Ye mak my Muse a dautit pet:
But gin she cou'd like Allan's met,
Or couthy cracks and hamely get
Upo' her carritch,
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.
But she maun e'en be glad to jook,
An' play teet-bo frae nook to nook,
Or blush as gin she had the yook
Whan Ramsay or whan Pennicuik
At morning ear', or late at e'en,
Gin ye sud hap to come and see ane,
Nor niggard wife, nor greetin wee-ane,
Within my cloyster,
Can challenge you and me frae preein
A caller oyster.
Heh, lad! it wad be news indeed,
Ware I to ride to bonny Tweed,
Wha ne'er laid gamon o'er a steed
Beyont Lysterrick;
And auld shanks-nag wad tire, I dread,
To pace to Berwick.
You crack weel o' your lasses there,
Their glancin een and bisket bare;
But tho' this town be smeekit sair,
Than ours there's nane mair fat an' fair; Cravin your pardon.
Gin heaven shou'd gie the earth a drink, And afterhend a sunny blink,
Gin ye ware here, I'm sure you'd think
It worth your notice,
To see them dubs and gutters jink
Wi' kiltit coaties.
And frae ilk corner o' the nation,
We've lasses eke o' recreation,
Wha at close-mou's tak up their station
By ten o'clock:
The Lord deliver frae temptation
Thir queans are ay upo' the catch
For pursy, pocket-book, or watch,
And can sae glib their leesins hatch,
That ye'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 an' attour a Highland gill
The which to come and sock at will,
I here invite ye.
Tho' jillet Fortune scoul an' quarrel,
And keep me frae a bein beef barrel,
As lang's I've twopence i' the warl'
I'll ay be vockie
To part a fadge or girdle farl
Wi Louthian jockie..
Farewel, 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.
JOB, CHAP. III. PARAPHRASED.
PERISH the fatal day when I was born,.
The night with dreary darkness be forlorn;
The loathed, hateful, and lamented night
When Job, 'twas told, had first perceiv'd the light;
Let it be dark, nor let the God on high
Regard it with the favour of his eye;
Let blackest darkness and death's awful shade
Stain it, and make the trembling earth afraid;
Be it not join'd unto the varying year,
Nor to the fleeting months in swift career.
Lo! let the night in solitude's dismay
Be dumb to joy, and waste in gloom away
On it may twilight stars be never known;
Light let it wish for, Lord! but give it none;
Curse it let them who curse the passing day,
And to the voice of mourning raise the lay;
Nor ever be the face of dawning seen
Το ope its lustre on th' enamell❜d green;
Because it seal'd not up my mother's womb,
Nor hid from me the sorrows doom'd to come.
Why have I not from mother's womb expir'd;
My life resign'd when life was first requir'd?
Why did supporting knees prevent my death,
Or suckling breasts sustain my infant breath?
For now my soul with quiet had been blest,
With kings and councellors of earth at rest,
Who bade the house of desolation rise,
And awful ruin strike tyrannic eyes,
Or with the princes unto whom were told
Rich store of silver and corrupting gold;
Or, as untimely birth, I had not been
Like infant who the light hath never seen;
For there the wicked from their trouble cease,
And there the weary find their lasting peace;
There the poor prisoners.together rest,
Nor by the hand of injury opprest;
The small and great together mingl'd are,
And free the servant from his master there;
Say, wherefore has an over-bounteous Heaven
Light to the comfortless and wretched given?
Why should the troubl'd and oppress'd in soul
Fret over restless life's unsettled bowl,"
Who long for death, who lists not to their pray'r,
And dig as for the treasures hid afar;
Who with excess of joy are blest and glad,
Rejoic'd when in the tomb of silence laid?
Why then is grateful light bestow'd on man,
Whose life is darkness, all his days a span?
For e'er the morn return'd my sighing came,
My mourning pour'd out as the mountain stream;
Wild visag'd fear, with sorrow-mingled eye,
And wan destruction piteous star'd me nigh: .
For tho' no rest nor safety blest my soul,
New trouble came, new darkness, new controul.
THOU, who with incessant gloom
Courts the recess of midnight tomb!
Admit me of thy mournful throng,
The scatter'd woods and wilds among!
If e'er thy discontented ear
The voice of sympathy can cheer,
My melancholy bosom's sigh
Shall to your mournful plaint reply;
There to the fear-foreboding owl
The angry furies hiss and howl;
Or near the mountain's pendant brow
Where rush-clad streams in cadent murmurs flow.
Epode. Who's he that with imploring eye
Salutes the rosy dawning sky?
The cock proclaims the morn in vain,
His spirit to drive to its domain;
For morning light can but return
To bid the wretched wail and mourn:
Not the bright dawning's purple eye
Can cause the frightful vapours fly,,
Nor sultry Sol's meridian throne
Can bid surrounding fears begone;
The gloom of night will still preside,
While angry conscience stares on either side..
Strophe. To ease his sore distemper'd head,
Sometimes upon the rocky bed
Reclin❜d he lies, to list the sound
Of whispering reed in vale profound.
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