejudice, envy, and strife,
'Mang nei'bours near, or man and wife;
A' did their best
To lead an honest moral life,
Till Wont deceast.

A farmer ween'd himself fu' bra',
When he had plaiden hose like sna',
A good gray hodden coat, and a
Grey plaid aboon,
Warm mittens on his hands, and twa
Strong pointed shoon:

But now ilk chiel that wins a fee,
Maun hae bra' blues; and wha but he?
Wi' buckles at's neck, feet, and knee,
Well scour'd and clean,
As new coach harness use to be;
He looks nae mean.

Our lairds and lords, yea e'en our king,
For garb sought never ony thing
But what our ain land forth did bring;
Ladies, and a'
For foreign fegrims did nae fling
Their gou'd awa'.

We sought nae foreign wines nor tea,
Nor rum, nor brandy, o'er the sea;
Good hailsome whisky ay took we
To gust our gums;
We car'd nae scantly ae babee
For o'er-sea drams.

While Wont winn'd here a living wife,
Our gou'd and silder were as rife
As coals are in the shire of Fife;
But sin' she's dead,
There's mony leads a silly life,
Right scant o' bread.

While Use and Wont winn'd in thir lands,
We had nae use for bills nor bands;
All bargains stood by shaking hands,
Or prolling thumbs:
But now, without them, naething stands;
Bargains or sums.

We had baith gou'd and silder mines,
And poets too that cou'd mak' lines,
And some as honest sound divines
As ither nations;
But now our land its beauty tines
Wi' unca fashions.

Our brousters made good nappie ale,
And sald it cheaper a good deal,
And ane then got far better sale,
Than now some twa:
But now the drinking trade maun fail,
Sin' Wont's awa'.

For taxes on our ale and maut,
And on our tallow, hides, and saut;
And mony wrangs, besides a' that,
I'll no descrive:
But Wont thae things wou'd regulate,
Were she alive:

Our ancient rights and liberties,
And courts of our regalities,
Our sheriffs, stewarts of a' degrees,
Baith ane and a',
Great men's superiorities,
Wi' Wont's awa'.

Our land is now skier naked made;
Not ane auld gun, or rusty blade,
Is left us now to save our head
When danger comes;
Our faes of us naething may dread,
Except our bums.

Our native garb aside is laid,
The ancient tartan coat and plaid;
Nane o' them a' dare now be had,
Sin' Wont's awa';
Poor Scotland now maun a' be sway'd
By English law.

But Use and Wont, like mortals a'
Must unto death a victim fa':
I leard it had been ither twa;
But what remead?
That honest heart is e'en awa';
Alas, and dead!

University of Virginia Library

An ELEGY on auld Use and Wont

The EPITAPH.