The poetical works of William Nicholson :: :: University of Virginia Library

Frae ither fowls ye stan' abeigh,
And, like a' fools, wad fain be high:
Proud, on a wa', or half-grown tree,
Or chimly tap, ye like to be;
There cock your crest, wi' airy show,
And squint on scrapin' birds below.

But should the sky begin to lower,
And wake your second-sighted power,
Ye then disclose your cowardly failin's,
And grate a' roun' you wi' your yellin's.
Nae croakin' raven, wi' his note,
Can equal what comes through your throat;
Nor clamorous cats, wham midnight summons,
Can equal half your yells and omens.

Ye fright the heron where he flies,
And weary Echo wi' your cries.

So hae I seen great fuss and caperin'
'Mang mystic knighthood o' the apron;
Wi' empty pride, in monkish gown,
Travish a Bible through the town:
Wi' painted poles and pictured duds,
And aprons new come frae the suds,
Or stunted frae the wife's sark tail—
Aiblins the pock that hauds his meal;
For H---r---m's sons hae mony wants,
For a' their outward shows and rants,
Though patronised by weeds and saints.
The lengthened legends, tales, and histories,
And dark sublime Egyptian mysteries,
Are kindly meant, by your designment,
To draw the warld to refinement.
Your mystic draughts, wi' keel and cauk,
Gar mony a cudroch chiel to quak;
Joinin' some green-horn for a blether,
Ye light his purse and een thegither;
Then roun' him ring, and prance, and squeel,
To gar folks trow ye raise the de'il:
But de'il a de'il wad show his face,
Sic bare-faced mummery e'er to grace.
Yet gie nae way to dark despondence,
Although the de'ils deny attendance;
Though lazy Cloots sits still within,
Ye'll aiblins grape the way to him;
Where ye may herd in future times,
Unscaithed by ony Cowan's rhymes.

So drover blades, wha drink and sot,

Wha's light's confined to stirk and stot,
That's scraped their gear frae lowly stations,
Wi' quirks, and breaks, and sequestrations,
Club roun', and tell their loathsome jokes,
Or plot to cheat douce countra folks;
Wi' arle-penny in their han',
Will belch out something like a d---n,
How that's the highest groat they'll gie,
And be mansworn thrice in a day,
Then mount, and hame, wi' saucy gloom:
Ilk likes to ride his neighbour down,
Because he has an Irish horse,
And ithers' gowd within his purse.

So countra Laird, that's stout and frisky,
Bred up 'mang grooms, and drinkin' whisky
And footin't fairly o'er the bogs,
Pursuing hares and hounding dogs;
Taught by his mither that his talents
Surpasses ither countra callants,
Scours aff, ne'er dreaming on defection,
And buys the votes at neist election;
Syne up to London in a wheel,
And thinks himsel' a clever chiel.
In House o' Commons glowers and gaunts,
And langs to tell his countra's wants;
Or rather show his pert essays,
So, like a jack-ass, starts and brays;
And what in point o' sense is lackin'
He'll eith supply wi' stamps and brakin.
I kenna how it comes to pass,
But court folks whiles will keep an ass;
Whether for ridin' or for milk,

Or length o' lugs, I kenna whilk;
They'll hear their cracks, and ne'er confute them;
They'll bear their kicks, and ne'er dispute them.

Thus hae I seen a simple lad,
Amang the braes o' Galloway bred,
If no o'ergane wi' information,
At least quite free frae affectation,
When siller lured or wark was slack,
Cross Bowness burn to bear a pack;
There serve a time, but gowd or fee,
To learn, to cheat, and gab, and lie;
Schooled by some greedy, gripin' elf,
To smother every tie but self,
Till by degrees he learns the knack
Of logic, how to blaw the pack:
Though aft his traffic and resort
Is but amang the baser sort.
Yet hame he comes, baith proud and braw,
His new acquirements fair to shaw,
In Lon'on boots and broad-brimmed hat,
Wi' yeas and nays, and G*d knows what;
Queer whirrs and burrs, eneugh to fley folk,
Wi' a' the scum o' Yorkshire dialect.—
He d---s the reek, and rubs his e'en,
And tells what unco sights he's seen.
His mither e'es her hopefu' lad,
And thinks him truly learned and bred.

Bright similies might here be spun,
In number like motes i' the sun,
And on the mind so thick lie fraught,
As maks ane dizzy wi the thought.