O, how that name inspires my style!
The words come skelpin's rank and file,
Amaist before I ken!

The ready measure rins as fine,
As Phoebus and the famous Nine
Were glowrin' o'er my pen.
My spavieta Pegasus will limp,
Till ance he 's fairly het ;b

And then he'll hilch, and stilt, and jimp,
An' rin an unco fit:f

But lest then, the beast then
Should rue this hasty ride,
I'll light now, and dight now,
His sweaty, wizen'de hide.

TO THE SAME.h

AULD NEEBOR,

I'm three times doubly o'er your debtor,
For your auld-farrant, frien'ly letter;
Tho' I maun say 't, I doubt ye flatter,
Ye speak sae fair;

For my puir, silly, rhymin' clatter,
Some less maun sair.k

Hale be your heart, hale be your fiddle;
Lang may your elbuck' jinkm an' diddle
To cheer you thro' the weary widdle
O' war❜ly cares,

Till bairns bairns" kindly cuddle

Your auld, gray hairs.

But, Davie, lad, I 'm redo ye 're glaikit ;P
I'm tauld the Muse ye hae negleckit;

g Shrunk, hide-bound.

e Jump.

f Go speedily.

í Sagacious.

p Inattentive, foolish.

h This is prefixed to the poems of David Siliar, published at Kilmarnock, 1789.

k Must serve. m A'sudden turning. n Children's children.

/ Elbow.

• Informed.

An' gif it's sae, ye sudr be licket
Until ye fyke;

Sic hauns as you sud ne'er be faikit,"
Be hain't wha like.

For me, I'm on Parnassus' brink,

Rivin' the word

Whyles dais't

to gar them clink;

wi' love, whyles dais't wi' drink,
Wi' jadsy or inasons;

An' whyles, but ay owre late, I think
Braw sober lessons.

Of a' the thoughtless sons o' man,
Commen' me to the Bardie clan,
Except it be some idle plan

O' rhymin' clink,

The devil-haet," that I sud ban,

They ever think.

Nae thought, nae view, nae scheme o' livin',
Nae cares to gie us joy or grievin';

But just the pouchieb put the nievec in,
An' while ought's there,

Then, hiltie, skiltie, we gae scrievin',d

An' fash nae mair.e

Leeze me on rhyme! it's aye a treasure,
My chief, amaist my only pleasure,
At hame, a-fiel',8 at wark or leisure,

The Muse, poor hizzie !
Though rough an' raplochh be her measure,
She's seldom lazy.

Haud' to the Muse, my dainty Davie;
The warl' may play you monie a shavie;

q lf.

↑ Should. s Licked, beaten. Become agitated. u Such hands as you should ne'er be unknown.

w Spared, or excused.

2 The devil forbid.

Sometimes stupified. y Women a Swear. b Pouch, or Purse.

c The hand. d Dashing away. e Care for nothing mort.

fA phrase of endearment.

g In the field. i Hold.

▲ Coarse.

But for the Muse, she 'll never leave ye,
Tho' e'er sae puir,

Na, even tho limpin' wi' the spaviek
Frae door to door.

TO MR. WILLIAM TYTLER,

With a Portrait of the Author.

Edinburgh, 1787.

[heart,

REVERED defender of beauteous Stuart,
Of Stuart, a name once respected,
A name, which to love was the mark of a true
But now 'tis despised and neglected.

Tho' something like moisture conglobes in my eye,
Let no one misdeem me disloyal;

A poor friendless wand'rer may well claim a sigh, Still more, if that wand'rer were royal.

My fathers that name have rever'd on a throne; My fathers have fallen to right it;

Those fathers would spurn their degenerate son, That name should he scoffingly slight it.

Still in prayers for King George I most heartily The Queen, and the rest of the gentry, [join, Be they wise, be they foolish, is nothing of mine; Their title 's avow'd by my country.

But why of this epocha make such a fuss,

But loyalty, truce! we 're on dangerous ground,
Who knows how the fashions may alter?
The doctrine to-day that is loyalty sound,
To-morrow may bring us a halter

* Spavin.

I send you a trifle, a head of a Bard,
A trifle scarce worthy your care;
But accept it, good Sir, as a mark of respect;
Sincere as a saint's dying prayer.

Now life's chilly evening dim shades on your eye, And ushers the long dreary night:

But you, like the star that athwart gilds the sky, Your course to the latest is bright.

TO WILLIAM SIMPSON, OCHILTREE.
May, 1785.

I GAT your letter, winsome Willie ;
Wi' gratefu' heart I thank you brawlie;
Tho' I maun say 't, I wad be silly,

And unco vain,

Should I believe, my coaxing billie,
Your flatt'rin' strain.

But I'se believe ye kindly meant it,
I sud be laith to think ye hinted
Ironic satire, sidelins" sklented

On my poor Musie;

Tho' in sic phrasin' terms ye 've penn'd it,
I scarce excuse ye.

My senses wad be in a creel,p
Should I but dare a hope to speel,
Wi' Allan or wi' Gilbertfield,

The braes o' fame;

Or Fergusson, the writer-chiel;

A deathless name

(O Fergusson! thy glorious parts
Ill suited law's dry, musty arts!

My curse upon your whunstaner hearts,
Ye E'nburgh gentry!

The tithe o' what ye waste at cartes,t
Wad stow'd his pantry!)

/ Should.
PA fish-basket.

n Sidelong. o Flattering. 9 To climb. A hard rocky stone. ¿ Cards.

m Loth. Edinburgh.

my head

Yet when a tale comes i'

Or lasses gie my heart a screed,"

As whyles they're like to be my dead," (O sad disease!)

I kittle up my rustic reed;

It gies me ease.

Auld Coila now may fidge fu' fain,

She's gotten Poets o' her ain,

Chiels wha their chanters winna hain,a
But tune their lays,

Till echoes a' resound again

Her weel-sung praise,

Nae Poet thought her worth his while,
To set her name in measur'd style;
She lay like some unkenn'd-of-isle,
Beside New-Holland,

Or whare wild-meeting oceans boil
Besouth Magellan.

Ramsay and famous Fergusson
Gied Forth and Tay a lift aboon;
Yarrow an' Tweed, to monie a tune,
Owre Scotland rings,

While Irwin, Lugar, Ayr, an' Doon,
Nae body sings.

Th' Ilissus, Tiber, Thames, an' Seine,
Glide sweet in monie a tunefu' line!
But, Willie, set your fitb to mine,
An' cock your crest,

We'll gare our streams and burniesd shine
Up wi' the best.

We'll sing auld Coila's plains and fells,
Her moors red brown wi' heather bells,

u A rent.

From Kyle, a district of Ayrshire

y Manifest strong symptoms of pleasure, or delight.

To be my death.

Part of a bagpipe.

a Spare. d Rivers and brooks

b Foot.

• Fields.

c Make