Stray Leaves from the Portfolios of Alisander the Seer, Andrew Whaup, and Humphrey Henkeckle Edited by Alexander Rodger |
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STANZAS,
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 | Stray Leaves from the Portfolios of Alisander the Seer, Andrew Whaup, and Humphrey Henkeckle |  |
186
STANZAS,
WRITTEN ON MR JAMES P*G*N, A FEW DAYS BEFORE HIS MARRIAGE.
‘O ken ye the man wi' the Heathenish name?—
For P*g*n and Heathen are nearly the same;’
Come, truce wi' your joking, though P*g*n he be,
He's as true a Christian as mony ye'll see.
He's open, he's honest, mild-tempered, and warm,
Inclined to do good, but averse to work harm:
For his motto is this—as ilk ane's ought to be—
‘Let me do unto others as they should to me.’
For P*g*n and Heathen are nearly the same;’
Come, truce wi' your joking, though P*g*n he be,
He's as true a Christian as mony ye'll see.
He's open, he's honest, mild-tempered, and warm,
Inclined to do good, but averse to work harm:
For his motto is this—as ilk ane's ought to be—
‘Let me do unto others as they should to me.’
He spins a good story, he weaves a good tale,
He lilts a good sang owre a tankard o' ale,
He cracks a good joke, too, wi' humorsome glee;
But nane lashes vice mair severely than he.
And ilk body likes him wherever he gangs,
Sae fond o' his stories—his jokes and his sangs;
But the thing he's maist prized for by meikle and wee,
Is the generous heart, ever open and free.
He lilts a good sang owre a tankard o' ale,
He cracks a good joke, too, wi' humorsome glee;
But nane lashes vice mair severely than he.
And ilk body likes him wherever he gangs,
Sae fond o' his stories—his jokes and his sangs;
But the thing he's maist prized for by meikle and wee,
Is the generous heart, ever open and free.
He never can hear o' a poor mortal's woes,
But his hand's in his pouch, while his heart overflows;
For when the heart wills it, the hand's sure to gi'e,
And blest are the heart and the hand—thus so free.
But P*g*n has fauts, like the rest o' guid chiels;
He likes to keep oiling Humanity's wheels;
But he oils them sae gently, when creaking awee,
That he keeps the machine aye in good working key.
But his hand's in his pouch, while his heart overflows;
For when the heart wills it, the hand's sure to gi'e,
And blest are the heart and the hand—thus so free.
But P*g*n has fauts, like the rest o' guid chiels;
He likes to keep oiling Humanity's wheels;
But he oils them sae gently, when creaking awee,
That he keeps the machine aye in good working key.
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He likes his bit lass, too, as ilka man should;
And, O! that sweet lass is so fair and so good,
And returns so his love, that in twa weeks or three,
She may be prevailed on—a P*g*n to be.
A health, then, to P*g*n—a health to his lass;
May bright days of happiness still o'er them pass,
And a braw fruitfu' vine may the bonnie lass be,
Till clusters o' P*g*n-grapes cling round her knee.
And, O! that sweet lass is so fair and so good,
And returns so his love, that in twa weeks or three,
She may be prevailed on—a P*g*n to be.
A health, then, to P*g*n—a health to his lass;
May bright days of happiness still o'er them pass,
And a braw fruitfu' vine may the bonnie lass be,
Till clusters o' P*g*n-grapes cling round her knee.
| Stray Leaves from the Portfolios of Alisander the Seer, Andrew Whaup, and Humphrey Henkeckle | |