 | Scotch Poetry |  |
1
Advice to the Priest-ridden.
A SONG.
Ye poor, silly Priest-ridden bodies, attend
To ane that would caution you now as a friend,
Against black coats, and gravats so white;
For greater impostors need hardly exist,
Than some wha are dubbed wi' the title of priest,
For their plan is the poor human mind to mislead,
And barter their mystical jargon for bread,
Wi' their black coats and gravats so white.
To ane that would caution you now as a friend,
Against black coats, and gravats so white;
For greater impostors need hardly exist,
Than some wha are dubbed wi' the title of priest,
For their plan is the poor human mind to mislead,
And barter their mystical jargon for bread,
Wi' their black coats and gravats so white.
Pretending to solve what they care not about,
And damning the sceptic who dares but to doubt;
They tell you fine stories, about this and that,
But would starve you on husks, while they gorge upon fat,
Wi' their black coats, &c.
So wrapt up in spirit, so heavenly are they,
So dead to the world and its vanities gay,
Wi' their black coats, &c.
And damning the sceptic who dares but to doubt;
They tell you fine stories, about this and that,
But would starve you on husks, while they gorge upon fat,
Wi' their black coats, &c.
So wrapt up in spirit, so heavenly are they,
So dead to the world and its vanities gay,
Wi' their black coats, &c.
That a young blooming doxy, wi' cheeks plump and red,
Can only convince them they're still flesh and blood,
When sungly unseen, a sweet kiss and a squeeze,
Wi' lively devotion, bring them to their knees,
Wi' their black coats, &c.
When Man, led by Reason, demands what's his right,
“The Kirk is in danger,” they bawl a' their might,
Wi' their black coats, &c.
Can only convince them they're still flesh and blood,
When sungly unseen, a sweet kiss and a squeeze,
Wi' lively devotion, bring them to their knees,
Wi' their black coats, &c.
When Man, led by Reason, demands what's his right,
“The Kirk is in danger,” they bawl a' their might,
Wi' their black coats, &c.
2
When they cry out the Kirk, 'tis the Tiends, they've in view,
For they watch o'er their flocks, just for sake o' the woo';
Wi' Oppression's big shears to their hurdies applied,
They fleece them so bare, that they scarce leave the hide,
Wi' their black coats, &c.
O rare to behold! how demurely they look,
When placed in the rostrum, they handle the book,
Wi' their black coats, &c.
For they watch o'er their flocks, just for sake o' the woo';
Wi' Oppression's big shears to their hurdies applied,
They fleece them so bare, that they scarce leave the hide,
Wi' their black coats, &c.
O rare to behold! how demurely they look,
When placed in the rostrum, they handle the book,
Wi' their black coats, &c.
There's glib-gabbit Tammy, that star frae the east,
When he speaks, “a' the world wonders after the beast,”
Wi' the black coat, &c.
He wrote a fine book wi' a high-sounding name,
But what do you think is the hale o' its theme?—
Just burden on burden, and tax upon tax,
To learn the base “rabble” the use of their backs,
Wi' his black coat, &c.
When he speaks, “a' the world wonders after the beast,”
Wi' the black coat, &c.
He wrote a fine book wi' a high-sounding name,
But what do you think is the hale o' its theme?—
Just burden on burden, and tax upon tax,
To learn the base “rabble” the use of their backs,
Wi' his black coat, &c.
Davy Tartan grunts out that your sins are the cause
O' your skin-cutting ribs and your clay-coloured jaws,
Wi' his black coat, &c.
What double-milled sinners the poor fo'k must be,
Since they, not the gentry, sic punishments dree,
Nay, search the hale globe, and my lug for't ye'll fin',
That Priests never suffer, of course never sin,
Wi' their black coats, &c.
O' your skin-cutting ribs and your clay-coloured jaws,
Wi' his black coat, &c.
What double-milled sinners the poor fo'k must be,
Since they, not the gentry, sic punishments dree,
Nay, search the hale globe, and my lug for't ye'll fin',
That Priests never suffer, of course never sin,
Wi' their black coats, &c.
There's pensioner Jamie, Corruption's chief tool,
Whase tears flow as freely as whiskey at yule,
Wi' his black coat, &c.
So keenly he feels for the suffering poor,
That he'd willingly do what he did for Tom Muir;
To get them sent off to a far better state,
By starving or hanging them out o' the gate,
Wi' his black coat, &c.
Whase tears flow as freely as whiskey at yule,
Wi' his black coat, &c.
