I canna say but

ye strunt rarely,

Owre gauze and lace;

Tho' faith, I fear ye dine but sparely
On sic a place.

Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner, Detested, shunn'd by saunt an' sinner, How dare ye set your fit upon

her,

Sae fine a lady!

Gae somewhere else and seek your dinner,
On some poor body.

Swith, in some beggar's haffet squattle ; There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle Wi' ither kindred, jumpin cattle,

In shoals and nations;

Whare horn or bane ne'er dare unsettle
Your thick plantations.

Now haud ye there, ye're out o' sight,
Below the fatt'rils, snug an' tight;
Na, faith ye yet! ye'll no be right

Till ye've got on it,

The vera tapmost, tow'ring height

O' Miss's bonnet.

My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose out, As plump and gray as onie grozet ;

O for some rank, mercurial rozet,

Or fell, red smeridum,

I'd gie you sic a hearty doze o't,

Wad dress your droddum!

I wad na been surpris'd to spy You on an auld wife's flainen toy; Or aiblins some bit duddie boy, On's wyliecoat;

But Miss's fine Lunardi! fie,

How dare ye do't!

O Jenny, dinna toss your head, An' set your beauties a' abread! Ye little ken what cursed speed

The blastie's makin! Thae winks and finger ends, I dread, Are notice takin!

O wad some pow'r the giftie gie us To see oursels as others see us!

It wad free monie a blunder free us

And foolish notion:

What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us, And ev'n Devotion!

ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH.

I.

EDINA! Scotia's darling seat!

All hail thy palaces and tow'rs, Where once beneath a monarch's feet Sat legislation's sov'reign pow'rs! From marking wildly-scatter'd flow'rs, As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd,

And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours, I shelter in thy honour'd shade.

II.

Here wealth still swells the golden tide, As busy trade his labours plies; There architecture's noble pride

Bids elegance and splendour rise; Here justice, from her native skies, High wields her balance and her rod; There learning, with his eagle eyes, Seeks science in her coy abode.

III.

Thy Sons, EDINA, social, kind,

With open arms the stranger hail; Their views enlarg'd, their lib'ral mind, Above the narrow, rural valë; Attentive still to sorrow's wail, 'Or modest merit's silent claim ; And never may their sources fail! And never envy blot their name.

IV.

Thy daughters bright thy walks adorn!
Gay as the gilded summer sky,
Sweet as the dewy milk-white thorn,
Dear ss the raptur'd thrill of joy!.
Fair B strikes th' adoring eye,
Heav'n's beauties on my fancy shine;

I see the sire of love on high,

And own his work indeed divine !

V.

There, watching high the least alarms,
Tay rough rude fortress gleams afar;
Like some bold vet'ran, gray in arms,
And mark'd with many a seamy scar:
The pond'rous wall and massy bar,
Grim-rising o'er the rugged rock;
Have oft withstood assailing war,
And oft repell'd th' invader's shock.

VI.

With awe-struck thought, and pitying tears,
I view that noble, stately dome,
Where Scotia's kings of other years,
Fam'd heroes, had their royal home :
Alas! how chang'd the times to come!
Their royal name low in the dust ;.
Their hapless race wild-wand'ring roam !
Tho' rigid law cries out, 'twas just !

VII.

Wild beats my heart to trace your steps,
Whose ancestors in days of yore,
Thro' hostile ranks and ruin'd gaps
Old Scotia's bloody lion bore:
E'en I who sing in rustic lore,

Haply my sires have left their shed,
And fac'd grim danger's loudest roar,
Bold-following where your fathers led!

VIII.

EDINA! Scotia's darling seat!
All hail thy palaces and tow'rs,
Where once beneath a monarch's feet
Sat legislation's sov'reign pow'rs!
From marking wildly-scatter'd flow'rs,
As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd,
And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours,.
I shelter'd in.thy honour'd shade..

EPISTLE TO J. LAPRAIK.

AN OLD SCOTTISH BARD.
April 1st 1785.

WHILE briers an" woodbines budding green,
An' paitricks scraichin loud at e'en,
An' morning pousie whidden seen,

Inspire my muse,

This freedom in an unknown frien'

I pray excuse.

On fasten-een we had a rockin,
To ca' the crack and weave our stockin;
And there was muckle fun an' jokin,

Ye need na doubt;

At length we had a hearty yokin

There was ae sang amang the rest, Aboon them a' it pleas'd me best,