My sonsie, smirking, dear-bought Bess,
She stares the daddy in her face,
Enough of aught ye like but grace;
But her my bonnie, sweet wee lady,
I've paid enough for her already,
An' gin' ye tax her or her mither,
B' the Lord! ye 'se get them a' thegither.
And now remember, Mr. Aikin,
Nae kind of license out I'm takin';
Frae this time forth, I do declare,
I'se ne'er ride horse nor hizzie3 mair;
Thro' dirt and dub for life I'll paidle,
Ere I sae dear pay for a saddle;
My travel, a' on foot I'll shank it,
I've sturdy bearers, Gude be thankit.
The Kirk an' you may tak you that,
It puts but little in your pat;*
Sae dinna put me in your buke
Nor for my ten white shillings luke.
This list, wi' my ain hand I wrote it
Day and date as under notit,
Then know all ye whom it concerns,
Subscripsi huic
MOSSGIEL, Feb. 22, 1786.
TO J-S T-T, GL-NC-R.
AULD Comrade dear and brither sinner,
How 's a' the folk about Gl-nc-r?
How do you this blae eastlin' wind,
That's like to blaw a body blind!
For me my faculties are frozen,
My dearest member nearly dozen'd."
I've sent you here, by Johnie Simson,
Twa sage philosophers to glimpse on;
Smith, wi' his sympathetic feeling,
An' Reid, to common sense appealing.
Having a sweet engaging countenance.-2 If.-3 Filly, or mare.-4 Pot 5 Impotent.
Philosophers have fought and wrangled,
An' meikle' Greek an' Latin mangled,
Till wi' their logic jargon tired,
An' in the depth of science mired,
To common sense they now appeal,
What wives and wabsters2 see an' feel.
But hark ye, friend, I charge you strictly
Peruse them an' return them quickly;
For now I'm grown sae curséd douce,3
pray an' ponder butt the house;
My shins, my lane, I there sit roasting,
Perusing Bunyan, Brown, and Boston;
Till by an' by, if I haud on,
I'll grunt a real gospel groan :
Already I begin to try it,
To cast my een up like a pyet,"
When, by the gun, she tumbles o'er,
Fluttering an' gasping in her gore:
Sae shortly you shall see me bright,
A burning an' a shining light.
My heart-warm love to guid auld Glen,
The ace an' wale of honest men;
When bending down with auld gray hairs,
Beneath the load of years and cares,
May He who made him still support him,
An' views beyond the grave comfort him:
His worthy family far and near,
God bless them a' wi' grace and gear."
My auld school-fellow, preacher Willie,
The manly tar, my mason Billie,
An' Auchenbay, I wish him joy;
If he's a parent, lass or boy,
May he be dad, and Meg the mither,
Just five-an'-forty years thegither!
An' no forgetting wabster Charlie,
I'm tauld he offers very fairly.
And Lord remember singing Sannock,
Wi' hale breeks, saxpence, an' a bannock.
An' next my auld acquaintance Nancy,
Since she is fitted to her fancy;
Much.-2 Weavers.-3 Sober.-4 The country kitchen.-5 Myself alone.. - Hold. Magpie.-8 Choice.- Riches.
An' her kind stars hae airted1 till her
A guid chiel' wi' a pickle siller.'
My kindest, best respects I sen' it,
To cousin Kate and sister Janet;
Tell them frae me, wi' chiels be cautious,
For, faith, they 'll aiblins' find them fashious;*
To grant a heart is fairly civil,
But to grant a maidenhead's the devil!
An' lastly, Jamie, for yoursel,
May guardian angels tak a spell,
An' steer you seven miles south o' hell:
But first, before you see heaven's glory,
May ye get monie a merry story,
Monie a laugh, and monie a drink,
An' ay eneugh o' needfu' clink.
Now fare you weel, an' joy be wi' you:
For my sake this I beg it o' you,
Assist poor Simson a' ye can,
Ye'll find him just an honest man;
Sae I conclude and quit my chanter,
Yours, saint or sinner,
Who had sent him a newspaper, and offered to continue it free of expense.