So keenly he feels for the suffering poor,
That he'd willingly do what he did for Tom Muir;
To get them sent off to a far better state,
By starving or hanging them out o' the gate,
Wi' his black coat, &c.
And grave Willy Grovel, o' true loyal crouch,
Wi' three herring-tails sticking out o' his pouch,
Wi' his black coat, &c.
Against smuggled whiskey he piously rails,
And with blue damnation its drinkers assails;
Yet see the gude man at a wie highland stell,
Thrang trysting sax gallons, or aught for himsel',
Wi' his black coat, &c.
Wi' three herring-tails sticking out o' his pouch,
Wi' his black coat, &c.
Against smuggled whiskey he piously rails,
And with blue damnation its drinkers assails;
Yet see the gude man at a wie highland stell,
Thrang trysting sax gallons, or aught for himsel',
Wi' his black coat, &c.
3
There's thundering Willy, besouth o' the Clyde,
Wha'd skin a starv'd louse for the sake o' its hide,
Wi' his black coat, &c.
So liberal his hand is, his heart so humane,
That he deals out to comfort, all those who complain,
A dish of content, o'er a bit o' brown crust,
Yet laughs at them slily, and pockets their dust,
Wi' his black coat, &c.
Wha'd skin a starv'd louse for the sake o' its hide,
Wi' his black coat, &c.
So liberal his hand is, his heart so humane,
That he deals out to comfort, all those who complain,
A dish of content, o'er a bit o' brown crust,
Yet laughs at them slily, and pockets their dust,
Wi' his black coat, &c.
And Johnny M'Greed, how he lashes at them
Wha gang the grey gate that brings lasses to shame,
Wi' his black coat, &c.
For into temptation himsel' is ne'er led,
But willingly enters her net when 'tis spread;
And when he is caught in her strait kittle mesh,
He greets and cries out, “O! how weak is the flesh,”
Wi' his black coat, &c.
Wha gang the grey gate that brings lasses to shame,
Wi' his black coat, &c.
For into temptation himsel' is ne'er led,
But willingly enters her net when 'tis spread;
And when he is caught in her strait kittle mesh,
He greets and cries out, “O! how weak is the flesh,”
Wi' his black coat, &c.
Johnny Bishop, the kind, the humane, the beloved,
Wi' the cries o' the starving is now so much moved,
Wi' his black coat, &c.
That when they look up to him, asking for bread,
He gives not a stone, but provides for them—lead;
If they ask for a fish, not a serpent he'll grant,
While a three-edged steel can relieve every want,
Wi' his black coat, &c.
Wi' the cries o' the starving is now so much moved,
Wi' his black coat, &c.
That when they look up to him, asking for bread,
He gives not a stone, but provides for them—lead;
If they ask for a fish, not a serpent he'll grant,
While a three-edged steel can relieve every want,
Wi' his black coat, &c.
There's Johnny M`Roarin, wi' his raree-show
Of elegant metaphors, all in a row,
Wi' his black coat, &c.
He swears that reform is so heinous a sin,
That none who pursue it to heaven will get in;
That swine will be seen flying thick through the air,
And singing like laverocks ere black-nebs get there,
Wi' his black coat, &c.
Of elegant metaphors, all in a row,
Wi' his black coat, &c.
He swears that reform is so heinous a sin,
That none who pursue it to heaven will get in;
That swine will be seen flying thick through the air,
And singing like laverocks ere black-nebs get there,
Wi' his black coat, &c.
And Matthew the Cyclops, o' Vulcan's ain hue,
Bellows out that wi' meetings you've nothing to do,
Wi' his black coat, &c.
Stay at hame, mind your business, nor politics heed,
Nor groan though hard press'd by the millstane o' need;
While you've five shillings weekly, you've nothing to say,
But be sure you give him fifteen shillings per day,
Wi' his black coat, &c.
Bellows out that wi' meetings you've nothing to do,
Wi' his black coat, &c.
Stay at hame, mind your business, nor politics heed,
Nor groan though hard press'd by the millstane o' need;
While you've five shillings weekly, you've nothing to say,
But be sure you give him fifteen shillings per day,
Wi' his black coat, &c.
4
Now that's but a sample of maist o' the crew,
Wha laugh in their sleeve while they're hoodwinking you,
Wi' their black coats, &c.
The gospel they preach is the gospel of Pitt,
Which teaches that mankind are born to submit,
And patiently bend to the haughty behests
Of legalized robbers, and humbugging priests,
Wi' their black coats, &c.
Wha laugh in their sleeve while they're hoodwinking you,
Wi' their black coats, &c.
