EXTEMPORE,
Written in answer to a Card from an intimate of BURNS, wish

ing bim to spend an hour at a Tavern with him.
THE

King's most humble servant, I
Cab scarcely spare a minute ;
But I'll be with you by an' bye,

Or else the Deil's be in it.

VERSES

WRITTEN ON A WINDOW OF THE INN AT CARRON. 3

We came nae here to view your warks,

In hopes to be more wise,
But only lest we gang to hell)

It may be nae surprise :
But when we tirled at your door,

Your porter dought nae hear us ;
ae may, shou'd we to hell's yet come,
Your billy Satav sair us!

THE JOLLY BEGGARS.

A CANTATA.

RECITATIVO.

WHEN Iyart leaves bestrew the yird,
Or wavering like the Bauckie-bird, *

Bedim cauld Boreas' blast;
When hailstanes drive wi' bitter skyte,
And infant frosis begin to bite,

In hoary craureuch drest:

The old Scotch name for the Bat,

N

Ae night at e'en a merry core

O randie gangrel bodies,
In Poosie-Nansie's held the splore,
To drink their orra duddies;

Wi' quaffing and laughing,

They ranted and they sang
Wi' jumping and thumping,

The vera girdle rang.
First, niest the fire, in auld red rags,
Ane sat; weel brac'd wi' mealy bags,

And koapsack a' in order ;
His doxy lay within his arm,
Wi' usqnebae an blankets warm,

She blinket on her sodger :
An'ay be gies the ozie drab,

The tither skelpin' kiss,
While she held up her greedy gab
Just like an aumos dish.

Ilk smack still, did crack still,

Just like a cadger's whip,
Then staggering and swaggering

He roar'd this ditty up

AIR.

Tune Soldier's Joy. I am a son of Mars, who have been in many wars, And show my cuts and scars wherever I come; This here was for a wench, and that other in a trench, When welcoming the French at the sound of the drum.

Lal de daudle, &c. My prenticeship I past where my leader breath'd bis

last, When the bloody die was cast on the heights of

Abram; I serv'd out my trade when the gallant game was

play'd, And the Moro low was laid at the sound of the drum.

Lal de daudle, &c.

1 lastly was with Curtis, among the floating batt'ries ,
And there I left for witness an arm and a limb;
Yet let my couotry need me, with Elliot to head me,
I'd clatter on my stumps at the sound of a drum.

Lal de daudle, &c.
And now tho' I must beg, with a wooden arm and

leg, And many a tatter'd rag hanging over my bum, I'm as happy with my wallet, my bottle and my

callet, As when I us’d in scarlet to follow a drum.

Lal de daudle, &c. What tho' with boary locks, I must stand the winter

shocks, Beneath the woods and rocks oftentimes for a home, When the tother bag I sell, and the tother bottle tell, I could meet a troop of hell, at the sound of the drum.

Lal de daudle, &c.

He ended ; and the kebars sheuk,

Aboon the chorus roar;
While frighted rattongs backward leuk,

And seek the benmost bore :
A fairy fiddler frae the neuk,

He thirled out encore !
But up arose the martial chuck,

And laid the loud uproar.

AIR.

TuneSoldier Laddie.

once was a maid, tho' I cannot tell when, und still my delight is io proper young men ; Some one of a troop of Dragoons was my daddie, No wonder if I'm fond of a sodger laddie.

Sing, Lal de lal, &c.

The first of my loves was a swaggering blade,
To rattle the thundering drum was his trade ,
His leg was so tight, and his cheek was so ruddy,
Transported I was with my sodger laddie.

Sing, Lal de lal, &c.
But the goal, old chaplain left him in the lurch,
The sword I forsook for the sake of the church;
He ventured the soul, and I risked the body,
'Twas then I prov'd false to my sodger laddie.

Sing, Lal de lał, &c.
Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified sot,
The regiment at large for a husband I got ;
From the gilded spontoon to the fife I was ready,
I asked no more but a sodger laddie.

Sing, bal de lal, &c.
But the peace it reduc'd me to heg in despair,
Till I met my old boy at a Cunningham fair ;
His rags regimental they fluttered so gaudy,
My heart it rejoiced at my sodger laddie.

Sing, Lal de lal, &c. And now I have liv'd-) know not how long, And still I can join in a cup or a song ; But whilst with both hands I can hold the glass

steady, Here's to thee, my hero, my sodger laddie.

Sing, Lal de lal, &c.

RECITATIVO.

Poor merry Andrew i’ the neuk,

Sat guzziing wi' a tinkler hizzie;
They mind't na wha the chorus took,

Behind themselves they were sae bisy.
At length wi' drink an' courting dizzy,

He stoiter'd'up an' made a face;
I hen turn'd an' laid a smack on Grizzy,

Syne tup'd bis pipes wi' grave grimace.

AIR.

i

Tune-Auld Sir Simon.
Sir Wisdom's a fool when he's fou,

Sir Knave is a fool in a session ;
He's there but a prentice I trow,

But I am a fool by profession.
My grannie she bought me a beuk,

An' I beld awa to the school ;
I fear I my talent misteuk,

But what will ye hae of a fool.
For drink I would venture my neck,

A hizzie's the half of my craft ;
But what could ye ever expect,

Of ane that's avowedly daft?
I ance was tied up like a stirk,

For civilly swearing an' quaffing ;
I ance was abus'd i' tbe kirk,

For towzling a lass i' pay daffin.
Poor Andrew that tumbles for sport,

Let naebody name oi' a jeer;
There's ev'n I'm tald i' the court,

A Tumbler ca'd the Premier.
Observ'd ye yon rcverend lad,

Mak faces to tickle the mob :
He rails at our movotebank squad,

Its rivalship just i' the job.
And now my conclusion I'll tell,

For faith i'm confoundedly dry,
The chiel that's a fool for himsel',

Guid L-d, he's far dafter than I.

RECITATIVO,

Then niest outspak a rancle carlin,
Wha kent fu' weel to cleek the sterling,
For mony a pursie she had hooked,
And bad in mody a well been ducked.