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EXTEMPORE,

Written in answer to a Card from an intimate of BURNS, wish ing him to spend an hour at a Tavern with him.

THE King's most humble servant, I

Can scarcely spare a minute;
But I'll be with you by an' bye,
Or else the Deil's be in it.

VERSES

WRITTEN ON AWINDOW OF THE INN AT CARRON.

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 Satan sair us!

THE JOLLY BEGGARS.

A CANTATA.

RECITATIVO.

WHEN lyart leaves bestrew the yird,

Or wavering like the Bauckie-bird,*
Bedim cauld Boreas' blast;
When hailstanes drive wi' bitter skyte,
And infant frosts 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 knapsack a' in order;
His doxy lay within his arm,
Wi' usquebae an blankets warm,
She blinket on her sodger:

An' ay he 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

1 lastly was with Curtis, among the floating batt❜ries,
And there I left for witness an arm and a limb;
Yet let my country 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.

RECITATIVO.

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.

Tune-Soldier Laddie.

I once was a maid, tho' I cannot tell when,
And still my delight is in 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.

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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 godly 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 lal, &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 beg 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-I 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 guzzling 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;
Then turn'd an' laid a smack on Grizzy,

Syne tun'd his pipes wi' grave grimace.

AIR.

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 held 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' the kirk,

For towzling a lass i' my daffin.
Poor Andrew that tumbles for sport,
Let naebody name i'ajeer;

There's ev'n I'm tald i' the court,
A Tumbler ca'd the Premier.

Observ'd ye yon reverend lad,
Mak faces fo tickle the mob :
He rails at our mountebank 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 had in mony a well been ducked.

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