« ElőzőTovább »
To the PRINCIPAL and PROFESSORS of the Unie
versity of St. Andrews, on their superb Treat to DR SAMUEL JOHNSON.
ST ANDREW's town may look right gawsy,
will grow upo' her cawsey,
To fleg frae a' your craigs the roup,
But hear, my lads ! gin I'd been there, How la hae trimm'd the bill o' fare! For ne'er sic surly wight as he Had met wi' sic respect frae me. Mind ye what Sam, the lyin loun! Has in his Dictionar laid down? That aits, in England, are a feast To cow and horse, and sicken beast; While, in Scots ground, this growth was common To gust the gab o' man and woman. Tak tent, ye Regents! then, and hear My list o' gudely hameil gear;
Sic as hae aften rax'd the
wyme O blyther fallows mony a time; Mair hardy, souple, steeve, and swank, Than ever stood on Samy's shank.
Imprimis, then, a haggis fat,
Secundo, then, a gude sheep's head, Whase hide was singit, never flea’d, And four black trotters clad wi' girsle, Bedown his throat had learn'd to hirsle. What think ye, niest o' gude fat brose, To clag his ribs, a dainty dose ? And white and bluidy puddings routh, To gar the Doctor skirl, “ O Drouth !"
Whan he could never houp to merit
Drummond, lang syne, o' Hawthornden, The wyliest and best o' men, Has gien you dishes ane or mae, That wad hae gar'd his grinders play, Not to “Roast Beef (4),” old England's life ! But to the Auld “ East nook o' Fife (5),” Where Craillian crafts cou'd weel hae gien Skate-rumples to hae clear'd his een ; Then, niest, whan Samy's heart was faintin, He lang'd for skate to mak him wanton,
Ah, willawins for Scotland now! Whan she maun stap ilk birky's mou Wi' eistacks, grown as 'twere in pet In foreign land, or greenhouse het, Whan cog o' brose, and cutty spoon, Is a'
your cottar childers' boon, Wha thro' the week, till sunday's speal, Toil for pease-clods and gude lang kail.
Devall then, Sirs, and never send For daintiths to regale a friend ; Or, like a torch at baith ends burnin, Your house will soon grow mirk and mournin!
What's this I hear some cynic say (6)?-
but Fife? Gie owre, young man! you'll meet your cornin, Than caption waur, or charge o' hornin ;