They're sae accustom'd wi' the sight,
The view o't gies them little fright.
Then chance an' fortune are sae guided,
They're ay in less or mair provided;
An' tho' fatigu'd wi' close employment,
A blink o' rest's a sweet enjoyment.

The dearest comfort o' their lives,
Their grushie weans, an' faithfu' wives;
The prattling things are just their pride,
That sweetens a' their fire-side.

An' whyles twalpennie worth o' nappy" Can mak the bodies unco happy; They lay aside their private cares, To mind the kirk and state affairs: They'll talk of patronage and priests, Wi' kindling fury in their breasts, Or tell what new taxation's coming, An' ferlie at the folk in Lon'on

As bleak-fac'd Hallowmass returns,
They get the jovial ranting kirns,
When rural life, o' ev'ry station,
Unite in common recreation;

Love blinks, Wit slaps, an' social Mirth,
Fargets there's Care upo' the earth.
That merry day the year begins,
They bar the door on frosty winds;
The nappy reeks wi' mantling ream,
An' sheds a heart-inspiring steam;
The luntin-pipe, an' sneeshin mill,
Are handed round wi' right guid will;
The cantie auld folks crackin crouse,
The young anes rantin thro' the house-
My heart has been sae fain to see them,
That I for joy hae barkit wi' them.

Still its owre true that ye hae said,
Sic game is now owre aften play'd.
There's monie a creditable stock
O' decent, honest, fawsont folk,
Are riven out, both root and branch, ·
Some rascal's pridefu' greed to quench,
Wha thinks to knit himsel the faster,
In favour wi' some gentle master,

ノ

Wha' aiblins, thrang a parliamentiu,
For Britain's guid his saul indentin

CESAR.

Haith, lad, ye little ken about it;
For Britain's guid!' guid faith! I doubt it.
Say rather, gaun as Premiers lead him,
An' saying aye or no's they bid him:
An' operas an' plays parading,
Mortgaging, gambling, masquerading :
Or may be, in a frolic daft,

* To Hague or Calais takes a waft,
To mak a tour, an' tak a whirl,
To learn bon ton, an' see the worl'.
There, at Vienna or Versailles,
He rives his father's auld entails;
Or by Madrid he takes the rout,
To thrum guitars, and fetch wi' nowt;
Or down Italian vista startles,
Wh-re-hunting among groves o' myrtles:
Then bouses drumly German water,
To mak himsel look fair and fatter,
An' clear the consequential sorrows,
Love-gifts of Carnival signoras.

For Britain's guid!' for her destruction
Wi' dissipation, feud, an' faction.

Hech man! dear sirs! is that the gate
They waste sae mony a braw estate!
Are we sae foughten an' harrass'd
For gear to gang that gate at last!

O would they stay aback frae courts,
An' please themsels wi' contra sports,
It wad for ev'ry ane be better,
The laird, the tenant, an' the cotter!
For thae frank, rantin, ramblin billies,
Fient haet o' them's ill-hearted fellows;
Except for breakin o' their timmer,
Or speaking lightly o' their limmer,
Or shooting o'a hare or moor-cock,
The ne'er a bit they're ill to poor folk..

But will ye tell me, Master Cæsar,
Sure great folk's life's a life o' pleasure?
Nae cauld nor hunger ne'er can steer them,
The vera thought o't need na fear them.

CESAR.

Ld, man, were ye but whyles whare I am, The gentles ye wad ne'er envy 'em.

It's true, they need na starve or sweat, Thro' winter's cauld, or simmer's heat;They've nae sair wark to craze their banes, An' fill auld age wi' grips an' granes: But human bodies are sic fools, For a' their colleges and schools, That when nae real ills perplex them, They make enow themsels to vex them; An' ay the less they hae to sturt them, In like proportion less will hurt them. A country fellow at the pleugh, His acres till'd, he's right eneugh; A country lassy at her wheel, Her dizzen's done, she's unco weel: But gentlemen, an' ladies warst, Wi' ev'n down want o' wark are curst. They loiter, lounging, lank, an' lazy; Tho' deil haet ails them, yet uneasy; Their days insipid, dull, an' tasteless: Their nights unquiet, lang, an' restless; An' even their sports, their balls, an' races, Their galloping thro' public places, There's sic parade, sic pomp, an' art, The joy can scarcely reach the heart. The men cast out in party matches, Then sowther a' in deep debauches; Ae night they're mad wi' drink an' wh-ring, Niest day their life is past enduring. The ladies arm-in-arm in clusters, As great and gracious a' as sisters But hear their absent thoughts o' ither, They're a' run deils an jads thegither. Whyles, o'er the wee bit cup an' platie, They sip the scandal potion pretty;"

Oer lee-lang nights, wi' crabbit leuks,
Pore owre the devil's pictur'd beuks;
Stake on a chance a farmer's stackyard,
An' cheat like onie unhang'd blackguard.
There's some exception, man an' woman;
But this is gentry's life in common.

By this, the sun was out o' sight,
An' darker gloaming brought the night;
The bum-clock humm'd wi'lazy drone
The kye stood row tin i' the loan;
When up they gat, and shook their lugs,
Rejoic'd they were na men but dogs;
An' each took aff his several way,
Resolv'd to meet some ither day.

SCOTCH DRINK.

Gie him strong drink, until he wink
That's sinking in despair;

An' liquor guid to fire his bluid,
That's prest wi' grie£au' care;
There let him bouse, an' deep carouse,

Wi' bumpers flowing o'er

Till he forgets his loves or debts,

An' minds his griefs uo more.

Solomon's Proverbs, xxxi. 6, 7.

LET other poets raise a fracas

'Bout vines, an' wines, an' drunken Bacchus, An' crabbit names an' stories wrack us,

An' grate our lug,

I sing the juice Scots bear can mak us,

In glass or jug.

thou, my Muse! guid auld Scotch drink; Whether thro' wimpling worms thou jink, Or, richly brown, ream o'er the brink,

In glorious faem,

Inspire me, till I lisp and wink,

To sing thy name!

Let husky wheat the haughs adorn,
An' aits set up their awnie horn,
An' pease and beans at e'en or morn,

Perfume the plain,

Leeze me on thee, John Barleycorn,

Thou king o' grain!

On the aft Scotland chows her cood,
In souple scones, the wale o' food!
Or tumblin in the boiling flood

Wi' kail an' beef;

But when thou pours thy strong heart's blood,

There thou shines chief.

Food fills the wame, an' keeps us livin;
Tho' life's a gift no worth receivin,
When heavy dragg'd wi' pine an' grivin;

But, oil'd by thee,

The wheels o' li gae down-hill, scrievin,

Wi' rattlin glee.

Thou clears the head o' doited Lear;
Thou cheers the heart o' drooping Care;
Thou strings the nerves o' Labour sair,

At's weary toil;

Thou even brightens dark Despair

Wi' gloomy smile.

Aft, clad in massy siller weed,
Wi' gentles thou erects thy head;
Yet humbly kind in time o'need,

The poor man's wine,

His wee-drap parritch, or his bread,

Thou kitchens fine.

Thou art the life o' public haunts;
But thee, what were our fairs and rants?
Ev'n godly meetings o' the saunts,

By thee inspir'd,

"When gaping they besiege the tents,

Are doubly fir'd.

That merry night we get the corn in, sweetly then thou reams the horn in,