I drew my scythe in sic a fury,
I near hand cowpitb wi' my hurry,
But yet the bauld apothecary

Withstood the shock;

I might as well hae tried a quarry
O' hard whine rock.

'Ev'n them he canna get attended, Altho' their face he ne'er had kenn'd it, in a kail-blade and send it,

Just

As soon's he smells 't, Baith their disease, and what will mend it, At once he tells 't.

'And then a' doctor's saws an' whittles,
Of a' dimensions, shapes, an' mettles,
A' kinds o' boxes, mugs, an' bottles,
He's sure to hae;

Their Latin names as fast he rattles
As A B C

'Calces o' fossils, earth, and trees;
True sal-marinum o' the seas;
The farina of beans and pease,

He has 't in plenty;

Aqua-fontis, what you please,

He can content ye.

Forbyef some new uncommon weapons, Urinus spiritus of capons:

'Waes me for Johnny Ged's Holeh now,
Quo' I, if that the news be true!
His braw calf-ward,i whare gowansk grew
Sae white and bonnie,

Nae doubt they'll rive it wi' the pleugh;
They'll ruin Johnny!'

The creature grain'd an eldritch laugh,!
'Ye need na yoke the pleugh,

And says,

Kirk-yards will soon be till'd eneugh.
Tak ye nae fear:

They'll a' be trench'd wi' monie a sheugh,
In twa-three year.

'Whare I kill'd ane a fair strae death,"
By loss o' blood or want o'breath,
This night I'm free to tak my aith,
That Hornbook's skill

Has clad a score i' their last claith,

By drap an' pill.

'An honest wabsterP to his trade,

Whase wife's twa nieves were scarce weel bred, Gat tippence-worth to mend her head,

When it was sair;

The wife slade cannier to her bed,

But ne'er spak mair.

'A countra laird had taen the batts,
Or some curmurringt in his guts,
His only son for Hornbook sets,

An' pays him well,

The lad, for twa guid gimmer pets,"

Was laird himsel.

h A name given to the grave-digger.

i An enclosure for calves; the term is here used in allusion to

the church-yard. k Daisies.

Groaned a frightful laugh.

m Ditch, or trench; i. e. will be filled with graves. To die in bed, in a natural way. o Shroud. Fists. r Slide gently, or dexterously Murmuring, a slight rumbling noise.

PA weaver. s Botts.

u Ewe lambs.

A bonnie lass, ye kenn'd her name,
Some ill-brewn drink had hov'd her wame,
She trusts hersei, to hide the shame,
In Hornbook's care;

Horn sent her aff to her lang hame,
To hide it there.

That's just a swatch o' Hornbook's way;
Thus goes he on from day to day,
Thus does he poison, kill, an' slay,
An's weel paid for 't;

Yet stops me o' my lawfu' prey,

Wi' his d-mn'd dirt :

'But, hark! I'll tell you of a plot,
Tho' dinna ye be speaking o't;
I'll nail the self-conceited sot,

As dead's a herrin';

Niest time we meet, I'll wad a groat,
He gets his fairin'!'

But just as he began to tell,

The auld kirk-hammer strak the bell
Some wee short hour ayont the twal,
Which rais'd us baith:

I took the way that pleas'd mysel,
And sae did Death.b

w Swelled her belly.

z Next.

A sample.

y By sending his patients to the church-yard.

a The hour of one.

b So irresistible was the tide of ridicule, on the publication of this poem, that John Wilson, alias Dr. Hornbook, was not only compelled to shut up shop as an apothecary, or druggist rather, but to abandon his school also, as his pupils one by one deserted

him.

THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT.

INSCRIBED TO R. AIKEN, ESQ.

Let not ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys and destiny obscure;
Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile,

The short and simple annals of the poor.-Gray.

My lov'd, my honour'd, much respected friend!
No mercenary bard his homage pays;
With honest pride I scorn each selfish end,
My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise;
To you I sing in simple Scottish lays,

The lowly train in life's sequester'd scene; The native feelings strong, the guileless ways; What Aiken in a cottage would have been Ah! tho' his worth unknown, far happier there, 1

ween.

November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh ; The short'ning winter-day is near a close; The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh; The black'ning trains o' craws to their repose; The toil-worn Cotter frae his labour goes,

This night his weekly moil is at an end, Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hameward bend.

At length his lonely cot appears in view,
Beneath the shelter of an aged tree;
Th' expectant wee-things,d todlin, stacher thro
To meet their dad wi' flichtering noise and glee.

e

His wee bit ingleh blinkin' bonnilie,

His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie wifie's smile, The lisping infant prattling on his knee,

Does a' his weary, carking cares beguile, An' makes him quite forget his labour and his toil.

Belyvel the elder bairns come drappin' in, At service out, amang the farmers roun'; Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentiek rin A cannie errand to a neebor town; Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown, In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her e'e, Comes hame, perhaps, to shew a braw new gown, Or deposite her sair-won penny-fee, To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be.

Wi' joy unfeign'd brothers and sisters meet,

An' each for other's weelfare kindly spiers: The social hours, swift-wing'd, unnotic'd fleet;

Each tells the uncosm that he sees or hears; The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years; Anticipation forward points the view.

The mother, wi' her needle an' her sheers,

Gars" auld claes look amaisto as weel's the new; The father mixes a' wi' admonition due.

Their masters' and their mistresses' command,
The younkers a' are warned to obey;
An' mind their labours wi' an eydent hand,
An' ne'er, tho' out o' sight, to jauk¶ or play;
An' O! be sure to fear the Lord alway!

An' mind your duty, duly, morn an' night' Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray, Implore his counsel and assisting might: They never sought in vain that sought the Lord aright!

h Small fire-place. i By and bye. k Carefully. To inquire. m Strange sights, tales, or stories. o Almost. p Diligent. 9 Dally, or trifle.

n Makes. ↑ Go.