The gospel they preach is the gospel of Pitt,
Which teaches that mankind are born to submit,
And patiently bend to the haughty behests
Of legalized robbers, and humbugging priests,
Wi' their black coats, &c.
But as among chaff there are pickles o' wheat,
So there are exceptions ilk ane will admit,
Among black coats, &c.
But, oh, these exceptions, how trifling, how few,
Compared wi' the mass who have interest in view,
For were not a well-baken bannock their aim,
Religion might gang to the Devil for them,
Wi' their black coats, &c.
So there are exceptions ilk ane will admit,
Among black coats, &c.
But, oh, these exceptions, how trifling, how few,
Compared wi' the mass who have interest in view,
For were not a well-baken bannock their aim,
Religion might gang to the Devil for them,
Wi' their black coats, &c.
Now if you would just take this counsel frae me,
Sae many fat drones you would soon cease to see,
Wi' their black coats, &c.
Nae longer support such a time-serving set,
Go study the book where true wisdom you'll get,
Instruct one another, practise what is right,
And let each pious swindler go feel his own weight,
Wi' his black coat and gravat so white.
Sae many fat drones you would soon cease to see,
Wi' their black coats, &c.
Nae longer support such a time-serving set,
Go study the book where true wisdom you'll get,
Instruct one another, practise what is right,
And let each pious swindler go feel his own weight,
Wi' his black coat and gravat so white.
8
Friendly Advice to Mr. John Bull.
Dear Johnny, how happens it, tell me, I pray,
That thou art so blind to the merits of those
Who faithfully serve thee by night and by day,
And scarcely allow themselves time for repose?
That thou art so blind to the merits of those
Who faithfully serve thee by night and by day,
And scarcely allow themselves time for repose?
Can pleasure or pastime engross thy whole mind
So much, that thy business thou wilt not look near it?
Nor honour those diligent servants of thine,
With stations proportioned to every one's merit?
So much, that thy business thou wilt not look near it?
Nor honour those diligent servants of thine,
With stations proportioned to every one's merit?
Dost thou think that such shameful neglect on thy part,
Will not beget sloth and remissness on theirs?
And if that ever happen, behold where thou art,
On a huge floating wreck, 'midst an ocean of cares.
Will not beget sloth and remissness on theirs?
And if that ever happen, behold where thou art,
On a huge floating wreck, 'midst an ocean of cares.
For shame, Johnny, rouse, see thy error at last,
Change thy course, if thou wish thy affairs to succeed;
Make ample atonement for negligence past,
And here is the way thou must quickly proceed.
Change thy course, if thou wish thy affairs to succeed;
Make ample atonement for negligence past,
And here is the way thou must quickly proceed.
If a pure ardent zeal for the country's chief good
Deserve elevation, and public applause,
Then elevate — to where C—s once stood,
And the welkin shall rend with the people's huzzas.
Deserve elevation, and public applause,
Then elevate — to where C—s once stood,
And the welkin shall rend with the people's huzzas.
If personal merit and conduct upright
Deserve a high post, where there's room for display,
A good sturdy post, fifty cubits in height,
Will fit to a t, Pat O'Mac-Cast-Ill-Ray.
Deserve a high post, where there's room for display,
A good sturdy post, fifty cubits in height,
Will fit to a t, Pat O'Mac-Cast-Ill-Ray.
If garters and ribbands, of true royal stamp,
Are always bestowed, honest worth to bedeck,
Five fathoms of ribband, the colour of hemp,
Will look vastly neat about Lubber-fool's neck.
Are always bestowed, honest worth to bedeck,
Five fathoms of ribband, the colour of hemp,
Will look vastly neat about Lubber-fool's neck.
If lightening of burdens, in times of distress,
Be justly entitled to hold a good birth,
Then give Van-sit-heart for one hour to possess,
That fine airy space between heaven and earth.
Be justly entitled to hold a good birth,
Then give Van-sit-heart for one hour to possess,
That fine airy space between heaven and earth.
9
If purging the State and correcting abuse
Be duties thought worthy of public reward,
Then give Doctor Sadmouth, for his pious use,
A ladder, a night-cap, a beam, and a—cord.
Be duties thought worthy of public reward,
Then give Doctor Sadmouth, for his pious use,
A ladder, a night-cap, a beam, and a—cord.
If mild blushing sweetness, and pure self-denial
Be virtues that should their possessor exalt,
Then give the mild-blushing BRASS CANNON, so loyal,
A poise fifteen feet nearer heaven's blue vault.
