University of Virginia Library

A Tale of a Muir-cock, written originally in the Celtick Language by the famous Mythologist Alaster Macalamore, in Villa Cuculi, carefully preserved by a MS. belonging to the Pluscardin Monks, now faithfully rendered into English.

From ancient Nest did spring a droll Muir-cock,
Who gravely preach'd to all the Feather'd Flock,
Tho' he was known to be no Bird of Brains,
By lusty Lungs he pick'd up wholsome Grains,
The Idiot Birds did round their Pastor throng,
And listen'd to his Heather-blutter Song.
Two Nests he had, from thence did weekly preach,
By Law secur'd, and out of Dangers reach,
Had not he said, That Title to the Crown
The Eagle had, was just as bad's his own;
Which being join'd with an excessive Drowth,
The Sanhedrim of Birds shut up his Mouth.
Such was his Drowth he could have drunk the Sea,
Tho' Birds of Grace should always sober be.
He never preach'd save at a River's Brink,
Daub'd in his Beak, and guzzled down the Drink.
He lost his Text when on a naked Rock,
But Liquor put fresh Spirits in the Cock.
So lost his Stipends, almost lost his Breath,
For he lay hungry on the naked Heath.
But driving Wedlock with a sly Muir-hen,
Who cunning had amongst the most of Men,
She was related to the Birds of Grandeur,
And bensh'd and peensh'd, and to each Bush did wander,
And cry'd and ly'd, till her rich Friends did give
Fund for her self, and Cock and Pout to live,
Whilst he thro' Want and Infamy was cross'd,
Still thinking on the happy Nests he lost,
Sending Addresses to the sacred Train,
That they'd repone him to those Nests again,
Which they rejected with a cold Disdain.
At last he plots with Resolution stout,
A Way to get rich Husband to the Pout,
Intic'd a witless, young well-feather'd Bird,
With many a silken and a suggar Word,
'Till fuddled with intoxicating Streams,
His Head's afloat with airy am'rous Dreams,
Feeding and feasting on the Pout's fair Face,
Said, reverend Cock, pronounce the Rites of Grace.
Who, like a grave and venerable Cock,
Did say the Grace, and made them married Folk,
Blest the young Birds, and all the drunken Gossips.
Fistula dulce canit, volucrem dum decipit auceps.