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He held them up, and in his turn

Thus showed his ready wit: *My head is twice as big as yours, They therefore needs must fit.

“But let me scrape the dirt away

That hangs upon your face; And stop and eat, for well you may

Be in a hungry case.'

[man!"

Said John, “It is my wedding day,

And all the world would stare If wife should dine at Edmonton,

And I should dine at Ware."

Away went Gilpin, and away

Went postboy at his heels,
The postboy's horse right glad to miss

The lumbering of the wheels.
Six gentlemen upon the road,

Thus seeing Gilpin fly,
With postboy scampering in the rear,

They raised the hue and cry: "Stop thief! stop thief !-a highway

Not one of them was mute;
And all and each that passed that way

Did join in the pursuit.
And now the turnpike-gates again

Flew open in short space;
The tollmen thinking, as before,

That Gilpin rode a race.
And so he did, and won it too,

For he got first to town;
Nor stopped till where he had got up

He did again get down.

So turning to his horse, he said,

I am in haste to dine; 'Twas for your pleasure you came here,

You shall go back for mine."

Ah! luckless speech, and bootless boast,

For which he paid full dear; For while he spake, a braying ass

Did sing most loud and clear ;

Now let

us sing long live the King, And Gilpin, long live he; And when he next doth ride abroad,

May I be there to see!

Whereat his horse did snort, as he

Had heard a lion roar, And galloped off with all his might,

As he had done before.

SATIRE.

Away went Gilpin, and away

Went Gilpin's hat and wig: He lost them sooner than at first,

For why ?—they were too big.

UNLESS a love of virtue light the flame, Satire is, more than those he brands, to

blame;

He hides behind a magisterial air
His own offences, and strips others bare;
Affects indeed a most humane concern
That men, if gently tutored, will not learn;
That mulish folly, not to be reclaimed
By softer methods, must be made ashamed;
But(I might instance in St. Patrick's Dean)*
Too often rails to gratify his spleen.
Most satirists are indeed a public scourge;
Their mildest physic is a farrier's purge;
Their acrid temper turns, as soon as

stirred, The milk of their good purpose all to curd. Their zeal begotten, as their works re

hearse, By lean despair upon an empty purse, The wild assassins start into the street, Prepared to poniard whomsoe'er they meet. No skill in swordmanship, however just, Can be secure against a madman's thrust; And even virtue, so unfairly matched, Although immortal, may be pricked or

scratched. When scandal has new minted an old lie, Or taxed invention for a fresh supply, 'Tis called a satire, and the world appears Gathering around it with erected ears: A thousand names are tossed into the crowd,

[aloud, Some whispered softly, and some twanged Just as the sapience of an author's brain Suggests it safe or dangerous to be plain. Strange! how the frequent interjected dash Quickens a market, and helps off the trash; The important letters that include the rest Serve as a key to those that are supprest; Conjecture gripes the victims in his paw, The world is charmed, and Scrib escapes

the law. So when the cold damp shades of night

prevail, Worms may be caught by either head or

tail ; Forcibly drawn from many a close recess, They meet with little pity, no redress; Plunged in the stream, they lodge upon the

mud, Food for the famished rovers of the flood.

Perhaps, enchanted with the love of fame, He sought the jewel in his neighbour's

shame; Perhaps—whatever end he might pursue, 'The cause of virtue could not be his view. At every stroke wit flashes in our eyes; The turns are quick, the polished points

surprise, But shine with cruel and tremendous charms,

(alarms. That, while they please, possess us with So have I seen (and hastened to the sight On all the wings of holiday delight), Where stands that monument of ancient

power, Named with emphatic dignity, the Tower, Guns, halberds, swords and pistols, great

and small, In starry forms disposed upon the wall: We wonder, as we gazing stand below, That brass and steel should make so fine a show;

(skill

, But though we praise the exact designer's Account them implements of mischief still.

THE MODERN PATRIOT. REBELLION is my theme all day;

I only wish 't would come (As who knows but perhaps it may?)

A little nearer home. Yon roaring boys, who rave and fight

On t'other side the Atlantic, I always held them in the right,

But most so when most frantic.
When lawless mobs insult the court,

That man shall be my toast,
If breaking windows be the sport,

Who bravely breaks the most.
But oh! for him my fancy culls

The choicest flowers she bears, Who constitutionally pulls

Your house about your ears. Such civil broils are my delight,

Though some folks can't endure them, Who say the mob are mad outright,

And that a rope must cure them. A rope! I wish we patriots had

Such strings for all who need 'emWhat? hang a man for going mad!

Then farewell British freedom.

All zeal for a reform that gives offence To peace and charity is mere pretence: A bold remark, but which, if well applied, Would humble many a towering poet's

pride. Perhaps the man was in a sportive fit, And had no other play-place for his wit;

* Dean Swift.

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BURNS.

333

ROBERT BURNS.

1759-1796.

The Souter tauld his queerest stories ; The landlord's laugh was ready chorus ; The storm without might rair and rustle, Tam did na mind the storm a whustle.

TAM O' SHANTER. A TALE.

WHEN chapman billies leave the street,
And drouthy neebors neebors meet,
As market-days are wearin' late,
An' folk begin to tak' the gate :
While we sit bousing at the nappy,
An' getting fou and unco happy,
We think na on the lang Scots miles,
The mosses, waters, slaps, an' stiles,
That lie between us and our hame,
Whare sits our sulky sullen dame,
Gathering her brows like gathering storm,
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.

Care, mad to see a man sae happy, E'en drowned himself amang the nappy. As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, The minutes winged their way wi' pleasure. Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious, O'er a' the ills of life victorious. But pleasures are like poppies spreadYou seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed ; Or like the snow falls in the river A moment white, then melts for ever ; Or like the borealis race, That flit ere you can point their place; Or like the rainbow's lovely form, Evanishing amid the storm.

