The Poems of Robert Fergusson Edited by Matthew P. McDiarmid |
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Answer to Mr J. S.'s
Epistle.
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 | The Poems of Robert Fergusson |  |
Answer to Mr J. S.'s Epistle.
I trou, my mettl'd Louden lathie,
Auld farran birky I maun ca' thee,
For whan in gude black print I saw thee
Wi' souple gab,
I skirl'd fou loud, “Oh wae befa' thee!
“But thou'rt a daub.”
Auld farran birky I maun ca' thee,
For whan in gude black print I saw thee
Wi' souple gab,
I skirl'd fou loud, “Oh wae befa' thee!
“But thou'rt a daub.”
Awa', ye wylie fleetchin fallow;
The rose shall grow like gowan yallow,
Before I turn sae toom and shallow,
And void of fusion,
As a' your butter'd words to swallow
In vain delusion.
The rose shall grow like gowan yallow,
Before I turn sae toom and shallow,
And void of fusion,
As a' your butter'd words to swallow
In vain delusion.
72
Ye mak my Muse a dautit pett,
But gin she cou'd like Allan's mett,
Or couthie cracks and hamely gett
Upon her caritch,
Eithly wou'd I be in your debt
A pint o' paritch.
But gin she cou'd like Allan's mett,
Or couthie cracks and hamely gett
Upon her caritch,
Eithly wou'd I be in your debt
A pint o' paritch.
At times whan she may lowse her pack,
I'll grant that she can find a knack,
To gar auld-warld wordies clack
In hamespun rhime,
While ilk ane at his billie's back
Keeps gude Scots time.
I'll grant that she can find a knack,
To gar auld-warld wordies clack
In hamespun rhime,
While ilk ane at his billie's back
Keeps gude Scots time.
But she maun e'en be glad to jook,
And play teet-bo frae nook to nook,
Or blush as gin she had the yook
Upon her skin,
Whan Ramsay or whan Pennicuik
Their lilts begin.
And play teet-bo frae nook to nook,
Or blush as gin she had the yook
Upon her skin,
Whan Ramsay or whan Pennicuik
Their lilts begin.
At morning air, or late at e'en,
Gin ye sud hap to come and see ane,
Not niggard wife, nor greetin wee ane,
Within my cloyster,
Can challenge you and me frae pree'in'
A caller oyster.
Gin ye sud hap to come and see ane,
Not niggard wife, nor greetin wee ane,
Within my cloyster,
Can challenge you and me frae pree'in'
A caller oyster.
Heh lad! it wou'd be news indeed,
War I to ride to bonny Tweed,
Wha ne'er laid gamon o'er a steed
Beyont Lusterrick;
And auld shanks nag wou'd tire, I dread,
To pace to Berwick.
War I to ride to bonny Tweed,
Wha ne'er laid gamon o'er a steed
Beyont Lusterrick;
And auld shanks nag wou'd tire, I dread,
To pace to Berwick.
73
You crack weel o' your lasses there,
Their glancin een and bisket bare;
But thof this town be smeekit sair,
I'll wad a farden,
Than ours they're nane mair fat and fair,
Cravin your pardon.
Their glancin een and bisket bare;
But thof this town be smeekit sair,
I'll wad a farden,
Than ours they're nane mair fat and fair,
Cravin your pardon.
Gin heaven shou'd gi'e the earth a drink,
And afterhend a sunny blink,
Gin ye war here, I'm sure you'd think
It worth your notice,
To see them dubbs and gutters jink
Wi' kiltit coaties.
And afterhend a sunny blink,
Gin ye war here, I'm sure you'd think
It worth your notice,
To see them dubbs and gutters jink
Wi' kiltit coaties.
And frae ilk corner o' the nation,
We've lasses eke of recreation,
That at close-mouths tak up their station
By ten o'clock.
The Lord deliver frae temptation
A' honest fock!
We've lasses eke of recreation,
That at close-mouths tak up their station
By ten o'clock.
The Lord deliver frae temptation
A' honest fock!
Thir queans are ay upon the catch
For pursie, pocket-book, or watch,
And can sae glibb their leesins hatch,
That you'll agree,
Ye canna eithly meet their match
'Tween you and me.
For pursie, pocket-book, or watch,
And can sae glibb their leesins hatch,
That you'll agree,
Ye canna eithly meet their match
'Tween you and me.
For this gude sample o' your skill,
I'm restin you a pint o' yale,
By and attour a Highland gill
Of aquavitæ;
The which to come and sock at will,
I here invite ye.
I'm restin you a pint o' yale,
By and attour a Highland gill
Of aquavitæ;
The which to come and sock at will,
I here invite ye.
74
Tho' jillet Fortune scoul and quarrel,
And keep me frae a bien beef barrel,
As lang's I've twopence i' the warl',
I'll ay be vockie
To part a fadge or girdle farl
Wi' Louden Jockie.
And keep me frae a bien beef barrel,
As lang's I've twopence i' the warl',
I'll ay be vockie
To part a fadge or girdle farl
Wi' Louden Jockie.
Farewell, my cock! Lang may ye thrive,
Weel happit in a cozy hive;
And that your saul may never dive
To Acheron,
I'll wish as lang's I can subscrive
Rob. Fergusson.
Weel happit in a cozy hive;
And that your saul may never dive
To Acheron,
I'll wish as lang's I can subscrive
Rob. Fergusson.
| The Poems of Robert Fergusson | |