ΤΟ MY AULD BREEKS. Now gae your wa's.-Tho' ance as gude As ever happit flesh and blude, Yet part we maun.-The case sae hard is Amang the writers and the bardies, That lang they'll bruik the auld I trow, Or neebours cry, "Weel bruik the news!" Still makin tight wi' tither steek; The tither hole, the tither eik, To bang the bir o' Winter's anger, Siclike some weary wight will fill To life, and look baith hale and fier; TO MY AULD BREEKS. You needna wag your duds o' clouts, * Nor fa' into your dorty pouts, To think that erst you've hain'd my tail And canna thole to hae them tint, Yet round the warld keek and see, That ithers fare as ill as thee; > For weel we loe the chiel we think TO MY AULD BREEKS. Yet gratefu' hearts, to mak amends, Wi' you I've speel'd the braes o' rhyme, Wi' whilk we drumly grow, and crabbit, You've seen me round the bickers reel Wi' heart as hale as temper'd steel, And face sae open, free, and blithe, Nor thought that sorrow there cou'd kyth; But the niest moment this was lost, Like gowan in December's frost. Cou'd prick-the-louse but he sae handy As mak the breeks and claise to stand ay, TO MY AULD BREEKS. Thro' thick and thin wi' you I'd dash on, Gars ither breeks decay as you do. Now speed you to some madam's chaumer, That but and ben rings dule and clamour, Ask her, in kindness, if she seeks In hidling ways to wear the breeks? Safe you may dwall, tho' mould and motty, For this mair fauts nor yours can screen Or if some bard, in lucky times, ས་་་ TO MY AULD BREEKS. Glowr in his face, like spectre gaunt; Remind him o' his former want; To cow his daffin and his pleasure, And gar him live within the measure. So Philip, it is said, who wou'd ring -Owre Macedon, a just and gude king, Fearing that power might plume his feather, And bid him stretch beyond the tether, Ilk mornin to his lug wad ca' A tiny servant o' his ha', To tell him to improve his span; |