This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter, As he frae Ayr ae night did canter (Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses For honest men and bonny lasses).

O Tam, hadst thou but been sae wise As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice ! She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum, A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum ; That frae November to October, Ae market-day thou was nae sober, That ilka melder, wi' the miller, Thou sat as lang as thou had siller, That every naig was ca'd a shoe on, The smith and thee gat roaring fou on; That at the Lord's house, e'en on Sunday, Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday. She prophesied that, late or soon, Thouwad be found deep drowned in Doon, Or catched wi' warlocks in the mirk, By Alloway's auld haunted kirk.

Nae man can tether time or tide: The hour approaches Tam maun ride ; That hour, o' night's black arch the key

stane, That dreary hour he mounts his beast in ; And sic a night he tacks the road in, As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last; The rattling show'rs rose on the blast ; The speedy gleams the darkness swallowed, Loud, deep,

and lang the thunder bellowed: That night a child might understand The deil had business on his hand.

Weel mounted on his grey mare Meg (A better never lifted leg), Tam skelpit on through dub and mire, Despising wind, and rain, and fire ; Whiles hauding fast his guid blue bonnet, Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots

sonnet ; Whiles glow'ring round with prudent care, Lest bogles catch him unaware: Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh, Where ghaists and houlets nightly cry.

Ah, gentle dames, it gars me greet To think how mony counsels sweet, How mony lengthened sage advices The husband fra the wife

despises !

But to our tale. Ae market night, Tam had got planted unco right Fast by an ingle bleezing finely, Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely; And at his elbow Souter Johnny, His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony: Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither; They had been fou for weeks thegither. The night drave on wi' sangs an' clatter, And aye the ale was growing better ; The landlady and Tam grew gracious, Wi' favours secret, sweet, and precious ;

By this time he was cross the ford, Whare in the snaw the chapman smoored; And past the birks and meikle stane Whare drunken Charlie brak 's neck-bane; And through the whins, and by the cairn, Whare hunters fand the murdered bairn; And near the thorn aboon the well, Whare Mungo's mither hanged hersel'. Before him Doon pours all his floods ; The doubling storm roars through the

wuds ;

Now, Tam, O Tam! had they been

queans, A' plump and strappin', in their teens; Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen, Been snaw-white se'enteen-hunder linen, Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair, That ance were plush, o' gude blue hair, I wad hae gi'en them aff my hurdies, For ae blink o' the bonnie burdies !

But withered beldams, auld and droll, Rigwoodie hags, wad spean a foal, Louping and Ainging on a crummock, I wonder didna turn thy stomach.

The lightnings flash from pole to pole ; Near and more near the thunders roll; When, glimmering thro' the groaning

trees, Kirk-Alloway seemed in a bleeze ; Through ilka bore the beams were glanc.

ing, And loud resounded mirth and dancing.

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn! What dangers thou canst make us scorn! Wi' tippenny we fear nae evil ; Wi' usquebae we'll face the devil ! The swats sae reamed in Tammie's noddle, Fair play, he cared na deils a bodle ; But Maggie stood right sair astonished, Till, by the heel and hand admonished, She ventured forward on the light, And wow ! Tam saw an unco sight! Warlocks and witches in a dance ! Nae cotillion, brent-new frae France, But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels Put life and mettle in their heels. At winnock-bunker in the east, There sat auld Nick in shape o' beast : A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large, To gie them music was his charge : He screwed his pipes, and gart them skirl Till roof an' rafters a' did diri. Coffins stood round like open presses, That shawed the dead in their last dresses ; And by some devilish cantrip sleight, Each in his cauld hand held a light, By which heroic Tam was able To note upon the haly table A murderer's bains in gibbet-airns ; Twa span-lang, wee, unchristened bairns; A thief, new-cutted frae a rape, Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape ; Five tomahawks, wi' blude red rusted; Five scimitars, wi' murder crusted ; A garter, which a babe had strangled ; A knife a father's throat had mangled, Whom his ain son o' life bereft,The grey hairs yet stak to the heft; Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu', Which ev'n to name wad be unlawfu'.

But Tam kenned what was what fu'

brawlie. There was ae winsome wench and walie, That night enlisted in the core, (Lang after kenned on Carrick shore ; For mony a beast to dead she shot, And perished mony a bonnie boat, And shook baith meikle corn and bear, And kept the country-side in fear); Her cutty sark o' Paisley harn, That while a lassie she had worn, In longitude tho' sorely scanty, It was her best, and she was vauntieAh! little kenned thy reverend grannie, That sark she coft for her wee Nannie Wi' twa pund Scots ('t was a' her riches), Wad ever grace a dance of witches !

But here my Muse her wing maun cow'r; Sic flights far beyond her pow'r ; To sing how Nannie lap and flang, (A souple jade she was, and strang), And how Tam stood, like ane bewitched, And thought his very een enriched ; Even Satan glow'red and fidged fu' fain, And hotched and blew wi' might and main; Till first ae caper, syne anither, Tam tint his reason a'thegither, And roars out, “Weel done, Cutty-sark!" And in an instant a' was dark : And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, When out the hellish legion sallied.

As Tammie glow'red, amazed and glori.

ous,
The mirth and fun grew fast and furious;
The piper loud and louder blew ;
The dancers quick and quicker flew;
They reeled, they set, they crossed, they

cleek it
Till ilka carlin swat and reekit,
And coost her duddies to the wark,
And linket at it in her sark!

As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke When plundering herds assail their byke; As open pussie's mortal foes, When, pop! she starts before their nose ; As eager runs the market crowd, When “Catch the thief'" resounds aloud; So Maggie runs, the witches follow, Wi' mony an eldritch screech and hollow.

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