But tell me Whisky's name in Greek, I'll tell the reason. SCOTLAND, my auld, refpected Mither! Tho' whyles ye moistify your leather, Till whare ye fit, on craps o' heather, Ye tine your dam; FREEDOM and WHISKY gang the gither,. Tak aff your dram! Till skelp a fhot- they're aff, a' throw 'ther, To fave their skin. But bring a SCOTCHMAN frae his hill, Clap in his cheek a Highland gill, Say, fuch is royal GEORGE'S will, An' there's the foe, He has nae thought but how to kill Twa at a blow. Nae cauld, faint-hearted doubtings tease him; Death comes, wi' fearless eye he fees him; Wi' bluidy han' a welcome gies him ; An' when he fa's, His latest draught o' breathin lea'es him In faint huzzas. Sages their folemn een may steek, An' raise a philosophic reek, An' physically causes seek, In clime an' feafon, But tell me Whisky's name in Greek, I'll tell the reason. SCOTLAND, my auld, refpected Mither! Tho' whyles ye moistify your leather, Ye tine your dam; FREEDOM and WHISKY gang the gither,. Tak aff your dram! THE HOLY FAIR. A robe of feeming truth and trust And fecret hung, with poifon'd crust, A mask that like the gorget show'd, Dye-varying, on the pigeon; HYPOCRISY A-LA-MODE. I. PON a fimmer Sunday morn, UPO When Nature's face is fair, I walked forth to view the corn, An' fnuff the callor air. The rifing fun, our GALSTON Muirs, Wi' glorious light was glintan; The hares were hirplan down the furrs, The lav'rocks they were chantan Fu' fweet that day. II. As lightfomely I glowr'd abroad, Three bizzies, early at the road, Cam skelpan up the way. Twa had manteeles o' dolefu' black, But ane wi' lyart lining; The third, that gaed a wee a-back, Was in the fashion shining The twa appear'd like fifters twin, In feature, form an' claes; Their visage wither'd, lang an' thin, |