KIND Sir, I've read your paper through,
And faith, to me, 'twas really new!
How guess'd ye, Sir, what maist I wanted?
This monie a day I've grain'd and gaunted,
To ken what French mischief was brewin';
Or what the drumlie' Dutch were doin';
That vile doup-skelper, Emperor Joseph,
If Venus yet had got his nose off;
Or how the collieshangie works
Atween the Russians and the Turks;
1 Moved to her; an allusion to the wind shifting to a particular quarter.
2 Good fellow.-3 A quantity of silver. Perhaps.- Troublesome.Groaned.7 Muddy. One who strikes the tail. Quarrelling.
Or if the Swede, before he halt,
Would play anither Charles the Twalt;'
If Denmark, any body spak o't!
Or Poland, wha had now the tack' o't;
How cut-throat Prussian blades were hingin','
How libbet Italy was singin';
If Spaniard, Portuguese, or Swiss
Were sayin' or takin' aught amiss:
Or how our merry lads at hame,
In Britain's court keep up the game;
How Royal George, the Lord leuk o'er him!
Was managing St. Stephen's quorum;
If sleekit Chatham Will was livin',
Or glaiket Charlie gat his nieve in :
How daddie Burke the plea was cookin',
If Warren Hastings' neck was yeukin';'
How cesses, stents," and fees were rax'd,12
Or if bare a-s yet were tax'd;
The news o' princes, dukes, and earls,
Pimps, sharpers, bawds, and opera-girls;
If that daft buckie, Geordie Wales,
Was threshin' still at hizzies' tails,
Or if he was grown oughtlins doucer,13
And no a perfect kintra cooser
A' this and mair I never heard of;
And but for you I might despair'd of;
So, gratefu', back your news I send'
you,
And pray, a' guid things may attend you!
TO GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ.
[A Dedication.]
EXPECT na, Sir, in this narration,
A fleechin', fletherin'," dedication,
To roose" you up, an' ca' you guid,
An' sprung o' great an' noble bluid,
1 Twelfth.-2 The guiding, or governing of it.-3 Hanging.-4 Castrated.Slender.- William Pitt, son of the Earl of Chatham.-7 Thoughtless, giddy.-8 The celebrated Charles James Fox.-9 The fist.-10 Yoked.11 Tribute, dues.-12 Stretched, increased.-13 Wiser.-14 Country stallion.— 15 Supplicating.--16 Flattering.-17 To praise.
Because ye 're surnamed like His Grace,
Perhaps related to the race;
Then when I'm tired-and sae are ye,
Wi' monie a fulsome, sinfu' lie,
Set up a face, how I stopt short,
For fear your modesty be hurt.
This may do-maun' do, Sir, wi' them wha
Maun please the great folk for a wamefou';'
For me! sae laigh3 I needna bow,
For, Lord be thankit, I can plough;
And when I downa1 yoke a naig,
Then, Lord be thankit, I can beg;
Sae I shall say, an' that's nae flatt'rin',
It's just sic Poet an' sic Patron.
The Poet, some guid angel help him,
Or else, I fear some ill ane skelps him,
He may do weel for a' he's done yet,
But only he 's no just begun yet.
The Patron, (Sir, ye maun forgie me,
I winna lie, come what will o' me,)
On every hand it will allow'd be,
He's just nae better than he should be.
I readily and freely grant,
He downa see a poor man want;
What's no his ain he winna tak it,
What ance he says he winna break it;
Aught he can lend he 'll no refuse 't,
Till aft his goodness is abused:
And rascals whyles that him do wrang,
E'en that he does not mind it lang;
As master, landlord, husband, father,
He does na fail his part in either.
But then, nae thanks to him for a' that;
Nae godly symptom ye can ca' that;
It's naething but a milder feature,
Of our poor, sinfu' corrupt nature:
Ye'll get the best o' moral works,
'Mang black Gentoos and pagan Turks,
Or hunters wild of Ponotaxi,
Wha never heard of orthodoxy.
That he's the poor man's friend in need,
'Must.-2 Bellyful.-3 Low.-4 Cannot. To strike
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