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He swoor by a' was swearing worth,
To speet him like a pliver,
Relinquish her for ever.
Upon his hunkers bended,
And sae the quarrel ended.
When round the tinkler prest her, He feign'd to snirtle in his sleeve,
When thus the caird addressid her:
A tinkler is my station :
In this my occupation :
In many a noble squadron :
I've tae'n the gold, &c. Despise that shrimp, that wither'd imp,
Wi' a' his noise and caprin,'
The budget and the apron.
And by that dear Kilbagie (61), If e'er ye want, or meet wi' scant, May I ne'er weet my craigie.
And by that stoup, &c.
He had nae wish but to be glad,
Nor want but when he thirsted;
His sang that night.
Wi' gentle folks, and a' that:
And twice as muckle's a' that:
I've wife eneugh for a' that.
For a' that, &c.
Their humble slave, and a' that;
For a' that, &c.
Wi mutual love and a' that:
For a' that, &c.
They've ta'en me in, and a' that;
And twice as muckle's a' that;
Re-echo'd from each mouth :
duds. They scarcely left to co'er their fuds,
To quench their lowin' drougth.
The poet did request,
Between his twa Deborahs,
Impatient for the chorus.
In his embraces sunk,
And partly she was drunk.
That show'd a man of spunk, Wish'd unison between the pair, And made the bottle clunk
To their health that night. But hurchin Cupid slot a shaft,
That play'd a dame a shavie,
Ahint the chicken cavie.
Tho' limping wi' the spavie,
O'boot that night He was a care-defying blade
As ever Bacchus listed,
His heart she ever miss'd it.
MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN.
Or haply, prest with cares and woes, TUNE-Jolly Mortals, fill your Glasses.
Too soon thou hast began
To wander forth, with me, to mourn
The miseries of man.
Out-spreading far and wide,
Where hundreds labour to support
A haughty lordling's pride:
Twice forty times return,
That man was made to mourn. What is title ? what is treasure ?
Oh man, while in thy early years, What is reputation's care ?
How prodigal of time! If we lead a life of pleasure,
Misspending all thy precious hours, "Tis no matter how or where!
Thy glorious youthful prime!
Alternate follies take the sway;
Licentious passions burn;
Which tenfold force gives nature's law,
That man was made to mourn.
Look not alone on youthful prime,
Or manhood's active might;
Man then is useful to his kind, Through the country lighter rove ?
Supported is his right; Does the sober bed of marriage
But see him on the edge of life.
With cares and sorrows worn;
Then age and want--oh! ill-match'd pair! Life is all a variorum,
Show man was made to mouin. We regard not how it goes ;
A few seem favourites of fate, Let them cant about decorum
In pleasure's lap carest;
Yet, think not all the rich and great
Are likewise truly blest.
But, oh! what crowds in every land, Here's to all the wandering train!
All wretched and forlorn! IIere's our ragged brats and callets !
Thro' weary life this lesson learn
That man was made to mourn.
Inwoven with our frame!
, whose heaven-erected face
The smiles of love adorn, 3#lan was made to Mourn. (62) Man's inhumanity to man
Makes countless thousands mourn!
See yonder poor, o'erlabour'd wight,
So abject, mean, and vile, One ev'ning, as I wandered forth
Who begs a brother of the earth Along the banks of Ayr,
To give him leave to toil ; I spied a man whose aged step
And see his lordly fellow-worm Seem'd weary, worii with care;
The poor petitionl spurn, His face was furrow'd o'er with years,
Unmindful, though a weeping wife And hoary was his hair.
And helpless offspring mourn. “Young stranger, whither wand'rest thou ?” | If I'm design'd yon lordling's slave Began the rev'rend sage:
| By Nature's law designed Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain, Why was an independent wish Or youthful pleasure's rage?
1 E'er planted in my mind ?
That wee bit heap o' leaves and stibble,
But house or hald,
And cranreuch cauld!
If not, why am I subject to
His cruelty or scorn?
To make his fellow niourn ?
Disturb thy youthful breast;
Is surely not the last!
Had never, sure, been born,
To comfort those that mourn!
The kindest and the best!
