After fome dog in * Highland fang,

Was made lang fyne, lord knows how lang.

He was a gash anʼ faithsu' tyke,

As ever lap a fheugh or dyke.
His honest, fonfie, bawf'nt face,
Ay gat him friends in ilka place;
His breast was white, his towzie back,
Weel clad wi' coat o' gloffy black;
His gawfe tail, wi' upward curl,
Hung owre his hurdies wi' a fwirl.

Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither, An' unco pack an' thick thegither;

Wï' social nose whyles snuff'd an' snowket; Whiles mice and modewurks they howket; Whiles fcour'd awa in lang excurfion,

An' worry'd ither in diversion;

Till tir'd at last wi' mony a farce,
They fet them down upon their arse,
An' there began a lang digreffion
About the lords of the creation.

* Cuchullin's dog in Offian's Fingal

CESA R.

I've aften wonder'd, honeft Luath,

What fort o' life poor dogs like
An' when the gentry's life I faw,
What way poor bodies liv'd ava.

you

have;

Our Laird gets in his racked rents, His coals, his kane, an' a' his stents: He rises when he likes himfel;

His flunkies answer at the bell;

He ca's his coach; he ca's his horse;
He draws a bonie, filken purfe

As lang's my tail, whare thro' the fteeks,
The yellow letter'd Geordie keeks.

Frae morn to een it's nought but toiling, At baking, roasting, frying, boiling; An' tho' the gentry firft are fteghan, Yet ev❜n the ha' folk fill their peghan Wi' fauce, ragouts, an' fic like trashtrie, That's little fhort o' downright wastrie. Our Whipper-in, wee, blaftet wonner, Poor, worthlefs elf, it eats a dinner,

His Honor has in a' the lan':

An' what poor Cot-folk pit their painch in, I own it's past my comprehension.

LUAT H.

Trowth, Cæfar, whyles their fash't

nough;

A Cotter howkan in a fheugh,
Wi' dirty ftanes biggan a dyke,
Bairan a quarry, an' fic like,
Himfel, a wife, he thus fuftains,
A fmytrie o' wee, duddie weans,
An' nought but his han'-daurk, to keep
Them right an' tight in thack an' raep.

An' when they meet wi' fair disasters,
Like lofs o' health or want o' mafters,
Ye maift wad think, a wee touch langer,
An' they maun starve o' cauld and hunger :
But how it comes, I never kent yet,
They're maiftly wonderfu' contented;

An' buirdly chiels, and clever hizzies,

Are bred in fic a way as this is.

1

CESA R.

But then, to fee how ye're negleket,
How huff'd, an' cuff'd, an' difrefpeket!

L-d man, our gentry care as little
For delvers, ditchers, an' fic cattle;

They gang as faucy by poor folk,
As I wad by a stinkan brock.

I've notic'd, on our Laird's court-day,
An' mony a time my heart's been wae,
Poor tenant bodies, fcant o' cash,

How they maun thole a factor's fnash;
He'll stamp an' threaten, curse an' swear,
He'll apprehend them, poind their gear;
While they maun ftan', wi' afpect humble,
An' hear it a', an'fear an' tremble!

I fee how folk live that hae riches;

But furely poor-folk maun be wretches!

LUAT H.

They're no fae wretched 's ane wad think; Tho' constantly on poortith's brink, They're fae accuftom'd wi' the fight,

The view o't gies them little fright.

Then chance and fortune are fae guided, They're ay in less or mair provided ; An' tho' fatigu'd wi' clofe employment, A blink o' rest's a sweet enjoyment.

The deareft comfort o' their lives, Their grufhie weans an' faithfu' wives; The prattling things are just their pride, That fweetens a' their fire fide.

An' whyles twalpennie-worth o' nappy
Can mak the bodies unco happy;
They lay aside their private cares,
To mind the Kirk and State affairs;
They'll talk o' patronage an' priefts,
Wi' kindling fury i' their breafts,