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Her dowff excuses pat me mad; Conscience,' says I, ' ye thowless jad, • I'll write, an' that a hearty blaud,

This vera night,
Sodinna ye affront your trade,

• But rhyme it right.

Shall bauld L*****k, the king o' hearts, "Tho' mankind were a pack o'cartes, Roose

sae well for your deserts,

• In terms sae friendly, Yet ye'll negle& to shaw your parts

• An'thank him kindly?

Sae I gat paper in a blink,
An down gaed stumpie in the ink :
Quoth I, . Before I sleep a wink,

• I vow I'll close it ; ' An' if ye winna mak it clink,

. By Jove I'll prose it!

Sae I've begun to scrawl, but whether
In rhyme, or profe, or baith thegither,
Or fome hotch-potch that's rightly neither,

Let time mak proof;
But I fall fcribble down some blet her

Just clean aff-loof.

My worthy friend, ne'er grudge an' carp, Tho' fortune use you hard an' sharp, Come, kittle up your moorland harp

Wi' gleefome touch! Ne'er mind how Fortune waft anwarp ;

She's but a b-tch.

She's gien me monie a jirt an' ileg
Sin I could striddle owre a rig;
But, by the L-d, tho' I should beg

Wi' lyart pow,

I'll laugh, an' fing, an' shake my leg,

As lang's I dow!

Now comes the fax an' twentieth simmer, I've seen the bud upo' the timmer, Still persecuted by the limmer

Frae year to year ; But yet, despite the kittle kimmer,

1, Rob, am bere,

Do ye envy the city Gent,
Behint a kift to lie an' klent,
Or purse-proud, big wi' cent. per cent:

An' muckle wame,
In some bit Brugh to represent

A Bailie's name?

Or is't the paughty, feudal Thane, Wi' rufi'd fark an glancing cane

Wha thinks himsel nae sheep-shank bane,

But lordly stalks,

and bonnets aff are taen,

As by he walks?
0, Thou wha gies us each good gift!
• Gie me o' wit an' sense a lift,
• Then turn me, if Thou please, adrift

• Thro' Scotland wide ; Wi' cits nor lairds I wadna shift

• In a' their pride!

Were this the charter of our state

On pain o' hell be rich an' great, Damnation then would be our fate,

Beyond remead; But, thanks to Hear'n, that's so the gate

We learn our creed.

For thus the royal Mandate ran, When first the human race began, The focial, friendly, honeft man

« Whate'er he be, " 'Tis he fulfils great Nature's plan,

• And none but he.'

O Mandate, glorious and divine !
The followers o'the ragged Nine,
Poor, thoughtless devils ! yet may shine

In glorious light.

While sordid sons o' Mammon's line

Are dark as night.

Tho' here they fcrape, an' [queeze, an' growl, Their worthlefs nievefu' of a foul May in fome future carcafe how!

The forest's fright; Or in some day.detefting owl

May laun the light.

Then may Z*****k and B**** arise,
To reach their native kindred skies,
And fing their pleasures, hopes an’ joys,

In some 'mild sphere.
Still closer knit in friendthip’s ties

Each paffing year!

W. S*****N,


May, 1785

you brawlie


; Wi' gratefu' heart I thank

, Tho'l maun fay't, I wad bé filly,

An unco vain, Should I believe, my coaxin billie,

Your flatterin strain.

But I'fe believe ye kindly meant it,
I sud be laith to think ye hinted
Ironic fatire, fideline sklented

On my poor

Mulic Tho' in fic phrafin terms ye've penn'd it,

I scarce excuse ye.

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My fenfes wad be in a creel, Should I but dare to hope to speel Wi' Allan, or wi’ Gilbert field,

The braes o' fame ; Or Ferguson, the writer-chiel,

A deathleis name.

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