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His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An' cut you up wi' ready sleight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright
Like ony ditch ;

And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin', rich!

Then, horn for horn they stretch an' strive,
Deil tak the hindmost! on they drive,

Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve

Are bent like drums;

Then auld guidman, maist like to rive,
Bethankit hums.

Is there that o'er his French ragout,
Or olio that wad staw a sow,

Or fricassee wad mak her spew

Wi' perfect sconner,

Looks down wi' sneering scornfu' view
On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckless as a wither'd rash,
His spindle shank a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit:

Thro' bloody flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!

But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed--
The trembling earth resounds his tread!
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,

He'll mak it whissle;

An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned,
Like taps o' thrissle,

Ye Pow'rs, wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o' fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies;

But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer,

Gie her a Haggis !

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ADDRESS TO THE TOOTHACHE.

My curse upon your venom'd stang,
That shoots my tortur'd gums alang,
And thro' my lugs gies mony a twang,
Wi' gnawing vengeance;
Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang,
Like racking engines!

When fevers burn, or ague freezes,
Rheumatics gnaw, or colic squeezes;
Our neighbour's sympathy may ease us,
Wi' pitying moan;

But thee-thou hell o' a' diseases!
Aye mocks our groan.

Adown my beard the slavers trickle,
I throw the wee stools o'er the mickle,
As round the fire the giglets keckle
To see me loup;

While, raving mad, I wish a heckle
Were in their doup.

O' a' the numerous human dools,
Ill hairsts, daft bargains, cutty-stools,
Or worthy friends rak'd i' the mools-
Sad sight to see!

The tricks o' knaves, or fash o' fools,
Thou bear'st the gree.

Where'er that place be priests ca' hell,
Whence a' the tones o' mis'ry yell,
And ranked plagues their numbers tell,
In dreadfu' raw,

Thou, Toothache, surely bear'st the bell
Amang them a'!

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O thou grim mischief-making chiel,
That gars the notes of discord squeal,
Till daft mankind aft dance a reel

In gore a shoe-thick ;

Gie a' the faes o' Scotland's weal

A towmont's Toothache !

ON CREECH THE BOOKSELLER.

AULD chuckie Reekie's sair distrest,
Down droops her ance weel burnish'd crest,
Nae joy her bonnie buskit nest

Can yield ava,

Her darling bird that she lo'es best

Willie's awa!

O Willie was a witty wight,

And had o' things an unco sleight;
Auld Reekie aye he keepit tight,

An' trig an' braw :

But now they'll busk her like a fright

Willie's awa!

The stiffest o' them a' he bow'd;
The bauldest o' them a' he cow'd;
They durst nae mair than he allow'd,
That was a law:

We've lost a birkie weel worth gowd,
Willie's awa!

Now gawkies, tawpies, gowks, and fools,
Frae colleges and boarding-schools,

May sprout like simmer puddock-stools

In glen or shaw;

He wha could brush them down to mools

Willie's awa!

ΙΟ

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The brethren o' the Commerce-Cham'er

May mourn their loss wi' doolfu' clamour;
He was a dictionar and grammar

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Now worthy Gregory's Latin face,
Tytler's and Greenfield's modest grace;
Mackenzie, Stewart, sic a brace

As Rome ne'er saw;

They a' maun meet some ither place—

Willie's awa!

Poor Burns e'en Scotch drink canna quicken,

He cheeps like some bewilder'd chicken
Scar'd frae its minnie and the cleckin'

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By hoodie-craw;

Grief's gien his heart an unco kickin'-
Willie's awa!

Now ev'ry sour-mou'd grinnin' blellum,
And Calvin's folk, are fit to fell him;
Ilk self-conceited critic skellum

His quill may draw ;
He wha could brawlie ward their bellum,

Willie's awa!

Up wimpling stately Tweed I've sped,
And Eden scenes on crystal Jed,
And Ettrick banks, now roaring red,
While tempests blaw;
But every joy and pleasure's fled-

Willie's awa!

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May I be Slander's common speech;
A text for Infamy to preach;

And, lastly, streekit out to bleach

In winter snaw;

When I forget thee, Willie Creech,

Tho' far awa!

May never wicked Fortune touzle him!
May never wicked men bamboozle him!
Until a pow as auld's Methusalem

He canty claw!

Then to the blessed New Jerusalem

Fleet wing awa!

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TO A LOUSE,

ON SEEING ONE ON A LADY'S BONNET AT CHURCH.

HA! wh'are ye gaun, ye crowlin' ferlie!
Your impudence protects you sairly:

I canna say but ye strunt rarely,

Owre gauze and lace;

Tho' faith! I fear ye dine but sparely
On sic a place.

Ye ugly, creepin', blastit wonner,
Detested, shunn'd by saunt an' sinner!
How dare ye set your fit upon her,
Sae fine a lady?

Gae somewhere else, and seek your dinner
On some poor body.

Swith, in some beggar's haffet squattle;
There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle
Wi' ither kindred jumping cattle,

In shoals and nations;

Where horn nor bane ne'er dare unsettle
Your thick plantations.

ΙΟ

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