Be virtues that should their possessor exalt,
Then give the mild-blushing BRASS CANNON, so loyal,
A poise fifteen feet nearer heaven's blue vault.
But if separate births can't be had without bother,
For each trusty servant of thine, Mr. Bull,
Why Johnny, then class the whole worthies together,
And raise them at once with a long and strong pull.
For each trusty servant of thine, Mr. Bull,
Why Johnny, then class the whole worthies together,
And raise them at once with a long and strong pull.
[Who can hear without emotion]
[_]
THE Following Uerses Were written in September, 18I6, on reading a Paragraph in the Glasgow Chronicle, accompanied with a Proclamation of General Bolivar; wherein all the slaves in the Caraccas, Veneuzela, and Cumana, were declared free Citizens, on condition of their taking up Arms in the Cause of Independence. The number thus emancipated were stated to be about Seventy Thousand.
Who can hear without emotion
Such a piece of glorious news?
Who the tribute of devotion—
Who, the tear of joy refuse?
Such a piece of glorious news?
Who the tribute of devotion—
Who, the tear of joy refuse?
Hail thou Friend of Man—thou Saviour
Of the much-wrong'd sable race,
Bolivar! thy name for ever
History's brightest page shall grace.
Of the much-wrong'd sable race,
Bolivar! thy name for ever
History's brightest page shall grace.
16
Forward, while thy country's pressing
Towards liberty complete,
Thou diffusest wide the blessing,
Making all participate.
Towards liberty complete,
Thou diffusest wide the blessing,
Making all participate.
Seventy thousand fellow creatures,
Differing only in their hue,
Freed from Slavery's galling fetters,
What a God-like deed to do!
Differing only in their hue,
Freed from Slavery's galling fetters,
What a God-like deed to do!
Every badge of Slavery broken,
Banish'd now all hopeless grief,
See a baud of Freemen flocking
Round the standard of their chief.
Banish'd now all hopeless grief,
See a baud of Freemen flocking
Round the standard of their chief.
See no more the slave, the coward,
But the man, undaunted, bold,
Striving, panting, pressing forward,
'Mong the brave to be enroll'd.
But the man, undaunted, bold,
Striving, panting, pressing forward,
'Mong the brave to be enroll'd.
Who'd not envy thee thy feelings
When thou view'st them thronging nigh,
All their former bitter wailings
Changed to shouts of frantic joy?
When thou view'st them thronging nigh,
All their former bitter wailings
Changed to shouts of frantic joy?
Every eye with gladness beaming,
Every act their soul bespeaks;
Grateful tears profusely streaming
Down their honest sable cheeks.
Every act their soul bespeaks;
Grateful tears profusely streaming
Down their honest sable cheeks.
Fiends confounded at the action,
Shrink within themselves aghast;
Despots, raving with detraction,
Gnaw their tongues and bite the dust.
Shrink within themselves aghast;
Despots, raving with detraction,
Gnaw their tongues and bite the dust.
Good men hail it as a prelude
Of that blissful happy time,
When fair Freedom, so much valued,
Shall extend to every clime.
Of that blissful happy time,
When fair Freedom, so much valued,
Shall extend to every clime.
Angels, while they view the measure,
Give their harps a livelier tone:
God himself looks down with pleasure
On a deed so like his own.
Give their harps a livelier tone:
God himself looks down with pleasure
On a deed so like his own.
17
Spirits of immortal Wallace,
Bruce, Tell, Doria, Washington,
And ye noble Six of Calais,
Sterling patriots every one!
Bruce, Tell, Doria, Washington,
And ye noble Six of Calais,
Sterling patriots every one!
Hampden, Sidney, Marg'rot, Gerald,
Palmer, Kosciusko, Muir,
Names dear to a groaning world!
Names which tyrants can't endure!
Palmer, Kosciusko, Muir,
Names dear to a groaning world!
Names which tyrants can't endure!
Does that sacred flame of Freedom
Fire your breasts immortal still,
Which while mortal, struggling, bleeding,
You so potently did feel?
Fire your breasts immortal still,
Which while mortal, struggling, bleeding,
You so potently did feel?
Does it give an augmentation
To your bliss supreme, to see
An oppress'd insulted nation
Bravely struggling to be free?
To your bliss supreme, to see
An oppress'd insulted nation
Bravely struggling to be free?
Then descend, and kindly hover
Round your kindred spirit here,
Cheer him, prompt him to recover
All that mankind hold most dear.
