The works of Mr. Thomas Brown Serious and Comical, In Prose and Verse; In four volumes. The Fourth Edition, Corrected, and much Enlarged from his Originals never before publish'd. With a key to all his Writings |
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The Highlander, a Satire.
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 | The works of Mr. Thomas Brown |  |
The Highlander, a Satire.
From barren Highlands, in the freezing North,
The Bonny Lad with naked Feet, steps forth;
With lousy Plad his scabby Loins he hides,
And measures out his Miles by Spanish Strides;
He cocks his Bonnet, as he proudly stalks,
And scrubs his mangy Knuckles as he walks;
Athwart his Buttocks hangs a mighty Blade
Of sturdy Steel, for Blood and Slaughter made;
Broad as the Sword the English Champion drew,
When he to save the Maid, the Dragon slew.
Mundungus Wisps within his Jaws he puts,
As Monkeys their Alforges stuff with Nuts:
Thus on Tobacco does he hourly feed,
And plumps his freckly Cheeks with stinking Weed.
Then with the poisonous Drivil that distills
From the rank Leaf his leprous Joints he heals;
Does with great Care the fluxing Ointment catch,
To ease the Curse of an incessant Scratch;
For what poor Mortal would the Mange endure,
Whose unctious Lungs afford a nauseous Cure.
No matter, beastly Remedies are best
For those that are with beastly Plagues opprest;
The skilful Country Farrier will allow,
A T---d's a healing Balsam for a Sow;
From whose vile Sloth and Filthiness accrue,
More odious Plagues than Egypt ever knew.
The Bonny Lad with naked Feet, steps forth;
With lousy Plad his scabby Loins he hides,
And measures out his Miles by Spanish Strides;
He cocks his Bonnet, as he proudly stalks,
And scrubs his mangy Knuckles as he walks;
Athwart his Buttocks hangs a mighty Blade
Of sturdy Steel, for Blood and Slaughter made;
Broad as the Sword the English Champion drew,
When he to save the Maid, the Dragon slew.
Mundungus Wisps within his Jaws he puts,
As Monkeys their Alforges stuff with Nuts:
Thus on Tobacco does he hourly feed,
And plumps his freckly Cheeks with stinking Weed.
Then with the poisonous Drivil that distills
From the rank Leaf his leprous Joints he heals;
Does with great Care the fluxing Ointment catch,
To ease the Curse of an incessant Scratch;
For what poor Mortal would the Mange endure,
Whose unctious Lungs afford a nauseous Cure.
No matter, beastly Remedies are best
For those that are with beastly Plagues opprest;
The skilful Country Farrier will allow,
A T---d's a healing Balsam for a Sow;
From whose vile Sloth and Filthiness accrue,
More odious Plagues than Egypt ever knew.
When the stew'd Sotweed in his Mouth has lain
So long, till spitting does its Virtues drain;
Then out he turns the Pledges, lays it by,
Till in the Sun the wreaking Wisp grows dry.
Then filling his short Pipe, he blows a Blast,
And does the burning Weed to Ashes wast,
Which when it's cool, he snushes up his Nose,
That he no part of his Delight may lose;
Thus chews it first, next smoaks the same, and then
Snuffs up the stinking Ashes that remain.
Thus wasteful Spendthrifts to their Shame may see,
The Caledonian Loon's Frugality;
And learn from him, against a Time of need,
To husband Wealth, as Sawny does his Weed.
So long, till spitting does its Virtues drain;
Then out he turns the Pledges, lays it by,
Till in the Sun the wreaking Wisp grows dry.
Then filling his short Pipe, he blows a Blast,
And does the burning Weed to Ashes wast,
Which when it's cool, he snushes up his Nose,
That he no part of his Delight may lose;
127
Snuffs up the stinking Ashes that remain.
Thus wasteful Spendthrifts to their Shame may see,
The Caledonian Loon's Frugality;
And learn from him, against a Time of need,
To husband Wealth, as Sawny does his Weed.
Innur'd to Hardships, proudly he disdains
The frosty Winds, deep Snows and show'ry Rains;
And with a Bag of Otmeal for his Food,
To give the Loon Refreshment on the Road,
And a hard Oynion; thus he steers his Course,
Values no Mire, but travels like a Horse;
And when his craving Thirst or Hunger calls
For due Subsistance, on his Knees he falls,
And in the Impression of a Hobby's Hoof,
Where Rain lies mix'd with other nasty Stuff,
He drops his Oatmeal, stirs it well about,
And leaning on his Hands, sucks up the Grout;
Then jogs away with a contented Mind,
Leaving his dirty Porridge-dish behind;
And when thus strengthen'd, by this poor Relief,
Will tire an English Boor well fed with Beef.
Thus with unweary'd Pains he runs or trots,
Like mettled Nag, by virtue of his Oats;
Therefore since Sawny does like Dobbin feed,
Why should we wonder at their equal Speed.
The frosty Winds, deep Snows and show'ry Rains;
And with a Bag of Otmeal for his Food,
To give the Loon Refreshment on the Road,
And a hard Oynion; thus he steers his Course,
Values no Mire, but travels like a Horse;
And when his craving Thirst or Hunger calls
For due Subsistance, on his Knees he falls,
And in the Impression of a Hobby's Hoof,
Where Rain lies mix'd with other nasty Stuff,
He drops his Oatmeal, stirs it well about,
And leaning on his Hands, sucks up the Grout;
Then jogs away with a contented Mind,
Leaving his dirty Porridge-dish behind;
And when thus strengthen'd, by this poor Relief,
Will tire an English Boor well fed with Beef.
Thus with unweary'd Pains he runs or trots,
Like mettled Nag, by virtue of his Oats;
Therefore since Sawny does like Dobbin feed,
Why should we wonder at their equal Speed.
Proud of his Ancestors, he boasts his Name,
And tells you of what Clan the Vassal came;
Draws his broad Sword, which has such Vict'ries won,
And reads long Lectures of the Feats 't'as done;
Then sheaths the massy Weapon, snuffs and struts,
With mangy Paws, full Mouth, but empty Guts.
Where-e'er he ligs, his scabby Fumes and Sweats,
Pollute the Chamber, and infect the Sheets;
And whosoe'er succeeds him in his Room,
Brimstone and Lard must surely be his Doom.
His very Breath infects the wholsome Air,
And as he travels, does the Itch transfer.
So that nice Beaus and Merchants upon Change,
Shun the Scotch-Walk, thro' danger of the Mange;
A Curse that Heaven has alone decreed,
To plague this barbarous Caledonian Breed;
Whose Pride and Poverty has made each Slave
Grow bold and desperate, which himself calls Brave.
So Rogues mistaking Scandal to be Fame,
Deem that their Honour, others think their Shame.
And tells you of what Clan the Vassal came;
Draws his broad Sword, which has such Vict'ries won,
And reads long Lectures of the Feats 't'as done;
Then sheaths the massy Weapon, snuffs and struts,
With mangy Paws, full Mouth, but empty Guts.
Where-e'er he ligs, his scabby Fumes and Sweats,
Pollute the Chamber, and infect the Sheets;
And whosoe'er succeeds him in his Room,
Brimstone and Lard must surely be his Doom.
His very Breath infects the wholsome Air,
And as he travels, does the Itch transfer.
128
Shun the Scotch-Walk, thro' danger of the Mange;
A Curse that Heaven has alone decreed,
To plague this barbarous Caledonian Breed;
Whose Pride and Poverty has made each Slave
Grow bold and desperate, which himself calls Brave.
So Rogues mistaking Scandal to be Fame,
Deem that their Honour, others think their Shame.
| The works of Mr. Thomas Brown | |