Brings hard owerhip, wi' sturdy wheel,
The strong forehammer,

Till block and studdie ring and reel
Wi' dinsome clamour.

When skirlin' weanies see the light,
Thou maks the gossips clatter bright,
How fumblin' cuifs their dearies slight;
Wae worth the name!

Nae howdie gets a social night,
Or plack frae them.

When neebors anger at a plea,
And just as wud as wud can be,
How easy can the barley-bree

Cement the quarrel !

It's aye the cheapest lawyer's fee
To taste the barrel.

Alake! that e'er my Muse has reason
To wyte her countrymen wi' treason!
But monie daily weet their weason
Wi' liquors nice,

And hardly in a winter's season
E'er spier her price.

Wae worth that brandy, burning trash! Fell source o' monie a pain and brash! Twins monie a poor, doylt, drucken hash, O' half his days;

And sends, beside, àuld Scotland's cash

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,
And 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!

Oh whisky! soul o' plays and pranks !
Accept a bardie's gratefu' thanks!
When wanting thee, what tuneless cranks
Are my poor verses!

Thou comes

they rattle i' their ranks At ither's -!

Thee, Ferintosh! oh sadly lost!
Scotland lament frae coast to coast!

Now colic grips, and barkin' hoast,
May kill us a';

For loyal Forbes' chartered boast
Is ta'en awa!

Thae curst horse-leeches o' th' Excise,
Wha mak the whisky-stells their prize!
Haud up thy han', Deil! ance, twice, thrice!
There, seize the blinkers!

And bake them up in brunstane pies
For poor d-d drinkers.

Fortune! if thou 'll but gie me still
Hale breeks, a scone, and whisky-gill,
And rowth o' rhyme to rave at will,
Tak a' the rest,

And deal 't about as thy blind skill
Directs thee best.

THE AUTHOR'S EARNEST CRY AND PRAYER

TO THE SCOTCH REPRESENTATIVES IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS.

"Dearest of distillation! last and best!

How art thou lost!"-PARODY ON MILTON.

E Irish lords, ye knights and squires,

YE

Wha represent our brughs and shires,

And doucely manage our affairs

In parliament,

To you a simple Bardie's prayers
Are humbly sent.

Alas! my roopit Muse is hearse!

Your honours' heart wi' grief 't wad pierce,
To see her sittin' on her

Low i' the dust,

And screechin' out prosaic verse,

And like to burst!

Tell them wha hae the chief direction,
Scotland and me 's in great affliction,

E'er sin' they laid that curst restriction On aqua vitæ ;

And rouse them up to strong conviction, And move their pity.

Stand forth, and tell yon Premier youth,
The honest, open, naked truth :
Tell him o' mine and Scotland's drouth,
His servants humble:

The muckle devil blaw ye south,
If ye dissemble.

Does ony great man glunch and gloom?
Speak out, and never fash your thoom!
Let posts and pensions sink or soom
Wi' them wha grant 'em :

If honestly they canna come,

Far better want 'em.

In gath'rin' votes you were na slack;
Now stand as tightly by your tack;
Ne'er claw your lug, and fidge your back,
And hum and haw;

But raise your arm, and tell your crack,
Before them a’.

Paint Scotland greeting owre her thrissle, Her mutchkin stoup as toom 's a whistle; And d-d exciseman in a bussle,

Seizin' a stell,

Triumphant crushin 't like a mussel
Or lampit shell.

Then on the tither hand present her,
A blackguard smuggler, right behint her,
And cheek-for-chow, a chuffie vintner
Colleaguing join,

Picking her pouch as bare as winter
Of a' kind coin.

Is there, that bears the name o' Scot,
But feels his heart's bluid rising hot,
poor auld mither's pot
Thus dung in staves,

To see his

And plundered o' her hindmost groat
By gallows knaves?

Alas! I'm but a nameless wight,
Trod i' the mire out o' sight!
But could I like Montgomeries fight,
Or gab like Boswell,

There's some sark-necks I wad draw tight,
And tie some hose well.

God bless your honours, can ye see 't,
The kind, auld, cantie carlin greet,

And no get warmly to your feet,
And gar them hear it,
And tell them with a patriot heat,
Ye winna bear it?

Some o' you nicely ken the laws,
To round the period and pause,
And wi' rhetóric clause on clause
To mak harangues;