University of Virginia Library

Who can believe, how small affairs
Will sometimes set friends by the ears?
And then, how small an incident,
Will loss of limb and life prevent?
Which, if you only please to hear,
Will by the following tale appear.

Upon a time, no matter where,
Some Glunimies met at a fair,
As deft and tight as ever wore
A durk, a targe, and a claymore,
Short hose, and belted plaid, or trews,
In Uist, Lochaber, Sky, or Lewis,
Or cover'd hard head with a bonnet,
(Had you but known them, you would own it:)
But sitting too long by the barrel,
MacBane and Donald Dow did quarrel,
And in a culleshangee landed.
The dispute, you must understand it,
Was, which of them had the best blood,
When both, 'tis granted, had as good
As ever yet stuff'd a black-pudding;
So out came broad swords on a sudden,
Keen to decide the controversy,
And would have shed blood without mercy,
Had not a crafty Highland Demon,
MacGilliwrae, play'd the Palemon;
Who lighted on a pleasant fancy
To end the strife, and no man can say,
But that the plot shew'd his invention,
His pious purpose and intention.
Hold, hold! quoth he, I'll make your vermin
This paultry quarrel soon determine;
Come each of you reach me a louse,
For she that's found to be most crouse,
Without dispute, has had the best food,
As so her master has the best blood.
Both listened to this fine orison,
Which, if you'll mark it, was a wise one;
Their swords they sheath'd by this advice,
And fell to work to hunt for lice;
And very easily found twenty,
For of these cattle they had plenty,
Which from their bosom they did pull out
Of which Palemon two did cull out,
In shape and size that were most egal,
To make the louse-race fair and legal;
MacBane's was marked on the back,
From head to tail, with strip of black,
By which she was from Donald's known;
So every master knew his own.

Habbie, for he was at the sport,
On bagpipe play'd the horseman's sport,
While wise Palemon try'd a trick,
To spur them up with fiery stick
Such running yet was never seen,
On Leith sands, or Strathbogie green,
At Coupar, Perth, and other places,
Which men frequent to see horse races;
In fine MacBane's louse wan the race,
Who still of Donald takes the place.

Now, should the wisdom of the nation,
Take this into consideration,
And ratify it by a law,
That no man sword nor durk should draw,
But leave it to their proper vermin,
Their paultry quarrels to determine,
As well the greater as the small ones,
Of Christian blood it might save gallons,
And give diversion by such races,
In country fairs and market places;
And better shew their zeal and skill,
Than hunting out more blood to spill.
If any rogue deserv'd a banging,
Or, for attrocious crimes, a hanging,
And justly is sentenc'd to die;
But who shall hang him? You, or I?
If, in this point, we are divided,
A louse race fairly might decide it,
Without expence of time or trouble,
About a thing not worth a bubble.

Yea, who can tell, as things improve,
But this, at last, might princes move,
Such races for their crowns to run,
If once the practice was begun;
For so to get a crown's no worse,
Than by the neighing of a horse,
Or by the flying of the crows;
And yet my gentle reader knows,
Darius could no title bring,
But that, to make him Persia's king;
And Romulus, the story's famous,
By this means got the pas of Remus.

Our foreign mails might bring advice
Of races run by foreign lice;
The German, Dutch, the Saxon, Russian,
The French, the Spanish, and the Prussian;
The Cossack, Calmuck, and the Tartars,
Who run with neither hose nor garters;
The Persian, and the Janizaries,
Which gains the race, and which miscarries;
In Italy who gain'd the races,
Who on the Rhine, and other places;
At Philipsburg tell how they ran,
Who had the rear, and who the van;
How Eugene, by his art and cunning,
Could train the German lice to running,
And such accomplish'd racers make them,
The French could never overtake them;
How Russian vermin could advance,
Against the mighty powers of France,
And slowly into Dantzick crept,
When French lice either dreamt or slept;
Who gain'd the race at Sheriff-muir,
Where both sides ran right well, 'tis sure:
How Highland lice could play a prankie,
And win the race at Killycrankie:
Then we might see recruiters trudging,
And their recruits in bosom lodging.

Well might this project free all nations
From great expences and taxations;
One million'th part might raise lice forces
Of what is spent on men and horses.