Dalrymple has been lang our fae, That aft hae made us black and blae, Auld Wodrow lang has hatched mischief, Ane to succeed him, A chield wha'll soundly buff our beef; And mony a ane that I could tell, I doubt he's but a grey-nick quill, Oh a' ye flocks o'er a' the hills, By mosses, meadows, moors, and fells, And get the brutes the powers themsels Then Orthodoxy yet may prance, Be banished o'er the sea to France: Then Shaw's and D'rymple's eloquence, M'Quhae's pathetic manly sense, And guid M Math, Wi' Smith, wha through the heart can glance, foe much woe both oft, blue one fellow, thrash many besides unmasculine halter So sore good off May 1785. got heartily must, would very fellow should, loath sidelong directed cajoling basket climb Ironic satire, sidelins sklented On my poor Musie; Though in sic phrasin' terms ye've penned it, I scarce excuse ye. My senses wad be in a creel, Should I but dare a hope to speel, Wi' Allan or wi' Gilbertfield, The braes o' fame; Or Fergusson, the writer chiel, (Oh, Fergusson! thy glorious parts MY BAN upon your whunstane hearts, The tythe o' what ye waste at cartes Yet when a tale comes i' my head, As whiles they're like to be my deid, I kittle up my rustic reed; It gies me ease. youth whinstone Edinburgh cards filled give, rive death excite Auld Coila now may fidge fu' fain, Kyle in Ayrshire own Chiels wha their chanters winna hain, youths, pipes, spare She's gotten poets o' her ain, But tune their lays, Till echoes a' resound again Her weel-sung praise. Nae poet thought her worth his while, Beside New Holland, Or whare wild-meeting oceans boil Ramsay and famous Fergusson While Irwin, Lugar, Ayr, and Doon, Th' Illissus, Tiber, Thames, and Seine, But, Willie, set your fit to mine, And cock your crest, We'll gar our streams and burnies shine Up wi' the best! We'll sing auld Coila's plains and fells, unknown to southward of gave, upwards many over foot make rivulets hills Her banks and braes, her dens and dells, Aft bure the gree, as story tell, Frae southron billies. At Wallace' name what Scottish blood By Wallace' side, Still pressing onward, red-wat shod, O sweet are Coila's haughs and woods While through the braes the cushat croods Even winter bleak has charms to me When winds rave through the naked tree; Are hoary gray: Or blinding drifts wild furious flee, Darkening the day! O Nature! a' thy shows and forms Or winter howls, in gusty storms, The Muse, nae poet ever fand her, O sweet to stray, and pensive ponder The war'ly race may drudge and drive, Let me fair Nature's face descrive, And I, wi' pleasure, Shall let the busy grumbling hive Fareweel, "my rhyme-composing brither!" bore the bell fellows walking in blood meadows linnets dove coos no, found worldly jostle, push describe buzz over brother We've been owre lang unkenn'd to ither: too, unknown, each Now let us lay our heads thegither, In love fraternal; May Envy wallop in a tether, Black fiend internal ! Nimble frisking movements of the hare. [other quiver, halter While Highlandmen hate tolls and taxes; Diurnal turns, Count on a friend in faith and practice, POSTCRIPT. My memory's no worth a preen; Ye bade me write you what they mean 'Bout which our herds sae aft hae been In days when mankind were but callans At grammar, logic, and sic talents, They took nae pains their speech to balance, Or rules to gie, dead sheep pin almost, quite so oft have almost boys such give But spak their thoughts in plain braid lallans, lowland speech Like you or me. In thae auld times, they thought the moon, Just like a sark, or pair o' shoon, Wore by degrees, till her last roon Gaed past their viewing, And shortly after she was done, This passed for certain-undisputed; And muckle din there was about it, Some herds, well learned upo' the beuk, And out o' sight, And backlins-comin', to the leuk This was denied-it was affirmed; The herds and hirsels were alarmed, The reverend gray-beards raved and stormed That beardless laddies Should think they better were informed these shirt, shoes paring went got fellows, would much both book assert, mistook corner backwards, look flocks fathers This game was played in monie lands, Till lairds forbade, by strict commands, But New-Light herds gat sic a cowe, Folk thought them ruined stick-and-stowe, Ye'll find ane placed; And some their New-Light fair avow, Nae doubt the Auld-Light flocks are bleatin'; Wi' girnin' spite, To hear the moon sae sadly lied on porters bore legs such bloody completely almost, hillock crying grinning But shortly they will cowe the loons! neighbour And stay ae month among the moons, Guid observation they will gie them; And when the auld moon's gaun to lea'e them, The hindmost shaird, they'll fetch it wi' them, Just i' their pouch, And when the New-Light billies see them, Sae, ye observe that a' this clatter 66 Is naething but a moonshine matter;" I hope we bardies ken some better Than mind sic brulzie. THIRD EPISTLE TO JOHN LAPRAIK. one going fragment fellows nothing oontention such broil September 13, 1785. GUIDSpeed and furder to you, Johnny, prosperity Guid health, hale han's, and weather bonny; |