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

I

Gae somewhere else, and seek your dinner

On some poor body.

Swith, in some beggar's haffet 3 squat tle;

There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle 4

Wi' ither kindred, jumping cattle,
In shoals and nations:
Whare horn nor bane ne'er dare un-
settle

Your thick plantations.

Now haud ye there, ye're out o' sight,
Below the fatt'rils,5 snug an' tight;
Na, faith ye yet! ye'll no be right
Till ye've got on it,

The vera tapmost, tow'ring height
O' Miss's bonnet.

My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose

out,

As plump and gray as onie grozet: 6
O for some rank, mercurial rozet,

Or fell, red smeddum,7
I'd gie you sic a hearty doze o't,

Wad dress your droddum ! 8

I wad na been surpris'd to spy
You on an auld wife's flainen toy; 9
Or aiblins some bit duddie boy,
On 's wyliecoat: 10
But Miss's fine Lunardi!" fie,
How daur ye do't?

O Jenny, dinna toss your head,
An' set your beauties a' abread!
Ye little ken what cursed speed

The blastie's 12 makin! Thae winks and finger-ends, I dread, Are notice takin!

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1 Professor Walker informs us that "Burns passed two or three days with the Duke of Athole, and was highly delighted by the attention he received, and the company to whom he was introduced. By the Duke's advice he visited the falls of Bruar, and in a few days I received a letter from Inverness, with the above verses inclosed." These lines were first written over the chimney-piece in the parlour of the inn al Kenmore.

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EDINA! Scotia's darling seat!

All hail thy palaces and tow'rs, Where once beneath a monarch's feet Sat Legislation's sov'reign pow'rs! From marking wildly-scatter'd flow'rs, As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd, And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours, I shelter in thy honour'd shade.

Here wealth still swells the golden tide, As busy Trade his labours plies; There Architecture's noble pride

Bids elegance and splendour rise; Here Justice, from her native skies, High wields her balance and her rod; There Learning, with his eagle eyes, Seeks Science in her coy abode.

Thy sons, Edina, social, kind,

With open arms the stranger hail; Their views enlarg'd, their lib'ral mind, Above the narrow, rural vale; Atentive still to sorrow's wail,

Or modest merit's silent claim: And never may their sources fai!!

And never envy blot their name !

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Thy daughters bright thy walks adorn, Gay as the gilded summer sky, Sweet as the dewy milk-white thorn, Dear as the raptur'd thrill of joy! Fair Burnet' strikes th' adoring eye, Heav'n's beauties on my fancy shine, I see the Sire of Love on high,

And own his work indeed divine!

There watching high the least alarms,

Thy rough rude fortress gleams afar: Like some bold vet'ran, gray in arms, And mark'd with many a seamy scar: The pond'rous wall and massy bar,

Grim-rising o'er the rugged rock, Have oft withstood assailing war,

And oft repell'd th' invader's shock.

With awe-struck thought, and pitying tears,

I view that noble, stately dome, Where Scotia's kings of other years,

Fam'd heroes, had their royal home: Alas, how chang'd the times to come! Their royal name low in the dust! Their hapless racewild-wand'ring roam! Tho' rigid law cries out, 'twas just !

Wild beats my heart, to trace your steps,
Whose ancestors, in days of yore,
Thro' hostile ranks and ruin'd gaps
Old Scotia's bloody lion bore:
Ev'n I who sing in rustic lore,

Haply my sires have left their shed, And fac'd grim danger's loudest roar, Bold-following where your fathers led!

Edina! Scotia's darling seat!

All hail thy palaces and towr's, Where once beneath a monarch's feet Sat Legislation's sovereign pow'rs! From marking wildly-scatter'd flow'rs, As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd, And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours, I shelter in thy honour'd shade.

'Daughter of Lord Monboddo. Burns said there had not been ar ything like her, in beauty, grace, and goodness, since Eve on the first day of her exist

ence.

EPISTLE TO JOHN LAPRAIK, AN OLD SCOTTISH BARD.'

April 1st, 1785.

WHLE briers an' woodbines budding green,

An' paitricks scraichin loud at e'en,
An' morning poussie 3 whiddin 4 seen,
Inspire my Muse,

This freedom in an unknown frien'
I pray excuse.

On Fasten-een we had a rockin,

To ca' the crack and weave our stockin:
And there was muckle fun and jokin,
Ye need na doubt;

At length we had a hearty yokin 5
At sang about.

The "Epistle to John Lapraik" was produced exactly on the occasion described by the author. He says in that poem, "On fasten-e'en we had a rockin." I believe he has omitted the word rocking in the glossary. It is a term derived from those primitive times, when the country-women employed their spare hours in spinning on the rock, or distaff. This simple implement is a very portable one, and well fitted to the social inclination of meeting in a neighbour's house; hence the phrase of going a-rocking, or with the rock. As the connexion the phrase had with the implement was forgotten when the rock gave place to the spinning-wheel, the phrase came to be used by both sexes on social occasions, and men talk of going with their rocks as well as vomen. It was at one of these rockings at our house, when we had twelve or fifteen young people with their rocks, that Lapraik's song, beginning, "When I upon thy bosom lean," was ung, and we were informed who was the author. Upon this Robert wrote his first Epistle to Lapraik; and his Becord in reply to his answer.-G. B. Partridges. 3 Hare. • Running. 5 A bout.

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I've scarce heard aught describes sae weel,

What gen'rous, manly bosoms feel: Thought I, "Can this be Pope, or Steele,

Or Beattie's wark?"
They tauld me 'twas an odd kind chiel
About Muirkirk.