Round your kindred spirit here,
Cheer him, prompt him to recover
All that mankind hold most dear.
On his peaceful couch while lying
With a calm untroubled breast,
All the sweets of sleep enjoying
Sweets which tyrants never taste,
With a calm untroubled breast,
All the sweets of sleep enjoying
Sweets which tyrants never taste,
Paint in every glowing colour
On his fancy warm and bright,
All your deeds of virtuous valour,
All the patriot to excite.
On his fancy warm and bright,
All your deeds of virtuous valour,
All the patriot to excite.
Copying every bright example
You so gloriously have set,
May he cease not—till he trample
Tyranny beneath his feet.
You so gloriously have set,
May he cease not—till he trample
Tyranny beneath his feet.
Fired already with your story,
Brave, disinterested, few,
Lo he treads a path to glory
Mad ambition never knew.
Brave, disinterested, few,
Lo he treads a path to glory
Mad ambition never knew.
18
Persevere, thou friend of Freedom,
In the cause thou hast begun;
Freemen hail thee now to lead them
Till the glorious work be done;
In the cause thou hast begun;
Freemen hail thee now to lead them
Till the glorious work be done;
Till the servile cringing homage
Paid to kings be banish'd quite;
Till the great Creator's image
Shall enjoy his every right.
Paid to kings be banish'd quite;
Till the great Creator's image
Shall enjoy his every right.
Wellington, thine actions glorious
Now may hide them in the grave,
True, indeed, thou wert victorious,
But victorious—to enslave.
Now may hide them in the grave,
True, indeed, thou wert victorious,
But victorious—to enslave.
Here's one action far surpassing
All the victories thou hast won;
What has been their end?—replacing
Hated Louis on a throne.
All the victories thou hast won;
What has been their end?—replacing
Hated Louis on a throne.
What their end?—the sad undoing
Of those rights which France possess'd.
What their end?—impending ruin
To thy Country once so blest!
Of those rights which France possess'd.
What their end?—impending ruin
To thy Country once so blest!
When the system thou defendest
Shall be trampled in the dust,
And the tyrants thou befriendest
Shall be execrated—cursed!
Shall be trampled in the dust,
And the tyrants thou befriendest
Shall be execrated—cursed!
Bolivar's shall rise to splendour,
Solid, permanent, sublime;
Which will be beheld with wonder
Till the latest knell of Time.
Solid, permanent, sublime;
Which will be beheld with wonder
Till the latest knell of Time.
Yes, thou spoiler of oppression,
Thine shall yield thee deathless fame;
While the butchers of creation
Shall but reap eternal shame.
Thine shall yield thee deathless fame;
While the butchers of creation
Shall but reap eternal shame.
When those empty glittering bawbles,
Called crowns, shall charm no more,
And when kingly childish squabbles
Cease to drench the earth with gore,
Called crowns, shall charm no more,
And when kingly childish squabbles
Cease to drench the earth with gore,
19
Then, with all its charms unfolded,
Will appear thy glorious plan!
Form'd by Truth, by Justice moulded,
Then, indeed, shall man be man!
Will appear thy glorious plan!
Form'd by Truth, by Justice moulded,
Then, indeed, shall man be man!
[Fair rose the gay morn with the sun mildly beaming]
[_]
The Following Song Was written for and sung at an Anniversary Meeting held by the Friends of Freedom in Glasgow, to commemorate the Liberation of the State Prisoners in Edinburgh Castle, in 1817.
Fair rose the gay morn with the sun mildly beaming,
The day, sympathetic, smiled sweetly serene,
When Liberty's rays, through the dark prison streaming,
Shed freedom and light on the captive again;
Then throbb'd each true heart with delightful emotion,
Then glisten'd the joy-drops on every glad face,
While Tyranny's minions received their sad portions
Of shame, consternation, defeat, and disgrace.
The day, sympathetic, smiled sweetly serene,
When Liberty's rays, through the dark prison streaming,
Shed freedom and light on the captive again;
Then throbb'd each true heart with delightful emotion,
Then glisten'd the joy-drops on every glad face,
While Tyranny's minions received their sad portions
Of shame, consternation, defeat, and disgrace.
That day has return'd, and we hail it with pleasure,
A day fraught with triumph to every good man;
When innocence baffled each hell-hatched measure
That guilt, clothed in power, could malignantly plan.
Then let us enjoy it as rational creatures,
As beings who pant that blest era to see,
When Man, grown indignant at trammel and fetters,
Shall spring to new being—be happy and free!
