Yon mixtie-maxtie, queer hotch-potch, The Coalition. Auld Scotland has a raucle tongue; She's just a devil wi' a rung; An' if she promise auld or young To tak their part, Tho' by the neck she should be ftrung, She'll no defert. And now, ye chosen FIVE AND FOR TY, May ftill your Mither's heart fupport ye; Then, tho' a Minifter grow dorty, An' kick your place, Ye'll fnap your fingers, poor an' hearty, Before his face. God bless your Honors, a' your days, Wi' fowps o' kail and brats o' claise, In spite o' a' the thievish kaes POSTSCRIPT, Let half-ftarv'd flaves in warmer skies, See future wines, rich-cluft'ring, rise; Their lot auld Scotland ne'er envies, But blythe an' frisky, She eyes her freeborn, martial boys, Tak aff their Whisky. What tho' their Phoebus kinder warms, While Fragrance blooms an' Beauty charms! When wretches range, in famish'd swarms, The fcented groves, Or hounded forth, dishonor arms In hungry droves. Their gun's a burden on their fhouther; They downa bide the ftink o' powther; Their bauldeft thought's a hank'ring fwither, To ftan' or rin, Till skelp a fhot- they're aff, a' throw 'ther, To fave their skin. But bring a SCOTCHMAN frae his hill, Clap in his cheek a Highland gill, Say, fuch is royal GEORGE'S will, An' there's the foe, He has nae thought but how to kill Twa at a blow. Nae cauld, faint-hearted doubtings tease him ; Death comes, wi' fearless eye he fees him; Wi' bluidy han' a welcome gies him; An' when he fa's, His latest draught o' breathin lea'es him In faint huzzas. Sages their folemn een may fteek, An' raise a philofophic reek, An' phyfically caufes feek, In clime an' feafon, But tell me Whisky's name in Greek, I'll tell the reason. SCOTLAND, my auld, refpected Mither! Tho' whyles ye moistify your leather, Ye tine your dam; FREEDOM and WHISKY gang the gither, Tak aff your dram! THE HOLY FAIR. A robe of feeming truth and trust And fecret hung, with poison'd crust, A mafk that like the gorget fhow'd, HYPOCRISY A-LA-MODE. U I. PON a fimmer Sunday morn, When Nature's face is fair, I walked forth to view the corn, An' fnuff the callor air. |