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But Silence, on ilk lassie's part,
Spak mair than words cou'd e'er impart.
-Deep fighs, the language o' the heart,

Will aft reveal
A fame, which a' the pow'r o' art

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,
Ilk deacon march'd afore his trade :
Auld chields, wha had to arms been bred

Lang e'er + Bellifle,
Them a', like ony fodgers led

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
Twiest him that gets and gi'es commands,
Swords, that unsheath'd fin' * Prestonpans,

Neglected lay,
Were now brought out, to deck the hands

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,

B 3





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,
On divet-seats, kuird wi' a tree,
Auld birkies innocently flee,

Upo' their dowp,
Were e'en as blithe as blithe cou'd be,

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,
When senselefs gilligawkies vex, us,
Or, waefuck! eild and poortith gecks us

Wi ragged duds,
De il haet sae weel frae grief protects us

As reeming scuds.

Here rowth o' ginge-broad-stawns were fcen,
Where laffes dancing unco keen,
Aft, winking wi' their pauky ein,

Sic glances ga'e,
As gart some wanton fallows grien

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,
Whiles ane or twa or sae wad gang;
Where tales o' love, and eke a sang,

Shot time away,
And youngsters got what they did lang

For-mony a day.

Amang the lave was kintry Johny,
Wi' his joe Meg, as brae as ony:
She thought, nae doubt, hersel' as bony


ony there ; But, lang ere e'en, her cockernony

Was toozel'd fair :

She, filly, simple, hame-bred hizzy,
Had never seen a rakish phizzy,
Sae took, frae chields wha were right hizzy,

O' ufquabae,
'Till, laik-a-nie! baith fick and dizzy

Was she, that day.

At times like this, when chields are skairin'
Wi’ ilka ane they meet, a fairin',
They ll never stap to cry for mair in

O' liquor clear;
But women-fowk shou'd ay be fpairin'

O’ ficcan gear :

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