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If, in the vale of humble life,
The victim sad of fortune's strife,
I, thro' the tender gushing tear,
Should recognize my master dear,
If friendless, low, we meet together,
Then, sir, your hand-my friend and brother !

TO A LOUSE,

On seeing one on a lady's bonnet, at church.

Ha! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie!
Your impudence protects you sairly:
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 nor bane ne'er dare unsettle

Your thick plantations.

Now haud you there, ye're out of 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 tapmast, 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 smeddum,

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 frae 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.

1

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 vale; 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 as 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!

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There, watching high the least alarms,
Thy 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 the invader's shock.

V.I.

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:
Ey'n 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 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 poussie whiddin 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

At sang about.

There was ae sang, amang the rest, Aboon them a' it pleas'd me best, That some kind husband had addrest

To some sweet wife :

It thirl'd the heart-strings thro' the breast, A' to the life.

I've scarce heard ought describes sae weel What gen'rous, manly bosoms feel;

Thought I," Can this be Pope, or Steele,

Or Beattie's wark?"

They tald me 'twas an odd kind chiel

About Muirkirk.

It pat me fidgin-fain to hear't,
And sae about him there I spier't,
Then a' that ken't him round declar'd

He had ingine,

That nane excell'd it, few cam near't,

It was sae fine.

That set him to a pint of ale, An' either douce or merry tale,

Or rhymes an' sangs he'd made himsel,

Or witty catches,

"Tween Inverness and Tiviotdale

He had few matches.

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