Or faith! I'll wad my new pleugh-pettle,
Ye'll see 't or lang,

She'll teach you, wi' a reekin' whittle,
Anither sang.

16 This while she's been in crankous mood,
Her lost militia1 fired her bluid ;
(Deil na they never mair do guid,

Play'd her that pliskie !)

An' now she's like to rin red-wud
About her whisky.

17 An' L—, if ance they pit her till 't,
Her tartan petticoat she'll kilt,
An' durk an' pistol at her belt,

She'll tak the streets,

An' rin her whittle to the hilt,

I' th' first she meets!

18 For G-sake, sirs! then speak her fair,
An' straik her cannie wi' the hair,
An' to the muckle house repair,
Wi' instant speed,

An' strive wi' a' your wit and lear
To get remead.

19 Yon ill-tongued tinkler Charlie Fox,
May taunt you wi' his jeers an' mocks:
But gie him 't het, my hearty cocks!
E'en cowe the cadie!

An' send him to his dicing box

An' sportin' lady.

''Militia:' a Militia Bill in 1782, when the country was threatened with invasion, was mangled by Rockingham, and lost.

B

20 Tell yon guid bluid o' auld Boconnock's1
I'll be his debt twa mashlum bannocks,

An' drink his health in auld Nanse Tinnock's'
Nine times a-week,

If he some scheme, like tea an' winnocks,3
Wad kindly seek.

21 Could he some commutation broach,
I'll pledge my aith in guid braid Scotch,
He need na fear their foul reproach,
Nor erudition,

Yon mixtie-maxtie queer hotch-potch,
The Coalition."

22 Auld Scotland has a raucle tongue;
She's just a devil wi' a rung;
An' if she promise auld or young
To tak their part,

Though by the neck she should be strung.
She'll no desert.

23 An' now, ye chosen five-and-forty,
May still your mither's heart support ye;
Then, though a minister grow dorty,

An' kick your place,

Ye'll snap your fingers, poor an' hearty,
Before his face.

24 God bless your

honours a' your days,

Wi' sowps o' kail and brats o' claise,

''Boconnock:' the Earl of Chatham was the son of Robert Pitt of Boconnock, in Cornwall.-2 Nanse Tinnock :' a worthy old hostess of the author's in Mauchline, where he sometimes studies politics over a glass of guid auld Scotch drink.-B.- 'Tea an' winnocks: Pitt reduced the tax on tea, and laid one on windows, in 1784. - Coalition:' between Fox, North, and Burke.

In spite o' a' the thievish kaes,

That haunt St Jamie's!

Your humble poet sings an' prays

While Rab his name is.

POSTSCRIPT.

25 Let half-starved slaves, in warmer skies,
See future wines, rich clustering, rise;
Their lot auld Scotland ne'er envies,
But blithe and frisky,

She eyes her freeborn, martial boys,
Tak aff their whisky.

26 What though their Phoebus kinder warms,
While fragrance blooms and beauty charms!
When wretches range, in famish'd swarms,
The scented groves,

Or hounded forth, dishonour arms
In hungry droves.

27 Their gun's a burden on their shouther
They downa bide the stink o' powther;
Their bauldest thought's a hankering swither
To stan' or rin,

Till skelp-a shot-they're aff, a' throwther,
To save their skin.

28 But bring a Scotsman frae his hill,

Clap in his cheek a Highland gill,
Say, such is royal George's will,

An' there's the foe,

He has nae thought but how to kill
Twa at a blow.

29 Nae cauld, faint-hearted doubtings tease him;
Death comes,-wi' fearless eye he sees him ;
Wi' bluidy hand a welcome gies him;
An' when he fa's,

His latest draught o' breathin' lea❜es him
In faint huzzas !

30 Sages their solemn e'en may steek,
An' raise a philosophic reek,
An' physically causes seek,

In clime and season.

But tell me whisky's name in Greek,
I'll tell the reason.

31 Scotland, my auld, respected mither!
Though whiles ye moistify your leather,
Till whare ye sit, on craps o' heather,
Ye tine your dam ;

-Freedom and whisky gang thegither!-
Tak aff your dram!

་

THE HOLY FAIR.1

'A robe of sceming truth and trust
Hid crafty Observation;

And secret hung, with poison'd crust,

The dirk of Defamation:

A mask that like the gorget show'd
Dye-varying on the pigeon;

And for a mantle large and broad,

He wrapt him in Religion.'

IIYPOCRISY à la mode:

1 UPON a simmer Sunday morn,

When Nature's face is fair,

Holy Fair' is a common phrase in the West of Scotland for a sacramental occasion.-B.

I walked forth to view the corn,

An' snuff the caller air.

The risin' sun owre Galston muirs,
Wi' glorious light was glintin';
The hares were hirplin' down the furs,
The lav'rocks they were chantin'

Fu' sweet that day.

2 As lightsomely I glowr'd abroad,
To see a scene sae gay,

Three hizzies, early at the road,
Cam skelpin' up the way;
Twa had manteeles o' dolefu' black,
But ane wi' lyart lining;

The third, that gaed a wee a-back,

Was in the fashion shining,

Fu' gay that day.

3 The twa appear'd like sisters twin,
In feature, form, an' claes;
Their visage, wither'd, lang, an' thin,
An' sour as ony slaes:

The third cam up, hap-step-an'-lowp,
As light as ony lambie,

An' wi' a curchie low did stoop,

As soon as e'er she saw me,

Fu' kind that day.

4 Wi' bonnet aff, quoth I, 'Sweet lass,
I think you seem to ken me;
I'm sure I've seen that bonnie face,

But yet I canna name ye.'

Quo' she, an' laughin' as she spak,
An' taks me by the hands,