An' Paitricks fcraichan loud at e'en,

And morning Pooffie whiddan seen,

Inspire my Muse,

This freedom, in an unknown frien',

I pray excuse.

On Fasteneen we had a rockin,

To ca' the crack and weave our stockin;

And there was muckle fun and jokin,

Ye need na doubt;

At length we had a hearty yokin,
At fang about.

There was ae fang, amang the rest, Aboon them a' it pleaf'd me best,

That fome kind hufband had addreft,

To fome fweet wife:

It thirl'd the heart-ftrings thro' the breast,

A' to the life.

I've scarce heard ought defcrib'd fae weel, What gen'rous, manly bofoms 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 fidgean-fain to hear't,

An' fae about him there I spier't;

Then a' that kent him round declar'd,

He had ingine,

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

It was fae fine.

That fet him to a pint of ale, An' either doufe or merry tale,

Or rhymes an' fangs he'd made himsel,

Or witty catches,

"Tween Inverness and Tiviotdale,

He had few matches.

Then up I gat, an fwoor an aith,

Tho' I should pawn my pleugh an' graith,

Or die a cadger pownie's death,

At fome dyke-back,

A pint an' gill I'd gie them baith,

But first an' foremost, I should tell,

Amaist as soon as I could spell,

I to the crambo-jingle fell,

Tho' rude an' rough,

Yet, if your catalogue be fow,

I'fe no infift;

But gif ye want ae friend that's true,

I'm on your lift.

I winna blaw about mysel,

As ill I like my fauts to tell;

But friends an' folk that wish me well,

They fometimes roofe me;

Tho' I maun own, as monie ftill,

As far abuse me.

There's ae wee faut they whiles lay to me,

I like the laffes-Gude forgie me!

For monie a Plack they wheedle frae me,

At dance or fair:

Maybe fome ither thing they gie me

They weel can spare.

But MAUCHLINE Race or MAUCH

LINE Fair,

I should be proud to meet you there;

We'fe gie ae night's discharge to carę,

If we forgather,

A fet o' dull, conceited Hashes,
Confuse their brains in Colledge-claffes!
They gang in Stirks, and come out Affes,
Plain truth to speak;

An' fyne they think to climb Parnaffus
By dint o' Greek!

Gie me ae spark o' Nature's fire,

That's a' the learning I defire;

Then tho' I drudge thro' dub an' mire

At pleugh or cart,

My Muse, tho' hamely in attire,

May touch the heart.

O for a spunk o' ALLAN'S glee,

Or FERGUSON'S, the bauld an' flee,

Or bright L*

*K'S, my friend to be,

If I can hit it!

That would be lear eneugh for me,

If I could get it.

Now, Sir, if ye hae friends enow,

Tho' real friends I b'lieve are few,