A day fraught with triumph to every good man;
When innocence baffled each hell-hatched measure
That guilt, clothed in power, could malignantly plan.
Then let us enjoy it as rational creatures,
As beings who pant that blest era to see,
When Man, grown indignant at trammel and fetters,
Shall spring to new being—be happy and free!
Rational Amusements
[_]
For certain worthy Characters of our present wise and virtuous Administration when once they are kicked out of Office.
When Cast-Ill-Ray shall cure live stock no more,
When George Fitz-Hunn, so feelingly humane,
Shall cease to laugh at ruptured Ogden's pain;
20
To what amusements will they then resort
To wear life's tedious, irksome hours away,
And keep their ingenuity in play?
The only gentle pastimes that will please
Their gentle Worship's will, be such as these—
To fry blind pupps—strip kittens of their skins—
To horse-whip frogs, and spit small flies with pins.
The Heaven-Born Minister.
“What! Heaven-born Minister applied to Pitt?Sure, Tom, such epithets will never do!”—
“Not do, my friend! why none could be more fit;
Satan himself, thou know'st, was Heaven-born too;
Then why 'bout the epithet make such a pother?
What suits one apostate may just suit another.
The Twa Weavers.
When war and taxation had fleeced us right sair,
And made us like scare-crows a' ragged an bare,
Twa poor weaver-bodies ae day chanced to meet,
Wi' scarcely a shoe on their stockingless feet;
Their skins through their auld tatter'd cleeding did shine,
And their beards might hae pass'd for a bishop's lang syne.
And made us like scare-crows a' ragged an bare,
Twa poor weaver-bodies ae day chanced to meet,
Wi' scarcely a shoe on their stockingless feet;
Their skins through their auld tatter'd cleeding did shine,
And their beards might hae pass'd for a bishop's lang syne.
“Weel Robin,” quo' Thomas, “what way do ye fend?
And do ye aye live yet out bye at Wood-end?”
“Live—faith I live nae-where, I starve at Tollcross—”
“Gude troth I'm o'er like you, and that is my loss,
For ilka thing now does against us combine,
Which gars us look back wi' regret on lang syne.”
And do ye aye live yet out bye at Wood-end?”
“Live—faith I live nae-where, I starve at Tollcross—”
“Gude troth I'm o'er like you, and that is my loss,
For ilka thing now does against us combine,
Which gars us look back wi' regret on lang syne.”
21
“Thir three weeks a' rinnin, I've risen at three,
And wrought just as lang as a body could see,
And a' that I've made o't in that time, I trow,
Would scare get potatoes, an' draff for a sow;
What then—we are counted a parcel o' swine,
And laugh'd at, whenever we speak o' lang syne.”
And wrought just as lang as a body could see,
And a' that I've made o't in that time, I trow,
Would scare get potatoes, an' draff for a sow;
What then—we are counted a parcel o' swine,
And laugh'd at, whenever we speak o' lang syne.”
“But what is the cause, man o' a' this distress?
And is there nae method to get it made less?”
“The cause—by my sang, there are causes enow,
And causes that lang may gar poor Britain rue,
Unless she return (as I humbly opine)
To the good hamely fashions in days o' lang syne.
And is there nae method to get it made less?”
“The cause—by my sang, there are causes enow,
And causes that lang may gar poor Britain rue,
Unless she return (as I humbly opine)
To the good hamely fashions in days o' lang syne.
That lang bloody war entered into by Pitt,
Has heap'd on her back sic a burden o' debt,
That it crushes her energies, dries up her sap,
And drives her poor bairns from her fostering lap;
And under that burden she ever must pine
Unless she just do as she whiles did lang syne.
Has heap'd on her back sic a burden o' debt,
That it crushes her energies, dries up her sap,
And drives her poor bairns from her fostering lap;
And under that burden she ever must pine
Unless she just do as she whiles did lang syne.
And that paper swindle—Oh curse the Bank notes!
I wish they were cramm'd down the bankers' ane throats;
For had it not been for their auld clappit rags
JOHN BULL might hae still had some wind in his bags;
But now he's bereft o' his good yellow coin
That clinked so sweetly in days o' lang syne.
I wish they were cramm'd down the bankers' ane throats;
For had it not been for their auld clappit rags
JOHN BULL might hae still had some wind in his bags;
But now he's bereft o' his good yellow coin
That clinked so sweetly in days o' lang syne.
But volumes on volumes could scarce tell the skaith
Which that paper bubble, that engine o' death,
Has wrought to the world by its fause gilded show,
While a' has been hollow and rotten below;
Soon, soon may it burst! like a powder-sprung mine,
And then we may hope for good days, like lang syne.
