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Cement the quarrel! It's aye the cheapest lawyer's fee,
To taste the barrel.
Alake! tbat e'er my Muse has reason To wyte her countrymen wi' treason! But monie daily weet their weason
Wi' liquors nice, An' hardly, in a winter's season,
E'er spier her price.
Wae worth that Brandy, burning trash ! Fell source o' monie a pain an' brash! Twins monie a poor, doylt, drunken hash,
O' half his days; An' sends, beside, auld Scotland's cash
To her warst faes.
Ye Scots, wha wish auld Scotland well! Ye chief, to you my tale I tell, Poor plackless devils like mysel !
It sets you ill, Wi' bitter, dearthfu' wines to mell,
Or foreign gill.
May gravels round his blather wrench, An' gouts torment him inch by inch, Wha twists his gruntle wi' a glunch
O’sour disdain, Out owre a glass o' whisky punch
Wi' honest men,
o Whisky! soul o' plays an' pranks! Accept a Bardie's humble thanks! When wanting thee, what tuneless cranks
Are my poor verses ! Thou comes they rattle i’ their ranks,
At ither's a-!
Thee, Ferintosh ! O sadly lost ! Scotland lament frae coast to coast ! Now colic grips, an' barkin hoast
May kill us a'; For loyal Forbes' charter'd boast
Is ta'en awa!
Thae curst horse-leeches o'th’ Excise,
?There, seize the blinkers ! An' bake them up in brunstane pies
For poor d-n'd drinkers.
Fortune! if thou'll but gie me still Hale breeks, a scone, an' Whisky gill, An' rowth o'rhyme to rave at will,
Tak a' the rest, An' deal't about as thy blind skill
Directs thee best.
EARNEST CRY AND PRAYER*
HOUSE OF COMMONS.
Dearest of Distillation ! last and best
Parody on Milton.
Ye Irish Lords, ye Knights an' Squires,
Are humbly sent.
Alas ! my roupet Muse is hearse !
*This was written before the act anent the Scotch Distilleries, of session 1786; for which Scotland and the Author return their most grateful thanks.
To see her sittin on her a
Low i' the dust, An’scriechin out prosaic verse,
An' like to brust!
Tell them wha hae the chief direction,
On Aqua vite.
An' move their pity.
Stand forth, an' tell your Premier Youth,
His servants humble :
If ye dissemble !
Does ony great man glunch an' gloom? Speak out, an' never fash your thumb ! Jet posts an' pensions sink or soom
Wi' them wha grant 'em : If honestly they canna come,
Far better want e'm.
In gath’ring votes you were na slack;
An' hum an' haw;
Before them a'.
Paint Scotland greeting owre her thrissle ; Her mutchkin stoup astoom's a whissle :
An'd-mn'd Excisemen in a bussle,
Seizin a Stell, Triumphant crushin't like a mussel
Or lampit shell.
Then on the tither hand present her,
Of a' kind coin.
Is there, that bears the name o' Scot,
Thus dung in staves, An' plunder'd o'er her hindmost groat
By gallows knaves ?
Alas ! I'm but a nameless wight,
Or gab like Boswell,
An' tie some hose well.
God bless your honors, can ye see't, The kind, auld, cantie Carlin greet An' no get warmly to your feet,
An' gar them hear it, An' tell them wi' a patriot heat,
Ye winna bear it!