Are laid with thee at rest!
From pomp and pleasure torn!
That weary-laden mourn!”
In proving foresight may be vain:
Gang aft a-gley,
For promis'd joy.
On prospects drear!
I guess and fear.
To a Monsr,
November 1785. (63.) Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie, Oh, what a panic's in thy breastie ! Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi' bickering brattle!
Wi murdoring pattle!
Which makes thee startle
And fellow-mortal! I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve; What then ? poor beastie, thou maun live! A daimen icker in a thirave
's a sma' request: I'll get a blessin' wi’ the laive,
And never miss't!
Baith snell and keen!
Thou thought to dwell,
Out thro' thy cell.
DUAN FIRST. (64) The sun had clos'd the winter day, The curlers quat their roaring play (65), And hunger'd maukin ta’en her way
To kail-yards green,
Whare she has been.
Far i' the west,
Igaed to rest.
The auld clay biggin';
About the riggin'.
And done nae thing,
For fools to sing. | Had I to guid advice but harkit,
I might, by this, hae led a market,
Is a' th' amount.
I started, mutt'ring, blockhead! coof! Still, as in Scottish story read,
She boasts a race,
To ev'ry nobler virtue bred,
And polish'd grace.
By stately tow'r or palace fair,
Or ruins pendent in the air, When, click! the string the snick dirt draw;
Bold stems of heroes, here and there, And, jee! the door gaed to the wa';
I could discern; And by my ingle-lowe I saw,
Some seem'd to muse, some seem'd to dare,
With feature stern,
My heart did glowing transport feel,
To see a race (68) heroic wheel,
And brandish round the deep-dy'd steel The infant aith, half-form'd, was crusht;
In sturdy blows;
While back-recoiling seem'd to reel
Their suthiron foes.
His Country's Saviour (69), mark him well!
Bold Richardton's (70) heroic swell;
The chief on Sark (71) who glorious fell I took her for some Scottish Muse,
In high command ;
And he whom ruthless fates expel
His native land.
Stalk'd round his ashes lowly laid, Was strongly marked in her face;
I mark'd a martial race, portray'd A wildıy-witty, rustic grace
In colours strong;
Bold, soldier-featur’d, undismayed
They strode along.
Tlıro' many a wild romantic yrove (73), Down flow'd her robe a tartan sheen,
Near many a liermit-fancy'd cove Till half a leg was scrimply seen;
(Fit haunts for friendship or for love), And such a leg! my bonnie Jean
In musing mood.
An aged judge, I saw him rove,
With deep-struck reverential awe (74),
The learneri sire and son I saw (75), My gazing wonder chiefly drew;
To Nature's God and Nature's law
They gave their lore,
This, all its source and end to draw;
That, to adore.
Brydone's brave ward (76) I well could spy
Who callid on Fane, low standing by,
To hand him on,
And hero shone.
With musing-deep, astonish'd stare,
I view'd the heav'nly-seeming fair;
A whisp’ring throb did witness bear
Of kindred sweet,
When with an elder sisters's air An ancient borough rear'd her head (67); }
She did me greet.
Shone full upon
“All hail! my own inspired bard! In me thy native Muse regard ! Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard,
Thus poorly low! I come to give thee such regard
As we bestow. Know, the great genius of this land Has many a light, aërial band,
Their labours ply.
The tuneful art.
They, sightless, stand,
And grace the hand.
Full on the eye.
His - Minstrel lays ;'
The sceptic's bays.
The artizan ;
The various man.
Blythe o'er the hill.
For humble gains, And make his cottage-scenes beguile
His cares and pains. Some, bounded to a district-space, Explore at large man's infant race,
To mark the embryotic trace
Of rustic hard ;
A guide and guard.
Held ruling pow'r:
Thy natal hour.
In uncouth rhymes,
Of other times.
Drove through the sky,
Struck thy young eye.
In ev'ry grove,
With boundless love.
And lonely stalk,
In pensive walk.
Th' adored Name,
To soothe thy flame.
By passion driven;
Was light from Heaven.
Thy fame extends ;
Become thy friends.
With Shenstone's art;
Warm on the heart.