Gae somewhere else, and seek your dinner Swith! in some beggar's hauffet squattle; There ye may creep and sprawl and sprattle In shoals and nations, Whare horn nor bane ne'er daur unsettle Now haud you there! ye're out o' sight, The vera tapmost, tow'ring height O' Miss's bonnet. My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose out, I'd gie ye sic a hearty dose o't Wad dress your droddum! I wad na been surprised to spy You on an auld wife's flainen toy, Or aiblins some bit duddie boy, On's wyliecoat; But Miss's fine Lunardi-fie! How daur ye do 't! O Jenny, dinna toss your head, The blastie's makin! 35 Thae winks an' finger-ends, I dread, 40 Are notice takin! O wad some Power the giftie gie us It wad frae monie a blunder free us, What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us, 45 1786. FROM EPISTLE TO J. LAPRAIK I am nae poet, in a sense, But just a rhymer like by chance, Yet what the matter? Whene'er my Muse does on me glance, Your critic-folk may cock their nose, To mak a sang?" But, by your leaves, my learned foes, What's a' your jargon o' your schools, What sairs your grammars? A set o' dull, conceited hashes Confuse their brains in college classes; An' syne they think to climb Parnassus Gie me ae spark o' Nature's fire, All hail thy palaces and tow'rs, Bids elegance and splendour rise; High wields her balance and her rod; Thy sons, Edina, social, kind, With open arms the stranger hail; Or modest Merit's silent claim: And never Envy blot their name! Thy daughters bright thy walks adorn, Dear as the raptured thrill of joy! And own His work indeed divine! 5 10 151 20 25 3390 1786. There, watching high the least alarms, And marked with many a seamy scar: And oft repelled th' invader's shock. With awe-struck thought and pitying tears, Famed heroes, had their royal home: Their hapless race wild-wand'ring roam! Tho' rigid Law cries out, "'T was just!" 35 40 45 Wild beats my heart to trace your steps, Thro' hostile ranks and ruined gaps Ev'n I, who sing in rustic lore, Haply my sires have left their shed, Edina, Scotia's darling seat! All hail thy palaces and tow'rs, GREEN GROW THE RASHES, O CHORUS.-Green grow the rashes, O; Green grow the rashes, O; The sweetest hours that e'er I spend 1787. 50 55 60 1786. There's naught but care on ev'ry han'. An' 't were na for the lasses, O? The war'ly race may riches chase, An' tho' at last they catch them fast, But gie me a cannie hour at e'en, For you sae douce ye sneer at this, Ye're naught but senseless asses, 0: Auld Nature swears the lovely dears Her prentice han' she tried on man, OF A' THE AIRTS Of a' the airts the wind can blaw, I dearly like the west, For there the bonie lassie lives, The lassie I lo'e best: There wild woods grow, and rivers row, And monie a hill between; But day and night my fancy's flight Is ever wi' my Jean. I see her in the dewy flowers, 1787. 5 ΙΟ 15 20 5 ΙΟ I hear her in the tunefu' birds, |