EXTEMPORE.

PINNED TO A LADY'S COACH.

IF you rattle along like your mistress's tongue,
Your speed will out-rival the dart :

But, a fly for your load, you'll break down on the road.

If your stuff be as rotten's her heart.

FRAGMENTS.

YE hae lien a' wrang, lassie,
Ye've lien a' wrang;
Ye've lien in an unco bed,

And wi a fremit man.

O ance ye danced upon the knowes
And ance ye lightly sang-
But in herrying o' a bee byke,
I'm rad ye've got a stang.

O GIE my love brose, brose,
Gie my love brose and butter;
For nane in Carrick or Kyle

Can please a lassie better.
The lav'rock lo'es the grass,
The muirhen lo'es the heather;

But gie me a braw moonlight,

And me and my love together.

LASS, when your mither is frae hame,
Might I but be sae bauld
As come to your bower-window,
And creep in frae the cauld,
As come to your bower-window,
And when it's cauld and wat,
Warm me in thy sweet bosom ;
Fair lass, wilt thou do that?

Young man, gif ye should be sae kind,
When our gudewife's frae hame,
As come to my bower-window,
Whare I am laid my lane,
And warm thee in my bosom—
But I will tell thee what,

The way to me lies through the kirk ;
Young man, do ye hear that?

I MET a lass, a bonie lass,

Coming o'er the braes o' Couper, Bare her leg and bright her een,

And handsome ilka bit about her.

Weel I wat she was a quean

Wad made a body's mouth to water;

Our Mess John, wi' his lyart pow,
His haly lips wad lickit at her.

O WAT ye what my minnie did,
My minnie did, my minnie did,
O wat ye what my minnie did,

On Tysday 'teen to me, jo?

She laid me in a saft bed,

A saft bed, a saft bed
She laid me in a saft bed,
And bade gudeen to me, jo.

An' wat ye what the parson did, The parson did, the parson did, An' wat ye what the parson did, A' for a penny fee, jo?

He loosed on me a lang man,

A mickle man, a strang man, He loosed on me a lang man, That might hae worried me, jo.

An' I was but a young thing,
A young thing, a young thing,
An' I was but a young thing,
Wi' nane to pity me, jo.
I wat the kirk was in the wyte,
In the wyte, in the wyte,
To pit a young thing in a fright,
An' loose a man on me, jo.

O CAN ye labour lea, young man,
An' can ye labour lea;

Gae back the gate ye cam' again,
Ye'se never scorn me.

I feed a man at Martinmas,
Wi' arle pennies three;
An' a' the faut I fan' wi' him,
He couldna labour lea.

The stibble rig is easy plough'd,

The fallow land is free;

But wha wad keep the handless coof,
That couldna labour lea?

JENNY M'Craw, she has ta'en to the heather,
Say, was it the covenant carried her thither;
Jenny M'Craw to the mountains is gane,

Their leagues and their covenants a' she has ta'en; My head and my heart, now quo' she, are at rest, And as for the lave, let the diel do his best.

LORD, we thank an' thee adore,
For temp'ral gifts we little merit ;
At present we will ask no more,
Let William Hyslop give the spirit.

THE last braw bridal that I was at,
'Twas on a Hallowmass day,
And there was routh o' drink and fun,

And mickle mirth and play.

The bells they rang, and the carlins sang,
And the dames danced in the ha';

The bride went to bed wi' the silly bridegroom,
In the mid'st o' her kimmers a'.

THERE came a piper out o' Fife,
I watna what they ca'd him;
He play'd our cousin Kate a spring,
When fient a body bade him.
And ay the mair he hotch'd an' blew,
The mair that she forbade him.

THE black-headed eagle
As keen as a beagle,

He hunted o'er height and owre howe;
But fell in a trap

On the braes o' Gemappe,

E'en let him come out as he dowe.

O THOU, in whom we live and move,
Who mad'st the sea and shore;
Thy goodness constantly we prove,
And grateful would adore.
And if it please thee, pow'r above,
Still grant us with such store;
The friend we trust, the fair we love,
And we desire no more.

EPITAPH ON WILLIAM NICOL.

YE maggots feast on Nicol's brain,
For few sic feasts ye've gotten;
And fix your claws in Nicol's heart,
For de'il a bit o'ts rotten.

ANSWER TO A POETICAL EPISTLE

SENT THE AUTHOR BY A TAILOR.

WHAT ails ye now, ye lousie bitch,
To thresh my back at sic a pitch?
Losh, man! hae mercy wi' your natch,
Your bodkin's bauld,

I didna suffer ha'f sae much

Frae Daddie Auld.