Now haud ye there, ye're out o' sight, The very tapmost tow'ring height My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose out, O for some rank mercurial rozet, Or fell red smeddum! I'd gie you sic a hearty doze o't, I wad na been surpris'd to spy But Miss's fine Lunardi! fie, How daur ye do't? O Jenny, dinna toss your head, O wad some Pow'r the giftie gie us It wad frae mony a blunder free us, What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us, 20 30 40 THE WHISTLE. I SING of a Whistle, a Whistle of worth, I sing of a Whistle, the pride of the North, Old Loda, still rueing the arm of Fingal, The god of the bottle sends down from his hall— Old poets have sung, and old chronicles tell, Till Robert, the lord of the Cairn and the Scaur, Thus Robert, victorious, the trophy has gain’'d, Three joyous good fellows, with hearts clear of flaw- Criagdarroch began, with a tongue smooth as oil, Or else he would muster the heads of the clan, By the gods of the ancients!' Glenriddel replies, I'll conjure the ghost of the great Rorie More, 10 20 30 Sir Robert, a soldier, no speech would pretend, But he ne'er turn'd his back on his foe-or his friend; Said Toss down the Whistle, the prize of the field,' 6 And knee-deep in claret, he'd die ere he'd yield. To the board of Glenriddel our heroes repair, So noted for drowning of sorrow and care; But for wine and for welcome not more known to fame, Than the sense, wit, and taste of a sweet lovely dame. 40 A bard was selected to witness the fray, The dinner being over, the claret they ply, In the bands of old friendship and kindred so set, Gay Pleasure ran riot as bumpers ran o'er; Six bottles a-piece had well wore out the night, Then worthy Glenriddel, so cautious and sage, He left the foul business to folks less divine. The gallant Sir Robert fought hard to the end; So up rose bright Phoebus-and down fell the knight. 50 60 Next up rose our bard. like a prophet in drink : "Thy line, that have struggled for freedom with Bruce, Shall heroes and patriots ever produce: So thine be the laurel, and mine be the bay! The field thou hast won, by yon bright god of day!' 70 THE KIRK'S ALARM. ORTHODOX, Orthodox, wha believe in John Knox, Dr. Mac, Dr. Mac, you should stretch on a rack, To join faith and sense upon ony pretence, Town of Ayr, town of Ayr, it was mad, I declare, Provost John is still deaf to the church's relief, D'rymple mild, D'rymple mild, tho' your heart's like a child. Yet that winna save ye, auld Satan must have ye, Rumble John, Rumble John, mount the steps wi' a groan, Then lug out your ladle, deal brimstane like adle, 20 Simper James, Simper James, leave the fair Killie dames, I'll lay on your head, that the pack ye'll soon lead, Singet Sawney, Singet Sawney, are ye herding the penny, Wi' a jump, yell, and howl, alarm every soul, Daddy Auld, Daddy Auld, there's a tod in the fauld, Tho' ye can do little skaith, ye'll be in at the death, 30 Davie Bluster, Davie Bluster, if for a saint ye do muster, The corps is no nice of recruits: Yet to worth let's be just, royal blood ye might boast, If the ass was the king of the brutes. Jamie Goose, Jamie Goose, ye hae made but toom roose, In hunting the wicked Lieutenant; But the Doctor's your mark, for the Lord's haly ark, He has cooper'd and ca'd a wrang pin in 't. Poet Willie, Poet Willie, gie the Doctor a volley, O'er Pegasus' side ye ne'er laid a stride, Ye but smelt, man, the place where he shit. Andro Gouk, Andro Gouk, ye may slander the book, Ye are rich, and look big, but lay by hat and wig, 40 Barr Steenie, Barr Steenie, what mean ye? what mean ye? Ye may hae some pretence to havins and sense, 50 |