An anxious e'e I never throws Behint my lug, or by my nose; Sworn foe to sorrow, care, and prose, O ye douce folk, that live by rule, 'Grave, tideless-blooded, calm and cool, Compar'd wi' you-O fool! fool! 'fool! How much unlike! Your hearts are just a standing pool, Your lives, a dyke! Nae hair-brain'd, sentimental traces Ye never stray, Ye hum away. But, gravissimo, solemn basses Ye are sae grave, nae doubt ye're wise; Nae ferly tho' ye do despise The hairum-scairum, ram-stam boys, The rattlin squad: I see you upward cast your eyes- -Ye ken the road. Whilst I-but I shall haud me there- But quat my sang, Content wi' you to mak a pair, Whare'er I gang. A DREAM. Thoughts, words, and deeds, the statute blames with reason, But surely dreams were ne'er indicted treason. [On reading, in the public papers, the Laureate's Ode, with the other parade of June 4, 1786, the author was no sooner dropt asleep, than he imagined himself transported to the birth-day levee; and in his dreaming fancy made the following Address.] I. GUID-MORNIN to your Majesty! My bardship here, at your levee, Is sure an uncouth sight to see, Sae fine this day. II. I see ye're complimented thrang, By mony a lord and lady ; "God save the king!''s a cuckoo sang That's unco easy said ay; The poets, too, a venal gang, Wi' rhymes weel-turn'd, and ready, Wad gar you trow ye ne'er do wrang, But ay unerring steady, On sic a day. III. For me! before a monarch's face, Your kingship to bespatter; There's monie waur been o' the race, And aiblins ane been better Than you this day. IV. 'Tis very true, my sov'reign king, Your royal nest, beneath your wing, Than did ae day. V. Far be't frae me that I aspire To chaps, wha, in a barn or byre, Wad better fill'd their station Than courts yon day. VI. And now ye've gien auld Britain peace, Her broken shins to plaster; Your sair taxation does her fleece, Till she has scarce a tester; For me, thank God, my life's a lease, Or, faith! I fear, that wi' the geese, I shortly boost to pasture I' the craft some day. VII. I'm no mistrusting Willie Pitt, (An Will's a true guid fallow's get, But, G-d's-sake! let nae saving fit An' boats this day. VIII. Adieu, my Liege! may freedom geck In loyal, true affection, To pay your Queen, with due respect, My fealty and subjection This great birth-day. IX. Hail, Majesty Most Excellent! Thae bonie bairntime, Heav'n has lent, In bliss, till fate some day is sent, For ever to release ye Frae care that day. X. For you, young potentate o' W I tell your Highness fairly, Down pleasure's stream, wi' swelling sails, But some day ye may gnaw your nails, That e'er ye brak Diana's pales, Or rattl'd dice wi' Charlie, By night or day. XI. Yet aft a ragged cowte's been known To make a noble aiver; So, ye may doucely fill a throne, For a' their clish-ma-claver: There, him at Agincourt wha shone, Few better were or braver; *King Henry V. |