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245
BRUCE TO AQUA VITÆ.
A'BEIT we baith ha'e said eneugh,
Yet I maun own, upo' my treuth,
I am sae lifted wi' the seugh
O' yer sweet chant,
That I maun even stop the pleugh
To gie ye a rant.
Yet I maun own, upo' my treuth,
I am sae lifted wi' the seugh
O' yer sweet chant,
That I maun even stop the pleugh
To gie ye a rant.
Ware na I sure ye'r nae the same,
I wad hae trow'd ye came frae hame,
Frae Londonderry or Colrain,
An' that ye'd lickit,
I' yer young days, the Blarney Stone,
Ye are sae sleekit.
I wad hae trow'd ye came frae hame,
Frae Londonderry or Colrain,
An' that ye'd lickit,
I' yer young days, the Blarney Stone,
Ye are sae sleekit.
Lear'd chiels indeed gie muckle roose
To Pythagore, sae wise and douse,
Wha wadna kill a flea or louse,
As we are tauld,
For fear he might brack down the house
O' some poor saul.
To Pythagore, sae wise and douse,
Wha wadna kill a flea or louse,
As we are tauld,
For fear he might brack down the house
O' some poor saul.
But I hae doubts, my canty blade,
The Carle's doctrine winna haud,
In what ye paukily hae said
'Bout me and Allan:
Ah well-a-day! I'm sair afraid
I'm nae sic Callan.
The Carle's doctrine winna haud,
In what ye paukily hae said
'Bout me and Allan:
Ah well-a-day! I'm sair afraid
I'm nae sic Callan.
His sangs will be the warlds' delyte
Till wit and sense gang out o' date;
There's naething I can say or write
Sic fame will win;
I'm nae mair than a blatherskyte,
Compar'd wi' him.
Till wit and sense gang out o' date;
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Sic fame will win;
I'm nae mair than a blatherskyte,
Compar'd wi' him.
What yo hae said is right sagacious,
That ilk thing here sae mickle warse is,
An' nae mair like, than trees to rashes,
To things at hame:—
Foul fa' me, gin the verra lasses
Be here the same!
That ilk thing here sae mickle warse is,
An' nae mair like, than trees to rashes,
To things at hame:—
Foul fa' me, gin the verra lasses
Be here the same!
Whare's there a Forth, a Tweed, or Tay?
Thro' hills and greens that saftly stray,
Whare shepherds spen' the simmer's day
Sae peacefulie.—
Thir scenes gar'd Allan lilt his lay
Wi' sic a glee.
Thro' hills and greens that saftly stray,
Whare shepherds spen' the simmer's day
Sae peacefulie.—
Thir scenes gar'd Allan lilt his lay
Wi' sic a glee.
What's here to gie the mind a heese?
Deil het ava', but great lang trees,
Nae flow'ry haughs or bony braes
To please the een,
Nor bleating flocks upo' the leas
Are heard or seen.
Deil het ava', but great lang trees,
Nae flow'ry haughs or bony braes
To please the een,
Nor bleating flocks upo' the leas
Are heard or seen.
At morn nae lav'rock tunes his whistle,
Nor i' the bush is heard the throstle,
There's naething but a skreek and rustle
Amang i' leaves.—
The musie's sweer her sangs to cuzle,
She dwines and grieves.
Nor i' the bush is heard the throstle,
There's naething but a skreek and rustle
Amang i' leaves.—
The musie's sweer her sangs to cuzle,
She dwines and grieves.
Yersel's nae mair like Usquebaue
Or Farentosh, than night's to day;
For a' ye mak me aye sae gay
And fu' o' cracks,
Set down by them ye'd look as blae
As ony swats.
Or Farentosh, than night's to day;
For a' ye mak me aye sae gay
And fu' o' cracks,
Set down by them ye'd look as blae
As ony swats.
Yet tho' ye'r nae sae clear and sweet,
I'se ay be glad wi' ye to meet,
An' winna stap my hause to weet,
An' sit fu' late;
An' e'en to try an' sing a bit
I'se nae be blate.
I'se ay be glad wi' ye to meet,
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An' sit fu' late;
An' e'en to try an' sing a bit
I'se nae be blate.
But I maun aff an' turn a fur'—
Ance corn is glent an' seeding's o'er,
An' Winter's thuds again I door,
Gin music wills,
Syne I can gie ye sangs a score
For twa-three gills.
Ance corn is glent an' seeding's o'er,
An' Winter's thuds again I door,
Gin music wills,
Syne I can gie ye sangs a score
For twa-three gills.
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