WALTER SCOTT. 1613-1690. An old Souldier and no Scholler; Thus he describes himself in the title page of his "True History of several Honourable Families of the Right Honourable name of Scott, in the Shires of Roxburgh and Selkirke, and others adjacent; gathered out of Ancient Chronicles, Histories, and Traditions of our Fathers." Edinburgh 1688; reprinted 1776. On the death of his grandfather, Sir Robert Scott of Thirlstone, his father having no means to bring up his chil dren, put this Walter to attend beasts in the field; "but,” says he, "I gave them the short cut at last, and left the kine in the carn, and ever since that time I have continued a souldier abroad and at home," &c. There is so great a difference in the style of the specimen subjoined, that it is hardly possible to suppose it all comes from the same hand. There is so much of the whimsical solemnity of NOTHING in it, that although it does not much illustrate the character of its age, it would not be fair to withhold it from the reader. But be it remembered, that it was written at seventy-three. Dedicated to the very worshipful and much honoured generous Gentleman, Hugh Scott, of Gallowshiells, and Walter Scott, of Wauchop. O! for a quill of that Arabian wing, That's hatch'd in embers of some kindred fire, Great is the glory of the noble mind, But let swoln envy swell until she burst, Although I him enrol, and call him shepherd's swain, Yet hereby I approve he is a gentleman, The son of Adam, who was by lot, The brother of the worthy Colonel Scott, And Robert he was Walter's son ; The first of Whitehaugh that from Borthwick sprung, That Wat of Whitehaugh was cousin-german To John of Borthwick, who fasted so long, Three sundry times he did perform Bishop Spotswood, my author is he, A profound learn'd prelat, that would not lie : To beg recommendation to the Pope of Rome, And was neither hungry, sick, nor sore;' From Rome he did hastily return, And arrived in Brittain at London; Where Henry the Eighth, he got notice, From John of Borthwick thy fathers did descend; He was the son of Walter, I have said enough, In the fourscore psalm we read, That like a flock our God did Joseph lead, And ev'ry day we do confess almost, That we have err'd, and stray'd, like sheep that's lost, For oaths, and passing words, and joining hands, Is like assurance written in the sands, The silly sheeps-skin turn'd to parchment thin Shews that Jason's golden fleece with thee remains. Begone my book, stretch forth thy wings and fly, Amongst the nobles and gentility: Thou'rt not to sell to scavingers and clowns, My charges have been great, and I hope reward; no more. |