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I've sent you here fome rhyming ware,
A’ that I bargain'd for an' mair;
Sae, when

hae an hour to spare,

I will expect,
Yon Sang * ye'll sen't wi' cannie care,

And no neglect.

Tho' faith, sma’ heart hae I to fing!
My Muse dow scarcely spread her wing!
I've play'd mysel a bonnie spring,

An' danc'd my fill;
I'd better gaen an' fair'd the King,

At Bunker's Hill.

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'Twas ae night lately in my fun,
I gaed a roving wi' the gun,
An' brought a Paitrick to the grun',

A bonnie hen,

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And, as the twilight was begun,

Thought nane wad ken.

The poor, wee thing was little hurt;
I ftrakit it a wee for sport,
Ne'er thinkin they wad fash me for't ;

But, Deil-ma-care !
Somebody tells the Poacher-court

The hale affair,

Some auld, us'd hands had taen a note,
That fic a hen had got a shot;
I was suspected for the plot ;

I scorn'd to lie;
So gat the whissle o' my groat,

An' pay't the fee.

But, by my gun, o' guns

the wale, An' by my pouther an' my hail,


An' by my hen, an' by her tail,

I vow an' swear ! The Game shall pay, o'er moor an' dale,

For this, niest year.

As soon's the clockin-time is by,
An' the wee pouts begun to cry,
L-d, I'fe hae fportin by an' by,

For my gowd guinea :
Tho' I should herd the buckskin kye

For't, in Virginia.

Trowth, they had muckle for to blame! 'Twas neither broken wing nor limb, But twa-three draps about the wame

Scarce thro' the feathers; An' baith a yellow George to claim,

An' thole their blethers !

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It pits me ay as mad's a hare;
So I can rhyme nor write nae mair;
But pennyworths again is fair,

When time's expedient : Meanwhile I am, respected Sir,

Your most obedient.



B A L L A D.


THERE was three kings into the east,

Three kings both great and high, An' they hae sworn a folemn oath John Barleycorn should die.

H 3


* This is partly composed on the plan of an old song known by the same name.

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