« AnteriorContinuar »
When neebors anger at a plea, An' just as wud as wud can be, How easy can the barley-bree
Cement the quarrel ! It's aye the cheapest lawyer's fee,
To taste the barrel.
Alake! that e'er my Muse has reason To wyte her countrymen wi' treason! But monie daily weet their weason
Wi' liquors nice, An' hardly, in a winter's season,
E'er spier her price.
Wae worth that brandy, burning trash! Fell source o' monie a pain an' brash ! Twins monie a poor, doylt, drunken hash,
O' half his days; An' sends, beside, auld Scotland's cash
To her warst faes.
Ye Scots, wha wish auld Scotland well !Ye chief, to you my tale I tell, Poor plackless devils like mysel !
It sets you ill, Wi' bitter, dearthfu' wines to mell,
Or foreign gill.
May gravels round his blather wrench; An' gouts torment him inch by inch, Wha twists his gruntle wi' a glunch
O' sour disdain,
Out owre a glass of whisky punch
Wi' honest men.
O Whisky! soul o' plays an' pranks!
Are my poor verses !
they rattle i’ their ranks. At ither's a***s !
Thee, Ferintosh ! O sadly lost! Scotland lament frae coast to coast! Now colic grips, an' barkin hoast,
May kill us a'; For loyal Forbes' charter'd boast
Is ta'en awa!
Thae curst horse-leeches o' th’ Excise, Wha mak the Whisky Stells their prize! Haud up thy han', Deil! ance, twice, thrice !
There, seize the blinkers ! An' bake them up in brunstane pies
For poor d-n'd drinkers.
Fortune! if thou'll but gie me still Hale breeks, a scone, an' Whisky gill, An' rowth o'rhyme to rave at will,
Tak' a' the rest, An' deal't about as thy blind skill
Directs thee besti
THE AUTHOR'S0, "
EARNEST CRY AND PRAYER*
HOUSE OF COMMONS.
PARODY ON MILTON.
Ye Irish Lords, ye Knights an' Squires,
Are humbly sent.
Alas! my roupet Muse is hearse !
Low i' the dust,
An' like to brust!
* This was written before the act anent the Scoich Dis. tilleries, of session 1786 ; for Scotland and the Author return their most grateful thanks.
Tell them wha hae the chief direction,
On Aquavitæ ;
An' move their pity.
Stand forth, an' tell yon Premier Youtling The honest, open, naked truth : Tell him o' mine an' Scotland's drouth,
His servants humble : The muckle devil blaw ye south,
If ye dissemble !
Does ony great man glunch an' gloom? Speak out, an' never fash
thumb ! Let posts an' pensions sink or sooin
Wi' them wha grant 'em: If honestly they canna come,
Far better want 'em.
În gath'ring votes you were na slack; Now stand as tightly by your tack; Ne'er claw your lug, an' fidge your back,
An' hum an' haw; But raise your arm, an' tell your crack
Before them a'.
Paint Scotland greeting owre her thrissle ; Her mutchkin stoup as toom's a whissle ; An' d-mn'd Excisemen in a bussle,
Seizin a Stell,
Triumphant crushin't like a mussel
Or iampit shell.
Then on the tither hand present her, A blackguard Smuggler right behint herg An cheek-for-chow, a chuffie Vintner,
Colleaguing join, Picking her pouch as bare as winter
Ofa' kind coin,
Is there, that bears, the name o' Scot,
Thus dung in staves,
By gallows knaves ?
Alas! I'm but a nameless wight,
Or gab like Boswell, There's some sark-necks I wad draw tight,
An' tie some hose well.
God bless your Honours, can ye see't,
them hear it, An' tell them wi' a patriot heat,
Ye winna bear it ?
Some o' you nicely ken the laws, To round the period an' pause,