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ANSWER

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MR J. S's EPISTLE.

I TROW, my mettled Louthian lathie!

Auldfarran birky I maun ca' thee;

For whan in gude black print I saw thee, Wi' souple gab,

I skirl'd fu' loud, "Oh wae befa' thee!

"But thou'rt a daub."

Awa, ye wylie fleetchin fallow !

The rose shall grow like gowan yellow,
Before I turn sae toom and shallow,

And void o' fusion,

As a' your butter'd words to swallow

In vain delusion.

Ye mak my Muse a dautit pet;

But gin she cou'd like Allan's met,

ANSWER TO MR J. S's EPISTLE.

Or couthy cracks and hamely get

Upo' her carritch,

Eithly wad I be in your debt

A pint o' parritch.

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 rhyme,

Keeps gude Scots time.

While ilk ane at his billy's back

But she maun e'en be glad to jook,
And play teet-bo frae nook to nook,
Or blush as gin she had the yook

Upo' her skin,

Whan Ramsay or whan Pennycuick

Their lilts begin.

At mornin ear, or late at e'enin,

Gin ye sud hap to come and see ane,

ANSWER TO MR J. S's EPISTLE.

Nor niggard wife, nor greetin wee ane,
Within my cloister,

Can challenge you and me frae priein
A caller oyster.

Heh, lad! it wad be news indeed,
Were I to ride to bonny Tweed,

Wha ne'er laid gammon owre a steed

Beyont Lusterick;

And auld shanks-naig wad tire, I dread,

To pace to Berwick.

You crack weel o' your lasses there;
Their glancing een, and bisket bare ;

But, thof this town be smeekit sair,

I'll wad a farden,

Than our's there's nane mare fat and fair,

Cravin your pardon.

*Gin heaven shou'd gie the earth a drink,

And afterhend a sunny blink,

ANSWER TO MR J. S.'S EPISTLE.

Gin ye were 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

A honest fouk !

Thir queans are ay upo' the catch
For pursie, pocket-book, or watch,
And can sae glib their leesins hatch,

That you'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' yill,

ANSWER TO MR J. S's EPISTLE.

By an attour a Highland gill

O' Aquavitæ ;

The which to come and sock at will,
I here invite ye.

Tho' jillet Fortune scoul and quarrel,
And keep me frae a bien beef barrel,
As lang's I've twopence i' the warl'

I'll ay be vockie

To part a fadge o girdle farl

Wi' Louthian Jockie.

'Fareweel, my cock! lang may you 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.

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