[merged small][ocr errors]

Oh, shame! that safety canna claim
Protection from a Provost's name ;
But hidden danger lies behind,
To torture, and to fleg the mind.
I may as weel bid Arthur's Seat
To Berwick-Law mak gleg retreat,
As think that either will or art
Shall get the gate to win their heart :
For politics are a' their mark,
Bribes latent, and corruption dark.
If they can eithly turn the pence,
Wi' city's good they will dispense ;
Nor care tho' a' her sons were lair'd
Ten fathom i' the auld kirkyard.

To sing yet meikle does remain,
Undecent for a modest strain ;
And, since the poet's daily bread is
The favour oʻthe Muse, or ladies,
Vol. II.



He downa like to gie offence
To delicacy's tender sense;
Therefore, the stews remain"unsung,
And bawds in silence drap their tongue.

Reikie, fareweel !" I ne'er cou'd part Wi' thee, but wi' a dowie heart. Aft frae the Fifan coast I've seen Thee towering on thy summit green, So glowr the saints whan first is given A favourite keek o' glore and heaven ; On earth nae mair they bend their een. But quick assume angelic mien ; So I on Fife wad glowr no more, But gallop'd to Edin a's shore.




Ta all whom it may concerna

SOME fouk, like bees, fa' gległy rin
To bykes bang'd fu' o' strife and din,
And thieve and huddle crumb by crumb,
Till they hae scrap d the dautit plumb,
Then craw fu'crously-o their wark,
Tell o'er their turners mark by mark,
Yet darena think to lowze the pose
To aid their neebours' ails and woes.

Gif gowd can fetter thus the heart;
And gar us act sae base a part;
Shall man, a niggard, near-gaun elf!
Rin to the tether's end for pelf;


Learn ilka cunzied scoundrel's trick,
Whan a's done sell his saul to Nick:

I trow they've cost the purchase dear,
That gang sic lengths for warldly gear.

Now when the Dog-day heats begin To birsle and to peel the skin, May I lie streekit at my ease, Beneath the caller shady trees, (Far frae the din o' borrows town), Whare water plays the haughs bedown ; To jouk the Simmer's rigour there, And breathe a while the caller air, 'Mang herds, and honest cottar fouk, That till the farm, and feed the flock; Careless o' mair, wha never fash 'To lade their kists wi' useless cash, But thank the gods for what they've sent, O' health eneugh, and blithe content, And pith, that helps them to stravaig Owre ilka cleugh, and ilka craig;


Unkend to a' the weary granes
That aft arise frae gentler banes,
On easy-chair that pamper'd lie,
Wi' banefu' viands gustit high;
And turn, and fauld their weary clay,
To rax and gaunt the live-lang day.

Ye sages, tell! was man e'er made To dree this hatefu' sluggard trade, Steekit frae Nature's beauties a' That daily on his presence ca', At hame to girn, and whinge, and pine For favourite dishes, favourite wine! Come, then, shake aff thir sluggish ties, And wi' the bird o' dawning rise ! On ilka bank the clouds hae spread Wi' blobs o dew a pearly bed. Frae faulds nae mair the owsen rout, But to the fattening clover lout, Whare they may feed at heart's content, Unyokit frae their Winter's stent.

« ElőzőTovább »