CHORUS.

A fig for those by law protected!
Liberty's a glorious feast!
Courts for cowards were erected,
Churches built to please the priest.

II.

What is title? what is treasure?
What is reputation's care?

If we lead a life of pleasure,
"Tis no matter how or where.
A fig, &c.

With the ready trick and fable,
Round we wander all the day;
And at night, in barn or stable,
Hug our doxies on the hay.
A fig, &c.

IV.

Does the train-attended carriage Thro' the country lighter rove? Does the sober bed of marriage Witness brighter scenes of love? A fig, &c.

Here's to budgets, bags, and wallets!
Here's to all the wand'ring train!
Here's our ragged brats and callets!
One and all cry out, Amen!

A fig for those by law protected!
Liberty's a glorious feast!
Courts for cowards were erected,
Churches built to please the priest

DEATII AND DR. HORNBOOK.

A TRUE STORY.

SOME books are lies frae end to end,
And some great lies were never penn'd:
Ev'n ministers, they hae been kenn'd,
In holy rapture,

A rousing whid, at times to vend,
And nail't wi' Scripture.

But this that I am gaun to tell,
Which lately on a night befell,
Is just as true's the Deil's in h−ll
Or Dublin city;

That e'er he nearer comes oursel'

'S a muckle pity.

The Clachan yill had made me canty,
I was nae fou, but just had plenty;

257

I stacher'd whyles, but yet took tent ay
To free the ditches;

An' hillocks, stanes, an' bushes, kenn'd ay
Frae ghaists an' witches.

The rising moon began to glow'r
The distant Cumnock hills out owre;
To count her horns, wi' a' my pow'r,
I set mysel';

But whether she had three or four,
I could na tell.

I was come round about the hill,
An' todlin down on Willie's mill,
Setting my staff wi' a' my skill,
To keep me sicker

Tho' leeward whyles, against my will,
I took a bicker.

I there wi' something did forgather,
That put me in an eerie swither;
An awfu' scythe, out owre ae shouther,
Clear dangling hang;

A three-tae'd leister on the ither

Lay, large an' lang.

Its stature seem'd lang Scotch ells twa,
The queerest shape that e'er I saw,
For fient a wame it had ava!

And then, its shanks,

They were as thin, as sharp, an' sma'
As cheeks o' branks!

“Guid e'en,” quo' I; "Friend! hae ye been mawin When ither folk are busy sawin?”*

It seem❜d to mak a kind o' stan',

But naething spak;

At length, says I, "Friend, whare ye gaun?
Will ye go back?"

It spak right howe

But be na fley'd."

"My name is Death!
Quo' I, "Guid faith!

Ye're may be come to stap my breath,
But tent me, billie;

I red ye weel, tak care o' skaith,
See, there's a gully!"

“Guidman,” quo' he, "put up your whittle,

I'm no design'd to try its mettle;
But if I did, I wad be kittle

To be mislear'd,

I wad na mind it, no that spittle

Out owre my beard."

"Weel, weel!"

says I, "

a bargain be't;

Come, gie's your hand, an' sae we're gree't,

We'll ease our shanks, an' tak a seat;

Come, gie's your news;

This whyle ye hae been monie a gate,
At monie a house."

"Ay, ay!"-quo' he, an' shook his head,
"It's e'en a lang, lang time, indeed,
Sin' I began to nick the tread,

An' choke the breath:

* This rencontre happened in seed time, 1785.

✦ An epidemical fever was then raging in that country.

Folk maun do something for their bread,
An' sae maun Death!

"Sax thousand years are near hand fled
Sin' I was to the butching bred,

An' monie a scheme in vain's been laid
To stap or scar me;

Till ane Hornbook's * taen up the trade,
An' faith, he'll waur me!

"Ye ken Jock Hornbook, i' the Clachan,
Deil mak his king's-hood in a spleuchan!
He's grown sae weel acquaint wi' Buchan,t
An' ither chaps,

The weans haud out their fingers laughin,
An' pouk my hips.

"See, here's a scythe, and there's a dart,
They hae pierc'd monie a gallant heart;
But Doctor Hornbook, wi' his art,

And cursed skill,

Has made them baith no worth a f―t,
D-mn'd haet they'll kill!

""Twas but yestreen, nae farther gaen,
I threw a noble throw at ane;
Wi' less, I'm sure, I've hundreds slain,
But deil-may-care,

It just play'd dirl on the bane,

But did nae mair.

* This gentleman, Dr Hornbook, is, professionally, a brother of the sovereign order of the Ferula, but, by intuition and inspiration, is at ⚫nce an apothecary, surgeon, and physician.

↑ Buchan's Domest c Medicine.