The Scottish Works of Alexander Ross ... Consisting of Helenore, or The Fortunate Shepherdess; Songs; The Fortunate Shepherd, or The Orphan: Edited, with notes, glossary and life by Margaret Wattie |
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To Mr Alexander Ross at Lochlee, Author of The Fortunate
Shepherdess, and other Poems, in the Broad Scotch Dialect. |
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 | The Scottish Works of Alexander Ross |  |
5
To Mr Alexander Ross at Lochlee, Author of The Fortunate Shepherdess, and other Poems, in the Broad Scotch Dialect.
O Ross, thou wale of hearty cocks,
Sae crouse and canty with thy jokes,
Thy hamely auld warld muse provokes
Me, for a while,
To ape our good plain country folks
In verse and stile.
Sae crouse and canty with thy jokes,
Thy hamely auld warld muse provokes
Me, for a while,
To ape our good plain country folks
In verse and stile.
Sure never carle was half sae gabby,
E'er since the winsome days of Habby.
O mayst thou ne'er gang clung or shabby,
Nor miss thy snaker!
Or I'll call Fortune, Nasty Drabby,
And say, Pox take her.
E'er since the winsome days of Habby.
O mayst thou ne'er gang clung or shabby,
Nor miss thy snaker!
Or I'll call Fortune, Nasty Drabby,
And say, Pox take her.
O may the roupe ne'er roust thy weason!
May thrist thy thrapple never gizzen!
But bottled ale in mony a dozen,
Aye lade thy gantry!
And fouth of vivres, all in season,
Plenish thy pantry!
May thrist thy thrapple never gizzen!
But bottled ale in mony a dozen,
Aye lade thy gantry!
And fouth of vivres, all in season,
Plenish thy pantry!
Lang may thy stevin fill with glee
The glens and mountains of Lochlee,
Which were right gowsty but for thee,
Whose sangs enamour
Ilk lass, and teach wi' melody
The rocks to yamour.
The glens and mountains of Lochlee,
Which were right gowsty but for thee,
Whose sangs enamour
Ilk lass, and teach wi' melody
The rocks to yamour.
Ye shak your head; but, o' my fegs,
Ye've set auld Scota on her legs.
Lang had she lyen, with beffs and flegs
Bumbaz'd and dizzie.
Her fiddle wanted strings and pegs.
Wae's me! poor hizzie!
Ye've set auld Scota on her legs.
Lang had she lyen, with beffs and flegs
Bumbaz'd and dizzie.
Her fiddle wanted strings and pegs.
Wae's me! poor hizzie!
6
Since Allan's death, nae body car'd
For anes to speer how Scota far'd;
Nor plack nor thristled turner war'd,
To quench her drouth;
For, frae the cottar to the laird,
We all run South.
For anes to speer how Scota far'd;
Nor plack nor thristled turner war'd,
To quench her drouth;
For, frae the cottar to the laird,
We all run South.
The Southland chiels indeed hae mettle,
And brawly at a sang can ettle;
Yet we right couthily might settle
On this side Forth.
The devil pay them with a pettle,
That slight the North.
And brawly at a sang can ettle;
Yet we right couthily might settle
On this side Forth.
The devil pay them with a pettle,
That slight the North.
Our country leed is far frae barren,
'Tis even right pithy and auldfarran.
Our sells are neiper-like, I warran,
For sense and smergh;
In kittle times, when faes are yarring,
We're no thought ergh.
'Tis even right pithy and auldfarran.
Our sells are neiper-like, I warran,
For sense and smergh;
In kittle times, when faes are yarring,
We're no thought ergh.
O bonny are our greensward hows,
Where through the birks the burny rows,
And the bee bums, and the ox lows,
And saft winds rusle,
And shepherd-lads, on sunny knows,
Blaw the blythe fusle.
Where through the birks the burny rows,
And the bee bums, and the ox lows,
And saft winds rusle,
And shepherd-lads, on sunny knows,
Blaw the blythe fusle.
'Tis true, we Norlans manna fa'
To eat sae nice, or gang sae bra',
As they that come from far-awa';
Yet sma's our skaith:
We've peace (and that's well worth it a')
And meat and claith.
To eat sae nice, or gang sae bra',
As they that come from far-awa';
Yet sma's our skaith:
We've peace (and that's well worth it a')
And meat and claith.
Our fine new-fangle sparks, I grant ye,
Gie poor auld Scotland mony a taunty;
They're grown sae ugertfu' and vaunty,
And capernoited,
They guide her like a canker'd aunty,
That's deaf and doited.
Gie poor auld Scotland mony a taunty;
They're grown sae ugertfu' and vaunty,
And capernoited,
They guide her like a canker'd aunty,
That's deaf and doited.
Sae comes of ignorance, I trow;
'Tis this that crooks their ill-fa'r'd mou'
With jokes sae course, they gar fouk spew
For downright skonner.
For Scotland wants na sons enew
To do her honour.
'Tis this that crooks their ill-fa'r'd mou'
With jokes sae course, they gar fouk spew
For downright skonner.
For Scotland wants na sons enew
To do her honour.
7
I here might gie a skreed of names,
Dawties of Heliconian Dames!
The foremost place Gavin Douglas claims,
That pawky priest.
And wha can match the First King James
For sang or jest?
Dawties of Heliconian Dames!
The foremost place Gavin Douglas claims,
That pawky priest.
And wha can match the First King James
For sang or jest?
Montgomery grave, and Ramsay gay,
Dunbar, Scot, Hawthornden, and mae
Than I can tell; for o' my fay,
I maun brak aff;
'Twould take a live-lang summer-day
To name the half.
Dunbar, Scot, Hawthornden, and mae
Than I can tell; for o' my fay,
I maun brak aff;
'Twould take a live-lang summer-day
To name the half.
The saucy chiels—I think they ca' them
Critics—the muckle sorrow claw them,
(For mense nor manners ne'er could awe them
Frae their presumption)
They need not try thy jokes to fathom,
They want rumgumption.
Critics—the muckle sorrow claw them,
(For mense nor manners ne'er could awe them
Frae their presumption)
They need not try thy jokes to fathom,
They want rumgumption.
But ilka Mearns and Angus bairn
Thy tales and sangs by heart shall learn;
And chiels shall come frae yont the Cairn—
-a-mounth, right vousty,
If Ross will be so kind as share in
Their pint at Drousty.
Thy tales and sangs by heart shall learn;
And chiels shall come frae yont the Cairn—
-a-mounth, right vousty,
If Ross will be so kind as share in
Their pint at Drousty.
| The Scottish Works of Alexander Ross | |