An' gar ye glowr out baith your een
At a' around ye.

To see sae mony bosoms bare,

An' sic huge puddins i' their hair,
An' some of them wi' naithing mair
Upo' their tete;

Yea, some wi' mutches that might scar
Craws frae their meat.

I ne'er appear'd before in print,
But for your sake wou'd fain be in't,
E'en that I might my wishes hint

That you'd write mair;

For sure your head-piece is a mint
Whar wit's nae rare.

Sonse fa' me, gif I hadna 'lure 1

I cou'd command ilk muse as sure,
Than hae a charot at the door

To wait upo' me;

Tho', poet-like, I'm but a poor

Mid-Louthian Johnnie.

Berwick, Aug. 31. [1772.2]

J. S.

1 'I would not rather,' as in Ramsay:

But I lure chuse in Highland glens
To herd the kid and goat, man,
Ere I cou'd for sic little ends
Refuse my bonny Scotman.

SONGS, vol. ii. p. 250.

2 In every edition of Fergusson from Ruddiman's (1779: Part 11. or supplement to the Author's own, 1773) onward, tnis letter is dated erroneously 1773. It appeared in the Weekly Magazine' (Vol. xvii: pp. 3056) for September ôd, 1772: and the Poet's answer in the next Number, September 10th, 1772. See Life.

ANSWER TO MR. J. S.'s EPISTLE.

I TROW, my mettl'd Louden lathie,
Auld farran birky I maun ca' thee,

For whan in gude black print I saw thee
Wi' souple gab,

I skirl❜d fou loud, "Oh wae befa' thee! "But thou'rt a daub."

Awa', ye wylie fleetchin fallow!

The rose shall grow like gowan yallow,
Before I turn sae toom and shallow,
And void of fushion,

As a' your butter'd words to swallow
In vain delusion.

1

Ye mak my Muse a dautit pet,
But gin she cou'd like Allan's 1 met,
Or couthie crack and hamely get

Upo' her carritch,

Eithly wad I be in your debt

A pint o' parritch.

At times whan she may lowse her pack,

I'll grant that she can find a knack,

To gar auld-warld wordies clack

In hamespun rhime,

While ilk ane at his billie's back

Keeps gude Scots time.

But she maun e'en be glad to jook,
And play teet-bo frae nook to nook,

1 Ramsay.

Or blush as gin she had the yook

Upo' her skin,

Whan Ramsay' or whan Pennicuik 2
Their lilts begin.

At morning ear, or late at e'en,
Gin ye sud hap to come and see ane,
Nor niggard wife, nor greetin wee ane,
Within my cloyster,

Can challenge you and me frae preein'
A caller oyster.

Heh lad! it wou'd be news indeed,
War I to ride to bonny Tweed,
Wha ne'er laid gamon o'er a steed

Beyont Lusterrick; 3

4

And auld shanks nag wou'd tire, I dread,

To pace to Berwick.

You crack weel o' your lasses there,
Their glancin' een and bisket bare;
But thof this town be smeekit sair,
I'll wad a farden,

1 Allan Ramsay.

2 There are two Pennicuiks both poets. 1st, Dr. Alexander Pennicuik, author of the Description of Tweedale' and of various racy poems. He was the friend of Ramsay,-died 1722. 2d, Alexander Pennicuik who in 1720 published Streams from Helicon,' and in 1726 Flowers from Parnassus.' He wrote also an Historical account of the Blue Blanket, or Craftsman's Banner.' None of these poets are at all such as to make Fergusson blush.

3 Restalrig, an ancient village about a mile east from the Old town of Edinburgh, occupying the lower part of the vale which stretches from the sea-shore to Holyrood-house. It is curious that the vulgar Lusterrick preserves the proper ancient name more nearly than the polite, namely, Lestalric.

4 The feet, to go on foot to Berwick. See Glossary in loc.

Than ours they're nane mair fat and fair,
Cravin your pardon.

Gin heaven shou'd gie the earth a drink,
And afterhend a sunny blink,

Gin ye war here, I'm sure you'd think

It worth your notice,

To see them dubbs and gutters jink

Wi' kiltit coaties.

And frae ilk corner o' the nation,'
We've lasses eke of recreation,

That at close-mou's tak' up their station
By ten o'clock.

The Lord deliver frae temptation

A' honest fock!

Thir queans are ay upo' the catch
For pursie, pocket-book, or watch,
And can sae glibb their leesins hatch,
That you'll agree,

Ye canna eithly meet their match

'Tween you and me.

For this gude sample o' your skill,
I'm restin you a pint o' yale,

By and attour a Highland gill

Of aquavitæ ;

The which to come and sock at will,

I here invite ye.

Tho' jillet Fortune scoul and quarrel,
And keep me frae a bien beef barrel,

1 See " Auld Reekie," Near some lamp post, wi' dowy face,' &c,

As lang's I've two-pence i' the warl',
I'll ay be vockie

To part a fadge or girdle farl

Wi' Louthian Jockie.

Farewell, my cock! Lang may you thrive,

Weel happit in a cozy hive;

And that your soul may never dive

To Acheron,

I'll wish as lang's I can subscrive

ROB. FERGUSSON.

BRAID CLAITH.

[The poem of 'Braid Claith' expresses no doubt the touching experiences of the poet himself, as certainly it does of many similarly situated, who, conscious of genius, have nevertheless to endure, simply because they are "far in the shade, where poverty retires,"

"The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns

That patient merit of the unworthy takes."

HAMLET, Act III. Sc. 1.

But Fergusson, as a poet, might have comforted himself out of his favourite Gay, "The Muses, contrary to all other Ladies, pay no distinction to dress, and never partially mistake the pertness of embroidery for wit, or the modesty of want for dulness."-The Beggar's Opera. Player in Introduction.

Still, "hard is the poor poet's lot," for indeed the words of

the same author are most true:

If chance he mingles in the female crowd

Pride tosses high her head, scorn laughs aloud

And wonders at the impudence of want.

C