I, sliding, shelter'd in a nook,
An' at his Lordship steal't a look
Like some portentous omen⚫
Except good sense and social glec,
An' (what surpris'd me) modesty,
I marked nought uncommon.
I watch'd the symptoms o' the great,
The gentle pride, the lordly state,
The arrogant assuming;
The fient a pride, nae pride had he,
Nor sauce, nor state, that I could see,
Mair than an honest ploughmar.
Then from his Lordship I shall learn,
Henceforth to meet with unconcern
One rank as weel's another:
Nae honest, worthy man need care,
To meet with noble, youthful Daer,
For he but meets a brother.
IN ANSWER TO A MANDATE BY THE SURVEYOR OF TOK
SIR, as your mandate did request,
I send you here a faithfu' list
O' gudes an' gear, an' a' my graith,
To whh I'm clear to gie my aith.
Imprimis, then, for carriage cattle, I hae four brutes o' gallant mettle, As ever drew afore a pettle.
My Lan'-afore's a guid auld has-been,
An' wight an' wilfu' a' his days seen·
My Lan'-ahin'st a weel gaun fillie,
That aft has borne me hame frae Killie
An' your auld burro' monie a time,
In days when riding was nae crime;
But ance, when in my wooing pride,
I, like a blockhead, boost to ride,
The wilfu' creature sae I pat to,
(L-d pardon a' my sins, an' that to!)
I play'd my fillie sic a shavie,
She's a' bedevil'd wi' the spavie.
My Furr-ahin's § a wordy beast
As e'er in tug or tow was trac'd.
The fourth's a Highland Donald hastie,
A d-n'd red-wud Kilburnie blastie;
Forbye a Cowt o' Cowt's the wale,
As ever ran afore a tail.
If he be spar'd to be a beast,
He'll draw me fifteen pun' at least.
Wheel-carriages I hae but few,— Three carts, an' twa are feckly new; Ane auld wheel-barrow, mair for token, Ae leg an' baith the trams are broken; I made a poker o' the spin'le, An' my auld mither brunt the trin'le.
* The fore-horse on the left-hand, in the plough. †The hindmost on the left-hand, in the plough. + Kilmarnock
♦ The hindmost horse on the right-hand, in the plough
For men, I've three mischievous boys,
Tun deils for rantin and for noise ;
A gaudsman ane, a thrasher t'other,
Wee Davec hauds the nowt in fother.
I rule them as I ought, discreetly,
Ar' aften labor them completely;
An' ay on Sundays, duly, nightly,
I on the questions targe them tightly;
Till, faith! wee Davoc's turn'd sae gleg,
Tho' scarcly langer than your leg,
He'll screed you aff Effectual Calling,
As fast as onie in the dwalling.
I've nane in female servan' station,
(L-d, keep me ay frae a' temptation!)
I hae na wife; and that my bliss is,
An' ye hae laid na tax on misses;
An' then, if kirk-folk dinna clutch me,
I ken the devils dare na touch me.
Wi' weans I'm mair than weel contented,
Heav'n sent me ane mair than I wanted;
My sonsie, smirking, dear-bought Bess,
She stares the daddie in her face,
Enough of aught ye like but grace;
But her, my bonie, sweet, wee lady
I've paid eneugh for her already;
An' gin ye tax her, or her mither,
B' the L--d, ye'se get them a' thegither
And now, remember, Mr. Aiken, Nae kind of license out I'm takin' Frae this time forth, I do declare, I'se ne'er ride horse nor hizzie mair; Thro' dirt an' dub for life I'll paddle. 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.
ON SEEING ONE ON A LADY'S BONNET, AT CHURCH
HA! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie
Your impudence protects you sairly,
I canna say but ye strunt rarely
Owre gauze an' lace;
Tho' faith, I fear ye dine but sparely
On sic a place.
Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner,
Detested, shunn'd, by saunt and sinner,
How dare ye set your fit upon her,
Sae fine a lady?
Gae somewhere else, and seek your dinner
On some poor body!
Swith, in some beggar's haffet squattle:
There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle Wi' ither kindred jumpin cattle,
In shoals and nations:
Whare horn nor bane ne'er dare unsettle Your thick plantations.
Now haud ye there, ye're out o' sight,
Below the fatt'rils, snug an' tight:
Na, faith, ye yet! ye'll no be right
Till ye've got on it,
The vera tapmost, tow'ring height,
O' Miss's bonnet.
My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose out,
As plump and gray as onie grozet;
O for some rank, mercurial rozet,
Or fell red smeddum,
I'd gie you sic a hearty dose o't,
Wad dress your droddum!
I wad na been surpris'd to spy
You on an auld wife's flainen toy;
Or aiblins some bit duddie boy,
On's wyliecoat;
But Miss's fine Lunardi! fie,
How dare you do't?
O, Jenny, dinna toss your head,
An' set your beauties a' abread!
Ye little ken what cursed speed
The blastie's makin!
Thae winks and finger-ends, I dread.
Are notice takin!
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