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If ever aught frae sense cou'd be believ'd -
(And seenil hae my senses been deceiv'd), *
This moment owre the tap o' Adam's tomb,
Fu' easy can I see your chiefest dome.
Nae eorbie fleein there, nor croupin craws,
Seem to forspeak the ruin o' thy ha's;
But a' your towers in wonted order stand,
Steeve as the rocks that hem our native land. `
Think na I vent my well-a-day in vain:
Kent ye the cause, ye sure wad join my mane. Black be the day, that e'er to England's ground Scotland was eikit by the Union's bond!
For mony a menzię o' destructive ills
The country now maun brook frae mortmain bills
That void our test'ments, and can freely gie
Sic will and scoup to the ordain'd trustee,
That he may tir our stateliest riggins bare;
Non acres, houses, woods, nor fishings spare,
Till he can lend the stoiterin state a lift,
Wi' gowd in gowpins, as a grassum gift;
In lieu o' whilk, we maun be weel content
To tine the capital for three per cent.
A doughty sum indeed; whan, now-a-days,
They raise provisions as the stents they raise,
Yoke hard the poor, and lat the rich chields be
Pamper'd at ease by ither's industry.
Hale interest for my fund can scantly now Cleed a' my callants' backs, and stap their mou'. How maun their wymes wi' sairest hunger slack, Their duds in targets flaff upon their back, Whan they are doom'd to keep a lasting Lent, Starving for England's weel, at three per cent..
Auld Reikie then may bless the gowden times, Whan honesty and poortith baith are crimes.
She little ken'd, whan you and I endow'd
Our hospitals for back-gaun burghers' gude,
That e'er our siller or our lands shou'd bring
A gude bien livin to a back-gaun king;
Wha, thanks to Ministry is grown sae wise,
He downa chew the bitter cud o' vice:
For gin, frae Castlehill to Netherbow,
Wad honest houses bawdy-houses grow,
The Crown wad never spier the price o' sin,
Nor hinder younkers to the deil to rin ;
But, gif some mortal grien for pious fame,
And leave the poor man's prayer to sane his name,
His gear maun a' be scatter'd by the claws.
O' ruthless, ravenous, and harpy laws.
Yet, shou'd I think, although the bill tak place,
The council winna lack sae meikle grace
As lat your heritage at wanworth gang,
Or the succeeding generations wrang
O' braw bein maintenance, and walth o' lear,
Whilk else had drappit to their children's skair:
For mony a deep, and mony a rare engine
Hae sprung frae Heriot's Wark, and sprung frae mine
I find, my friend! that ye but little ken,"
There's e'en now on the earth a set o' men,
Wha, if they get their private pouches lin❜d,
Gie na a winnlestrae for a' mankind.
They'll sell their country, flae their conscience bare, -.
To gar the weigh-bauk turn a single hair.
The Government need only bait the line
Wi' the prevailin flee the bowden coin !
Then our executors, and wise trustees,
Will sell them fishes in forbidden seas:
Upo' their dwinin country girn in sport ;
Laugh in their sleeve, and get a place at court. .
Ere that day come, I'll 'mang our spirits pick
Some ghaist that trokes and conjures wi' Auld Nick,
Το gar the wind wi' rougher rumbles blaw,
And weightier thuds than ever mortal saw :
Fireflaught and hail, wi tenfauld fury's fires,
Shall lay yird-laigh Edina's airy spires:
Tweed shall rin rowtin down his banks out owre,
Till Scotland's out o' reach o' England's power;
Upo' the briny Borean jaws to float,
-And mourn in dowie seughs her dowie lot.
Yonder's the tomb of wise Mackenzie fam'd,
Whase laws rebellious bigotry reclaim'd;
Freed the hale land o' covenantin fools,
Wha erst hae fash'd us wi' unnumber'd dools.
Till night, we'll tak the swaird aboon our pows,
And then, whan she her ebon chariot rows,
'We'll travel to the vau't wi' stealin stap,
And wauk Mackenzie frae his quiet nap;
Tell him our ails, that he, wi' wonted skill,
May fleg the schemers o' the Mortmain Bill (10)