His knife see rustic Labour dight, And then, O what a glorious sight, Then, horn for horn they stretch an' strive, Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve Are bent like drums; Then auld guidman, maist like to rive, Is there that o'er his French ragout, Or fricassee wad mak her spew Wi' perfect sconner, Looks down wi' sneering scornfu' view Poor devil! see him owre his trash, Thro' bloody flood or field to dash, But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed-- He'll mak it whissle; An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned, Ye Pow'rs, wha mak mankind your care, But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer, Gie her a Haggis ! 20 30 40 ADDRESS TO THE TOOTHACHE. My curse upon your venom'd stang, When fevers burn, or ague freezes, But thee-thou hell o' a' diseases! Adown my beard the slavers trickle, While, raving mad, I wish a heckle O' a' the numerous human dools, The tricks o' knaves, or fash o' fools, Where'er that place be priests ca' hell, Thou, Toothache, surely bear'st the bell 10 20 30 O thou grim mischief-making chiel, In gore a shoe-thick ; Gie a' the faes o' Scotland's weal A towmont's Toothache ! ON CREECH THE BOOKSELLER. AULD chuckie Reekie's sair distrest, Can yield ava, Her darling bird that she lo'es best Willie's awa! O Willie was a witty wight, And had o' things an unco sleight; An' trig an' braw : But now they'll busk her like a fright Willie's awa! The stiffest o' them a' he bow'd; We've lost a birkie weel worth gowd, Now gawkies, tawpies, gowks, and fools, May sprout like simmer puddock-stools In glen or shaw; He wha could brush them down to mools Willie's awa! ΙΟ 20 The brethren o' the Commerce-Cham'er May mourn their loss wi' doolfu' clamour; Now worthy Gregory's Latin face, As Rome ne'er saw; They a' maun meet some ither place— Willie's awa! Poor Burns e'en Scotch drink canna quicken, He cheeps like some bewilder'd chicken 30 40 By hoodie-craw; Grief's gien his heart an unco kickin'- Now ev'ry sour-mou'd grinnin' blellum, His quill may draw ; Willie's awa! Up wimpling stately Tweed I've sped, Willie's awa! 50 60 May I be Slander's common speech; And, lastly, streekit out to bleach In winter snaw; When I forget thee, Willie Creech, Tho' far awa! May never wicked Fortune touzle him! He canty claw! Then to the blessed New Jerusalem Fleet wing awa! 70 TO A LOUSE, ON SEEING ONE ON A LADY'S BONNET AT CHURCH. HA! wh'are ye gaun, ye crowlin' ferlie! I canna say but ye strunt rarely, Owre gauze and lace; Tho' faith! I fear ye dine but sparely Ye ugly, creepin', blastit wonner, Gae somewhere else, and seek your dinner Swith, in some beggar's haffet squattle; In shoals and nations; Where horn nor bane ne'er dare unsettle ΙΟ |