Which that paper bubble, that engine o' death,
Has wrought to the world by its fause gilded show,
While a' has been hollow and rotten below;
Soon, soon may it burst! like a powder-sprung mine,
And then we may hope for good days, like lang syne.
But see! we submit, like a parcel o' slaves,
To be tax'd and oppress'd by a junta o' knaves,
Wha buy themselves seats in our house up-the-gate,
There bark at each other, and ca' it debate,
While at our expence their ain pouches they line;
Lord send them a Cromwell like Cromwell lang syne!
To be tax'd and oppress'd by a junta o' knaves,
Wha buy themselves seats in our house up-the-gate,
There bark at each other, and ca' it debate,
While at our expence their ain pouches they line;
Lord send them a Cromwell like Cromwell lang syne!
22
And mark what an army o' sinecure trash,
Devouring by wholesale unmerited cash,
Which from our industry is wrung every day,
To feed and to fatten such reptiles as they;
Whilst they on saft couches supinely recline,
Unlike the auld barons, the pride o' lang syne.
Devouring by wholesale unmerited cash,
Which from our industry is wrung every day,
To feed and to fatten such reptiles as they;
Whilst they on saft couches supinely recline,
Unlike the auld barons, the pride o' lang syne.
But look nearer hame and ye'll see how we're crush'd,
How toss'd about, trampled on, driven and push'd,
And see how the working man's substance is shared
Between manufacturer, grocer, an' laird,
Who by screwing, and squeezing, and pinching, combine
To mak' him the ghost o' what he was lang syne.
How toss'd about, trampled on, driven and push'd,
And see how the working man's substance is shared
Between manufacturer, grocer, an' laird,
Who by screwing, and squeezing, and pinching, combine
To mak' him the ghost o' what he was lang syne.
An' look at machinery, the bane of our trade,
What thousands by it hae been reft o' their bread;
Yet where is the man who would wish it destroy'd
If it for the general good were employ'd,
Instead of upholding establishments fine
O' chiels wha were scarcely worth two-pence lang syne?
What thousands by it hae been reft o' their bread;
Yet where is the man who would wish it destroy'd
If it for the general good were employ'd,
Instead of upholding establishments fine
O' chiels wha were scarcely worth two-pence lang syne?
And some o' our priesthood (Gude bless the hale pack),
How glibly ilk Sunday they lay aff their crack,
And tell their gull'd hearers that these trying times
Are solely brought on by the poor people's crimes;
And then wi' their sanctified cant, and their whine,
Preach passive obedience, like hirelings lang syne.
How glibly ilk Sunday they lay aff their crack,
And tell their gull'd hearers that these trying times
Are solely brought on by the poor people's crimes;
And then wi' their sanctified cant, and their whine,
Preach passive obedience, like hirelings lang syne.
But true to their order, their interest, and coat,
Wi' their triple taed fork in the Kirk and State pot,
They wale for themselves the best bit o' the beast,
On which they are sure, aye, to guttle an' feast;
Whilst we and our families on sighs often dine,
And silently wish for the days o' lang syne.”
Wi' their triple taed fork in the Kirk and State pot,
They wale for themselves the best bit o' the beast,
On which they are sure, aye, to guttle an' feast;
Whilst we and our families on sighs often dine,
And silently wish for the days o' lang syne.”
“Heck man! if your statements be founded in fact,
Our prospects, indeed, are most gloomy an' black,
But do ye not think they may yet brighten up?”
“Indeed, to be candid, I've nae siccan hope,
Unless the black book to the flames we consign,
And begin a new score, like our fathers lang sine.”
Our prospects, indeed, are most gloomy an' black,
But do ye not think they may yet brighten up?”
“Indeed, to be candid, I've nae siccan hope,
Unless the black book to the flames we consign,
And begin a new score, like our fathers lang sine.”
END OF SCOTCH POETRY.
23
Priestcraft Exposed.
[_]
This Piece has no connection with the foregoing, its Author appears to have been an Irishman; it has been tacked on here as a fugitive Piece, and a Squib worth saving. The Reader must excuse the Anachronisms.
How the Parson must laugh in his sleeve,
With pleasure his heart must be skipping,
When he tells them that Adam and Eve
Damn'd us all for a fine golden pippin:
How Cain too he married a wife,
Though the story, I own, somewhat odd is,
When to Nod he had run for his life,
He there got a nation of Noddies.
