Let me to Arthur's Seat pursue, Where bonny pastures meet the view; An' mony a wild-lorn scene accrues, Befitting Willie Shakespeare's Muse. If Fancy there wou'd join the thrang, The desert rocks an' hills amang, To echoes we should lilt an' play, An' gie to mirth the live-lang day.
Or shou'd some canker'd biting shower The day an' a' her sweets deflower, To Holyroodhouse let me stray, An' gie to musing a' the day; Lamenting what auld Scotland knew, Bien days for ever frae her view. O Hamilton, for shame! the Muse Wou'd pay to thee her couthy vows, Gin ye wad tent the humble strain, An' gie's our dignity again! For, oh, wae's me! the Thistle springs In domicil o' ancient kings,
Without a patriot to regret
Our palace, an' our ancient state.
Bless'd place! where debtors daily run,
To rid themsels frae jail an' dun. Here, though sequester'd frae the din That rings Auld Reekie's wa's within; Yet they may tread the sunny braes, An' bruik Apollo's cheery rays: Glowr frae St Anthon's grassy height, Owre vales in Simmer claes bedight; Nor ever hing their head, I ween, Wi' jealous fear o' being seen. May I, whenever duns come nigh, An' shake my garret wi' their cry, Scour here wi' haste, protection get, To screen mysel frae them an' debt;
To breathe the bliss o' open sky, An' Simon Fraser's bolts defy.*
Now gin a loun should hae his claes In threadbare autumn o' their days, St Mary, broker's guardian saunt, Will satisfy ilk ail an' want; For mony a hungry writer there Dives down at night, wi' cleedin bare, An' quickly rises to the view A gentleman, perfite, an' new. Ye rich fouk! lookna wi' disdain Upon this ancient brokage lane, For naked poets are supplied Wi' what you to their wants denied. Peace to thy shade, thou wale o' men, Drummond! relief to poortith's pain: To thee the greatest bliss we owe, An' tribute's tear shall gratefu' flow : The sick are cur'd, the hungry fed, An' dreams o' comfort tend their bed. As lang as Forth weets Lothian's shore; As lang's on Fife her billows roar ; Sae lang shall ilk whase country's dear, To thy remembrance gie a tear. By thee, Auld Reekie thrave an' grew Delightfu' to her childer's view:
Nae mair shall Glasgow striplings threap Their city's beauty, an' its shape, While our new city spreads around Her bonny wings on fairy ground.
But, Provosts now, that ne'er afford
The sma'est dignity to lord,
Ne'er care though every scheme gae wild That Drummond's sacred hand has cull'd.
*The keeper of the Tolbooth.
The spacious brig* neglected lies,
Though plagu'd wi' pamphlets, dunn'd wi' cries; They heed not, though destruction come
To gulp us in her gaunting womb. Oh, shame! that safety canna claim Protection from a Provost's name; But hidden danger lies behind, To torture, an' to fleg the mind. I may as weel bid Arthur's Seat To Berwick Law mak gleg retreat, As think that either will or art Shall get the gate to win their heart : For politics are a' their mark, Bribes latent, an' corruption dark. If they can eithly turn the pence, Wi' city's good they will dispense; Nor care though a' her sons were lair'd Ten fathom i' the auld kirk-yard.
To sing yet meikle does remain, Undecent for a modest strain; An', since the poet's daily bread is The favour o' the Muse, or ladies, He downa like to gie offence To delicacy's tender sense; Therefore the stews remain unsung, An' bawds in silence drap their tongue. Reekie, fareweel! I ne'er cou'd part Wi' thee, but wi' a dowie heart: Aft frae the Fifan coast I've seen Thee towerin' on thy summit green; So glowr the saints when first is given A favourite keek o' glore an' heaven. On earth nae mair they bend their een, But quick assume angelic mien : So I on Fife wad glowr no more, But gallop'd to Edina's shore.
* In allusion to the state of the North Bridge after its fall.
To all whom it may concern.
SOME fouk, like bees, fu' glegly rin To bykes bang'd fu' o' strife an' din, An' thieve an' huddle, crum by crum, Till they hae scrap'd the dautit plum; Then craw fell crously o' their wark, Tell owre their turners, mark by mark, Yet darena think to lowse the pose, To aid their neighbours' ails an' woes. If gowd can fetter thus the heart, An' gar us act sae base a part, Shall man, a niggard, near-gaun elf! Rin to the tether's end for pelf; Learn ilka cunzied scoundrel's trick; When a's done, sell his saul to Nick? I trow they've coft the purchase dear, That gang sic lengths for warldly gear. Now, when the dog-day heats begin To birsle an' to peal the skin, May I lie streekit at my ease Beneath the cauler shady trees (Far frae the din o' borrows town), Where water plays the haughs bedown; To jouk the Simmer's rigour there, An' breathe a while the cauler air, 'Mang herds, an' honest cottar fouk, That till the farm, an' feed the flock; Careless o' mair, wha never fash To lade their kist wi' useless cash,
But thank the gods for what they've sent, O' health eneugh, an' blithe content, An' pith, that helps them to stravaig Owre ilka cleugh, an' ilka craig; Unkend to a' the weary granes That aft arise frae gentler banes, On easy-chair that pamper'd lie, Wi' banefu' viands gustit high; An' turn an' fauld their weary clay, To rax an' gaunt the live-lang day.
Ye sages! tell, was man e'er made To dree this hatefu' sluggard trade, Steekit frae nature's beauties a', That daily on his presence ca'; At hame to girn, an' whinge, an' pine For favourite dishes, favourite wine? Come, then, shake aff thir sluggish ties, An' wi' the bird o' dawnin' rise: On ilka bank the clouds hae spread Wi' blobs o' dew a pearly bed; Frae faulds nae mair the owsen rowt, But to the fattening clover lout, Where they may feed at heart's content, Unyokit frae their winter's stent. Unyoke then, man! an' binna swear To ding a hole in ill-hain'd gear: O think that eild, wi' wily fit, Is wearin' nearer, bit by bit! Gin anes he claws you wi' his paw, What's siller for? Fient hae't ava! But gowden playfair, that may please The second sharger till he dies.
Some daft chiel reads, an' taks advice; The chaise is yokit in a trice;
Awa drives he, like huntit deil,
An' scarce tholes time to cool his wheel,
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