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

The Famous Fidler of Kinghorn;
Who gart the Lieges gawff and girn ay,
Aft till the Cock proclaim'd the Morn:
Tho baith his Weeds and Mirth were pirny,
He roos'd these Things were langest worn,
The brown Ale Barrel was his Kirn ay,
And faithfully he toom'd his Horn.

And then besides his valliant Acts,
At Bridals he wan mony Placks.
Hab. Simpson.

In Sonnet slee the Man I sing,
His rare Engine in Rhyme shall ring,
Wha slaid the Stick out o'er the String
With sic an Art;
Wha sang sae sweetly to the Spring,
And rais'd the Heart.

187

Kinghorn may rue the ruefou Day
That lighted Patie to his Clay,
Wha gart the hearty Billies stay
And spend their Cash,
To see his Snowt, to hear him play,
And gab sae gash.

When Strangers landed , wow sae thrang
Fuffin and peghing he wa'd gang
And cave their Pardon that sae lang
He'd been a coming;
Syne his Bread-winner out he'd bang,
And fa' to Bumming.

Your Honour's Father dead and gane,
For him he first wa'd make his Mane,
But soon his Face cou'd make ye fain
When he did sough,
O wiltu , wiltu do't again!
And gran'd and leugh.

This Sang he made frae his ain Head,
And eke The auld Man's Mare she's dead,
Tho Peets and Tures and a's to lead,
O fy upon her!
A bonny auld Thing this indeed,
An't like ye'r Honour.

188

After ilk Tune he took a Sowp,
And bann'd wi' Birr the corky Cowp,
That to the Papists Country scowp,
To lear Ha ha's,
Frae Chiels that sing Hap, Stap, and Lowp,
Wantin the B---s.

That beardless Capons are na Men,
We by their fozie Springs might ken;
But ours he said cou'd Vigiour Ien'
To Men o' Weir,
And gar them stout to Battle sten'
Withoutten Fear.

How first he practis'd, ye shall hear,
The Harn-pan of an umquhile Mare,
He strung, and strak Sounds saft and clear,
Out o' the Pow,
Which fir'd his Saul, and gart his Ear
With Gladness glow.

Sae some auld-gabet Poets tell,
Jove's nimble Son and Leckie snell
Made the first Fiddle of a Shell,
On which Apollo,
With melkle Pleasure Play'd himsel
Baith Jig and Solo.

O Jonny Stocks what comes o' thee,
I'm sure thou'lt break thy Heart and die;
Thy Birnie gane, thou'lt never be
Nor blyth nor able
To shake thy short Houghs merrily
Upon a Table.

189

How pleasant was't to see thee didle,
And dance sae finely to his Fiddle,
With Nose forgainst a Lass's Midle,
And briskly brag,
With cutty Steps to ding their Striddle,
And gar them fag.

He catch'd a crishy Webster Loun
At runkling o' his Deary's Gown,
And wi' a Rung came o'er his Crown,
For being there;
But starker Thrums got Patie down,
And knoost him sair.

Wae worth the Dog, he maist had fell'd him,
Revengfu' Pate aft green'd to geld him,
He aw'd a Mends, and that he tell'd him,
And bann'd to do't,
He took the Tid, and fairly sell'd him
For a Recruit.

Pate was a Carle of canny Sense,
And wanted ne'er a right bein Spence,
And laid up Dollars in Defence
'Gainst Eild and Gout,
Well judging Gear in future Tense
Cou'd stand for Wit.

Yet prudent Fowk may take the Pet;
Anes thrawart Porter wadna let
Him in while Latter-meat was het,
He gaw'd fou sair,
Flang in his Fiddle o'er the Yet,
Whilk ne'er did mair.

190

But Profit may arise frae Loss,
Sae Pate gat Comfort by his Cross:
Soon as he wan within the Closs,
He dously drew in
Mair Gear frae ilka gentle Goss
Than bought a new ane.

When lying bedfast sick and sair,
To Parish Priest he promis'd fair,
He ne'er wad drink fou ony mair:
But hale and tight,
He prov'd the Auld-man to a Hair,
Strute ilka Night.

The hally Dad with Care essays
To wile him frae his wanton Ways,
And tell'd him of his Promise twice:
Pate answer'd cliver,
“Wha tents what People raving says
“When in a Fever.

At Bothwell-Brig he gade to fight,
But being wise as he was wight,
He thought it shaw'd a Saul but slight,
Dauftly to stand,
And let Gun-powder wrang his Sight,
Or Fidle-Hand.

Right pawkily he left the Plain,
Nor o'er his Shoulder look'd again,
But scour'd o'er Moss and Moor amain,
To Rieky straight,
And tald how mony Whigs were slain
Before they faught.

191

Sae I've lamented Patie's End;
But least your Grief o'er far extend,
Come dight your Cheeks, ye'r Brows unbend,
And lift ye'r Head,
For to a' Britain be it kend
He is not dead.

January 25. 1721.

When a Piece of Stuff is wrought unequally, Part coarse, and Part fine, of Yarn of different Colours, we call it pirny, from the Pirn, or little hollow Reed which holds the Yarn in the Shuttle.

It was his Custom to watch when Strangers went into a publick House, and attend them, pretending they had sent for him, and that he could not get away sooner from other Company.

It was his first Compliment to one (tho he had never perhaps seen him, nor any of his Predecessors) That well he kend his Honour's Father, and been merry with him, and an excellent Good-fellow he was.

Shewing a very particular Comicalness in his Looks and Gestures, laughing and groaning at the same time, he plays, sings, and breaks in with some quire Tale twice or thrice e'er be get through the Tune. His Beard is no small Addition to the Diversion.

The name of a Tune he play'd on all Occasions.

He boasted of being Poet as well as Musician.

Curs'd strongly the light headed Fellows who run to Italy to learn soft Musick.

Tuque Testudo, resonare seplem
Callida nervis.

HORACE.

A Man of a low Stature, but very broad, a loving Friend of his, who used to dance to his Musick.

Good Store of Provision, the Spence being a little Apartment for Meal, Flesh, &c.

This happened in the Duke of Rothess's Time; His Grace was giving an Entertainment, and Patrick being deny'd Entry by the Servants, he either from a cunning View of the lucky Consequence, or in a Passion, did what's described.

Upon Clyde, where the famous Battle was fought, Anno 1679, for the Determination of some kittle Points. But I dare not assert that it was Religion carried my Heroe to the Field.