It pat me fidgin-fain2 to hear't,
And sae about him there I spier't,
Then a' that ken'd him round declar'd
He had ingine, 3

That nane excell'd it, few cam near❜t
It was sae fine;

That, set him to a pint of ale,
An' either douce or merry tale,
Or rhymes an' sangs he'd made himsel,
Or witty catches,

'Tween Inverness and Tiviotdale
He had few matches.

Then up
I gat, an' swoor an aith,
Tho' I should pawn my pleugh ard
graith, 4

Or die a cadger pownie's death,
At some dyke-back,

A pint an' gill I'd gie them baith
To hear your crack.
But, first an' foremost, I should tell,
Amaist as soon as I could spell,
I to the crambo-jingle fell,

Tho' rude an' rough,
Yet crooning6 to a body's sel
Does weel eneugh.

I am nae Poet, in a sense,
But just a Rhymer like, by chance,
An' hae to learning nae pretence,
Yet, what the matter?
Whene'er my Muse does on me glance
I jingle at her.

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Citi:ay cock their nose, And say, "How can you e'er propose, You wha ken hardly verse frae prose, To mak a sang?"

But by your leaves, my learned foes, Ye're maybe wrang.

What's a' your jargon o' your schools, Your Latin names for horns an' stools; If honest nature made you fools,

What sairs' your grammars? Ye'd better taen up spades and shools, Or knappin 2-hammers.

A set o' dull, conceited hashes,3 Confuse their brains in college classes! They gang in stirks,4 and come out

asses,

Plain truth to speak;

An' syne 5 they think to climb Parnassus
By dint o' Greek!

Gie me ae spark o' Nature's fire,
That's a' the learning I desire;
Then tho' I drudge thro' dub an' mire
At pleugh or cart,

My Muse, though hamely in attire,
May touch the heart.

O for a spunk7 o' Allan's glee,
Or Fergusson's, the bauld and slee,
Or bright Lapraik's, my friend to be,
If I can hit it!

That would be lear 8 ĕneugh for me,
If I could get it.

Now, Sir, if ye hae friends enow,
Tho' real friends, I b'lieve, are few,
Yet, if your catalogue be fou,9

I'se no insist,

But gif ye want ae friend that's true, I'm on your list.

I winna blaw about mysel;

As ill I like my fauts to tell;

But friends and folk that wish me well, They sometimes roose'

'Tho' I maun own, as monie still

As far abuse me.

me;

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Formon's a plack they wheedle frae mo At dance or fair;

Maybe some ither thing they gie me They weel can spare.

But Mauchline race, or Mauchline fair,
I should be proud to meet you there;
We'se gie ae night's discharge to care,
If we forgather,1

An' hae a swap2 o' rhymin-ware
Wi' ane anither.

The four-gill chap, we'se gar him clatter,
An' kirsen 3 him wi' reekin water:
Syne we'll sit down an' tak our whitter,4
To cheer our heart;

An' faith, we'se be acquainted beer Before we part.

Awa ye selfish warly 5 race,

Wha think that havins, sense, an' grace, Ev'n love an' friendship, should give place

To catch-the-plack!

I dinna like to see your face,

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This hour on e'enin's' edge I take,
To own I'm debtor

To honest-hearted, auld Lapraik,
For his kind letter.

Forjesket sair, with weary legs,
Rattlin the corn out-owre the rigs,
Or dealing thro' amang the naigs

Their ten-hours' bite,

My awkwart Muse sair pleads and begs, I would na write.

The tapetless,3 ramfeezl'd 4 hizzie, She's saft at best, and something lazy, Quo' she, "Ye ken, we've been sae busy,

This month an' mair,

That trouth my head is grown right dizzie,

An' something sair."

Her dowff 5 excuses pat me mad;
"Conscience," says I, "ye thowless 6
jad!

I'll write, an' that a hearty blaud,
This vera night;

So dinna ye affront your trade,
But rhyme it right.

"Shall bauld Lapraik, the king o'

hearts,

Tho' mankind were a pack o' cartes,? Roose you sae weel for your deserts, In terms sae friendly,

Yet ye'll neglect to shaw your parts,
An' thank him kindly!"

Sae I gat paper in a blink,
An' down gaed stumpie in the ink:
Quoth I, "Before I sleep a wink,
I vow I'll close it;

An' if ye winna mak it clink,

By Jove, I'll prose it!" Sae I've begun to scrawl, but whether In rhyme, or prose, or baith thegither, Or some hotch-potch that's rightly neither,

Let time mak proof;

But I shall scribble down some blether 8 Jus clean aff-loof.9

Evening's.

3 Foolish.

Lazy.

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mer,

I've seen the bud upo' the timmer,
Still persecuted by the limmer
Frae year to year;

But yet, despite the kittle kimm £,4
I, Rob, am here.

Do ye envy the city Gent,
Behint a kist 5 to lie and sklent,6
Or purse-proud, big wi' cent per cent
An' muckle wame,7

In some bit Brugh to represent
A Bailie's name?

Or is't the paughty,8 feudal Thane,
Wi' ruffled sark an' glancing cane,
Wha thinks himsel nae sheep-shank
bane,

But lordly stalks,

While caps and bonnets aff are ta'en,
As by he walks ?

"O Thou wha gies us each guid gift!
Gie me o' wit an' sense a lift,
Then turn me, if Thou please, adrift,
Thro' Scotland wide;
Wi' cits nor lairds I wadna shift,
In a' their pride!"

Were this the charter of our state,
"On pain o' hell be rich an' great,"
Damnation then would be our fate,
Beyond remead;
But, thanks to Heav'n! that's no the
gate

We learn our cred.

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Unpremeditated.

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