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But Silence, on ilk lassie's part,
Will aft reveal
Can scarce conceal.
Wi' fiddles playing, colours fleeing, And mony a thing weel wordy seeing, Down to the * Craigs, a' weel agreeing,
They gaed awa ; 'Twad made ane laugh, tho' they'd been deeing,
To see them a';
As fierce, I trow, as ony gled,
Lang e'er + Bellifle,
In rank and file,
Ilk ane had guns: there's mony trimmer, For maist o' them, I'd lay a brimmer, Hadna been shot this mony a Simmer,
They gacd fic dints; And some, thro' fear, had bits o'timmer
Instead o' flints.
About a mile from Dumfries,
+ The Gege of Bellide,
Ithers, (for Need maks mony a fen,) Fill'd
their touch-holes wi' a pin ; And, as in twenty there was ten
Worm-eaten stocks, Sae here and there, a rozit-end,
Held on their locks.
And then, to thaw what diff'rence stands
O'chiefs, that day.
(But thae were scenes, alaikanie! Fit only + FERGUSON, for thee ; For ony ane, wi' ha'f an eie,
Fu' weel may ken, It disna fet fic chiels as me,
Sae hiegh to sten.)
# The battle of Prestonpans. + Mr. Robert Ferguson, well known for his ingenious compositions in the Scots dialect,
C Α Ν Τ Ο ΙΙ.
E wha ha'e been at * , And seen the pleys that happen there, Or, aeblins, read its frolics rare,
In RABBIE's lay, Can only now, wi' it, compare
The sports that day.
ony camp, around a hill Were boorick made wi' meikle skill, Pang'd to the eie wi' mony a jill
O' a kind liquor, Where fowk might colhly crack their fill,
Or bend the bicker.
Snug in thae tents, where few could see,
Upo' their dowp,
Wi cap and ftowp.
Pleas'd, they'd recount, wi' meikle joy, How aft they'd been at fic a ploy,
* An annual Fair of that name, held at Edinburgh, and hu. mouroully described by the ingenious Ferguson.
Wi' a' their names, their eild, employ,
And youthfu’ play, Wha'd ever won this tirley toy
Sin' * JAMIE's day.
And mony a crack and weel-wail'd tale, 'Bout bauld fore-bears, whilk ne'er does fail Baith faul and body to regale
Wi' matchless pow'r, Wad thro' the lee-lang day prevail,
Till a' was owr.
When wives, or ither cares, perplex us,
Wi ragged duds,
As reeming scuds.
Here rowth o' ginge-broad-stawns were fcen,
Sic glances ga'e,
For night, that day,
-When some auld-farran knackie billie, Hads to his joe wi' mony a jillie,
One of the James's is said to be founder of this mechanical festival.
Wha shaws her breast as white's a lilie,
And leggies tight, Gosh! cou'd a priest restrain his willie
In fic a plight!
Sae to the whuns, frae 'mang the thrang,
Shot time away,
For-mony a day.
Amang the lave was kintry Johny,
ony there ; But, lang ere e'en, her cockernony
Was toozel'd fair :
She, filly, simple, hame-bred hizzy,
Was she, that day.
At times like this, when chields are skairin'
O' liquor clear;
O’ ficcan gear :