When Vulcan gies his bellows breath, I' th' lugget caup! Then Burnewin* comes on like death Nae mercy, then, for airn or steel; The strong forehammer, Till block an' studdie ring an' reel Wi' dinsome clamor. When skirlin weanies see the light, Thou maks the gossips clatter bright, How fumblin cuifs their dearies slight; Wae worth the name; Nae howdie gets a social night, Or plack frae them. When neebors anger at a plea, An' just as wud as wud can be, How easy can the barley-bree Cement the quarrel ! It's aye the cheapest lawyer's fee, To taste the barrel. Alake! that e'er my Muse has reason An' hardly, in a winter's season, . E'er spier her price. Wae worth that brandy, burning trash! in-burn-the-wind-the Blacksmith. Twins monie a poor, doylt, drunken hash, An' sends, beside, auld Scotland's cash Ye Scots wha wish auld Scotland well, It sets you ill, Wi' bitter, deathfu' wines to mell, Or foreign gill. May gravels round his blether wrench, An' gouts torment him inch by inch, Wha twists his gruntle wi' a glunch O' sour disdain, Out-owre a glass o' whisky punch Wi' honest men. O whisky! soul o' plays an' pranks! Thou comes-they rattle i' their ranks At ither's a-s! Thee, Ferintosh! O sadly lost! Scotland, lament frae coast to coast! Now colic grips, an' barkin boast, May kill us a'; For loyal Forbes' charter'd boast, Is taen awa! Thae curst horse-leeches o' th' Excise, Wha mak the whisky stells the prize! Haud up thy han', Deil! ance, twice, thrice! There, seize the blinkers! VOL. II-E An' bake them up in brunstane pies Fortune! if thou'll but gie me still An' deal't about as thy blind skill THE AUTHOR'S EARNEST CRY AND PRAYER* TO THE SCOTCH REPRESENTATIVES IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS. Dearest of distillation! last and best -How art thou lost! Parody on Milton. YE Irish Lords, ye Knights an' Squires, In parliament, *This was written before the act anent the Scot distilleries, of session 1786; for which Scotland an the Author return their most grateful thanks. To you a simple Poet's prayers Alas! my roupet Muse is hearse! Low i' the dust, An' scriechin out prosaic verse, An' like to brust! Tell them wha hae the chief direction, An' rouse them up to strong conviction, Stand forth, an' tell yon Premier Youth, The honest, open, naked truth; Tell him o' mine an' Scotland's drouth, The muckle Devil blaw ye south, If ye dissemble! Does onie great man glunch an' gloom! Speak out, an' never fash your thumb! Let posts an' pensions sink or soom Wi' them wha grant' em: If honestly they canna come, Far better want 'em. In gath'ring votes you were na slack; But raise your arm, an' tell your crack Paint Scotland greeting owre her thrissle; Triumphant crushin't like a mussel Then on the tither hand present her, Picking her pouch as bare as winter Is there, that bears the name o' Scot, Thus dung in staves, An' plunder'd o' her hindmost groat Alas! I'm but a nameless wight, There's some sark-necks I wad draw tight, An' tie some hose well God bless your Honors, can ye see't, An' gar them hear it, An' tell them wi' a patriot heat, Ye winna bear it! Some o' you nicely ken the laws, To round the period, an' pause, |