With pleasure his heart must be skipping,
When he tells them that Adam and Eve
Damn'd us all for a fine golden pippin:
How Cain too he married a wife,
Though the story, I own, somewhat odd is,
When to Nod he had run for his life,
He there got a nation of Noddies.
When he talks about angels and such,
(Fine fellows, we all must allow,)
I should like for to meet, very much,
A few of those gentlefolks now:
If he tells me they're all of them dead,
So my brains I've no need to be troubling,
I'll tell him he lies, to his head,
For the Devil's alive, and in Dublin.
(Fine fellows, we all must allow,)
I should like for to meet, very much,
A few of those gentlefolks now:
If he tells me they're all of them dead,
So my brains I've no need to be troubling,
I'll tell him he lies, to his head,
For the Devil's alive, and in Dublin.
Then how Moses was dragged from a ditch,
That Prince of Impostors of old,
Who deserved to be burnt like a witch,
If half is but true that we're told;
He a camel turn'd into a flea
By the help of his magical rod;
Went dry through the midst of the sea,—
Now that's a damn'd good one, by God!
That Prince of Impostors of old,
Who deserved to be burnt like a witch,
If half is but true that we're told;
He a camel turn'd into a flea
By the help of his magical rod;
Went dry through the midst of the sea,—
Now that's a damn'd good one, by God!
How a stupid old fellow of Uz,
Was curs'd with a stupid old wife,
But so stupid's the tale, how it was,
I can't make it out for my life:
The Devil it seems ow'd him a spite,
And play'd him some devilish rigs,
Sent a legion of devils, one night,
Who play'd hell with his poultry and pigs.
Was curs'd with a stupid old wife,
But so stupid's the tale, how it was,
I can't make it out for my life:
The Devil it seems ow'd him a spite,
And play'd him some devilish rigs,
Sent a legion of devils, one night,
Who play'd hell with his poultry and pigs.
24
Then Sampson, that quarrelsome fellow,
Slew a thousand men with a jaw-bone,
And to vex 'em, one night, when quite mellow,
Ran off with the gates of the town;
Their foxes he tied by the tails,
Tho' the devil a fox was e'er there:
Their windmills too went without sails,
And their castles were built in the air.
Slew a thousand men with a jaw-bone,
And to vex 'em, one night, when quite mellow,
Ran off with the gates of the town;
Their foxes he tied by the tails,
Tho' the devil a fox was e'er there:
Their windmills too went without sails,
And their castles were built in the air.
Little Davy killed giant Goliah,
With a pop-gun he sent him to pot,
Then murdered his friend, poor Uriah,
For the sake of his wife's, you know what!
His boy too, a chip of the block,
Had a house with a thousand or more in,
Sweet wenches, to please the young cock,
The devil himself sure for whoring.
With a pop-gun he sent him to pot,
Then murdered his friend, poor Uriah,
For the sake of his wife's, you know what!
His boy too, a chip of the block,
Had a house with a thousand or more in,
Sweet wenches, to please the young cock,
The devil himself sure for whoring.
But this is no more than a farce
To other fine things that they tell ye,
For one had a speaking jack-ass,
Another liv'd in a whale's belly;
With lions some lived in a den,
And others in furnaces frying,
But, heav'n preserve us! some men
Are so cursedly given to lying.
To other fine things that they tell ye,
For one had a speaking jack-ass,
Another liv'd in a whale's belly;
With lions some lived in a den,
And others in furnaces frying,
But, heav'n preserve us! some men
Are so cursedly given to lying.
Elisha rode up to the moon
In a chariot all flaming with fire;
But Enoch, one fine afternoon,
Flew a hundred and fifty times higher.
Elijah's two bears, it is said,
Eat forty poor boys at a time,
For just calling the fellow, bald head!
Now that was a terrible crime.
In a chariot all flaming with fire;
But Enoch, one fine afternoon,
Flew a hundred and fifty times higher.
Elijah's two bears, it is said,
Eat forty poor boys at a time,
For just calling the fellow, bald head!
Now that was a terrible crime.
Captain Jossy called out to the sun
To stand still, so he did sure enough;
But I think it high time to have done
Repeating such old women's stuff:
For when with this nonsense you're cramm'd,
To make you believe it all true,
He'll say if you don't, you'll be d—d,
But you ought to be d—d if you do.
To stand still, so he did sure enough;
But I think it high time to have done
Repeating such old women's stuff:
For when with this nonsense you're cramm'd,
To make you believe it all true,
He'll say if you don't, you'll be d—d,
But you ought to be d—d if you do.
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