Forjefket fair, with weary legs, Rattlin the corn out-owre the rigs, Or dealing thro' amang the naigs

Their ten hours bite,

My awkart Muse fair pleads and begs,

I wou'd na write.

The tapetlefs ramfeezl'd hizzie,

She's saft at best, and something lazy,

Quo' fhe, Ye ken, we've been fae bufy,

• This month an' mair,

That trouth my head is grown right dizzie, An' fomething fair.'

Her dowff excufes pat me mad;

Confcience,' fays I, 'ye thowless jad!

I'll write, an' that a hearty blaud,

• This vera night;

So dinna ye affront your trade,

• But rhyme it right.

• Shall

• Shall bauld L*****k, the king o' hearts, Tho' mankind were a pack o' cartes, • Roofe you fae weel for your deferts,

In terms fae friendly,

'Yet ye'll neglect 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,

Sae I've begun to fcrawl, but whether In rhyme, or profe, or baith thegether,

Or fome hotch-potch that's rightly neither,

Let time mak proof;

But I fhall fcribble down fome blether

Juft clean aff-loof.

My

My worthy friend, ne'er grudge an' carp, Tho' Fortune ufe you hard an' fharp; Come, kittle up your moorland harp

Wi' gleefome touch!

Ne'er mind how Fortune waft an' warp ;
She's but a b-tch.

She's gien me monie a jirt an' fleg,

Sin I could ftriddle owre a rig;

But, by the L-d, tho' I should beg

Wi' lyart pow,

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

As lang's I dow!

Now comes the fax an' twentieth fimmer, I've seen the bud upo' the timmer,

Still perfecuted by the limmer

Frae year to year;

But yet, despite the kittle kimmer,

I, Rob, am here.

Do

Do ye envy the city Gent,

Behint a kift to lie and fklent,

Or purfe-proud, big wi' cent. per cent.

And muckle wame,

In fome bit Brugh to reprefent

A Bailie's name?

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

Wha thinks himfel nae fheep-shank bane,

But lordly ftalks,

While caps and bonnets aff are taen,

As by he walks?

O Thou wha gies us each guid gift!

'Gie me o' wit an' fense a lift,

Then turn me, if Thou please, adrift,

Thro' Scotland wide;

Wi' cits for lairds I wadna fhift,

In a' their pride!'

Were

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 Heav'n, that's no 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,

'An' none but he !

O Mandate glorious and divine! The followers of the ragged Nine,

Poor, thoughtless devils! yet may shine