A taylor fallow, nae great fcholar,

Wi' mony a bann,

Took honeft Crifpin bi the collar,

And thus began:

TAYLOR.

Ye gude-for-naething foutar hash, (Tho' powther decks ye'r carrot pash,) Tell me, I fay, fin' griev d, I faush,

Withoutten charter,

What right ye hae to wear this fash,
Or ftar and garter?

CRISPI N.

Let gang ye'r grips! or, bi mi faul,
Were I but ance within my ftaul,
Bi a' that's Gnde! my peggin-awl,

Ye deevil's buckie,

Shou'd jag and tear ye, fpaul frae fpaul, Like ony chuckie!

It fets ye weel, indeed to jeer Or queftion me for what I wear: I reprefent King Crifpin here!

While, fye for fhame,

Ye'r loufy craft to manhood ne'er

Cou'd yet lay claim.

TAYLOR.

1

Fing Crifpin!-wale o' ilka loon That ever robb'd or rul'd a town: I mind to hear, like fome baboon

That apes its betters,

He claim'd pretenfions to a crown,

And dee'd in fetters.

Infult my Chieftain, ony place,
Shall never ane o' taylor race;
And fin' ye've dar'd, afore my face,

His name to blacken,

Ye'fe owther feght, or dree difgrace

To fave ye'r bacon.

"Agree'd," quo Prickie, when he faun

Himfel' in fic a hubble drawn n;

"That, tho' a taylor, I'm a man,

"Ye'fe own content;

"Elfe, as ye fin' me, juidge the clan

"I reprefent !"

Now Expectation fill'd ilk breaft

Wi' dread o' what might happen nieft:

Sae croufe the twa fet up their criest

Afore the tuilie,

Fowk thought, in ither's waems, at least,
They'd fheath a gullie.

Arm'd wi' the law-broad and the fhears,
The taylor i' the front appears;

While Crifpin, wha, in CHARLIE's weirs,
Had nobly bled,

A hazel-rung in triumph rears,

And, dauntlefs faid:

"Now tak, thou warft o' worthlefs things, "The vengeance due frae flighted kings!" Wi' that his doublet aff he flings,

And, in a wee,

The cudgel, or the law-broad, rings

Alternately.

To fee fair play, or help a frien', Fowk flammer'd frae a' airths bedeen; Auld wives, to red them, ran between,

Like Amazons,

And nought was heard fyne owr the green,
But fkraichs and groans.

Nor cou'd ye ken, wi' niceft care, Wha wan, or wha was licked there;

Pell-mell they feught, foul play or fair
Was a' the fame,

And friens and faes lay every where,

Baith blin' and lame.

To comfort thae, (inch-thick o' glar, His ein japann'd, and chafts a char,) "Be thankfu', Sirs, it is nae war,"

(Quo' Yaedam Bryen)

"A lievin' dog is better far

"Than a dead lyon !"

-Let ane, tho' crooked, tak a chappin, He'll think there's few mair tight or strappin; Fu' croufely will he cock his tappin,

Like man o' weir,

Wha, fresh, had but a gun been snappin,
Wad fwat wi' fear.

Sae was't that day; for rowth o' thae Wha, wanting drink, nae mettle ha'e, Here mony a fearfu' lunner ga'e,

But dread or fhame,

'Till they, wi' ribs baith black and blae,

Were draggled hame.

When fowk are in a merry pin,

Weel fortify'd wi' Highland gin,

They'll eithly thole a weel-pey'd skin,'

(Like leather, teugh,)

And nowther care nor forrow fin'

For lang anough:

But, fuin as fober sense returns, Yeftreen's debauch the Drunkard mourns ; His fecklefs body aft he turns,

The pain to lay;

Sair griev'd, baith head and heart aik burns
Wi' him niet day.

HALLOW