Thou ance was i' the foremost rank,
A filly buirdly, steeve, and swank,
And set weel down a shapely shank
As e'er tread yird;
And could hae flown out-owre a stank
Like ony bird.
It's now some nine-and-twenty year,
Sin' thou was my guid-father's meare;
He gied me thee, o' tocher clear,
And fifty mark;
Though it was sma', 't was weel-won gear,
And thou was stark.
When first I gaed to woo my Jenny,
Ye then was trottin' wi' your minnie;
Though ye was trickie, slee, and funnie,
Ye ne'er was donsie :
But hamely, tawie, quiet, and cannie,
And unco sonsie.
That day ye pranced wi' muckle pride,
When ye bure hame my bonny bride :
And sweet and gracefu' she did ride,
Wi' maiden air!
Kyle-Stewart I could braggèd wide,
For sic a pair.
Though now ye dow but hoyte and hobble, And wintle like a saumont-coble,
That day ye was a jinker noble,
For heels and win'!
And ran them till they a' did wauble
Far, far behin'!
When thou and I were young and skeigh,
And stable-meals at fairs were dreigh,
How thou would prance, and snore, and skre:gh,
And tak the road!
Town's bodies ran, and stood abeigh,
And ca't thee mad.
When thou was corn't, and I was mellow,
We took the road aye like a swallow:
At brooses thou had ne'er a fellow
For pith and speed; every tail thou pay't them hollow, Whare'er thou gaed.
The sma' droop-rumpl't, hunter cattle,
Might aiblins waur't thee for a brattle,
But sax Scotch miles thou try't their mettle,
And gar't them whaizle :
Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle
O' saugh or hazle.
Thou was a noble fittie-lan',
As e'er in tug or tow was drawn !
Aft thee and I, in aught hours' gaun,
In guid March weather,
Hae turned sax rood beside our han'
For days thegither.
Thou never braindg't, and fetch't, and fliskit,
But thy auld tail thou wad hae whisket,
And spread abreed thy weel-filled brisket
Wi' pith and power,
Till spritty knowes wad rair't and risket,
And slypet owre.
When frosts lay lang, and snaws were deep,
And threatened labour back to keep,
I gied thy cog a wee bit heap
Aboon the timmer;
I kenn'd my Maggie wad na sleep
For that, or simmer.
In cart or car thou never reestit ;
The stayest brae thou wad hae fac't it;
Thou never lap, and sten't, and breastit,
Then stood to blaw;
But just thy step a wee thing hastit,
Thou snoov't awa'.
My pleugh is now thy bairn-time a',
Four gallant brutes as e'er did draw;
Forbye sax mae I've sell't awa',
That thou hast nurst:
They drew me thretteen pund and twa,
The very warst.
Monie a sair daurk we twa hae wrought,
And wi' the weary warl' fought;
And monie an anxious day I thought
We wad be beat;
Yet here to crazy age we 're brought,
Wi' something yet.
And think na, my auld trusty servan',
That now perhaps thou's less deservin',
And thy auld days may end in starvin';
For my last fow,
A heapit stimpart, I'll reserve aņe
Laid by for you.
We've worn to crazy years thegither;
We'll toyte about wi' ane anither;
Wi' tentie care I'll flit thy tether,
To some hain'd rig,
Where ye may nobly rax your leather,
Wi' sma' fatigue.
WAS in that place o' Scotland's isle
That bears the name o' Auld King Coil,
Upon a bonny day in June,
When wearing through the afternoon,
Twa dogs that were na thrang at hame,
Forgathered ance upon a time.
The first I'll name, they ca'd him Cæsar,
Was keepit for his honour's pleasure ;
His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs,
Shewed he was nane o' Scotland's dogs,
But whalpit some place far abroad,
Whare sailors gang to fish for cod.
His locked, lettered, braw brass-collar,
Shewed him the gentleman and scholar;
But though he was o' high degree,
The fient a pride — nae pride had he ;
But wad hae spent an hour caressin',
E'en wi' a tinkler-gipsy's messan.
At kirk or market, mill or smiddie,
Nae tawted tyke, though e'er sae duddie.
But he wad stan't, as glad to see him,
And stroan't on stanes and hillocks wi' him.
The tither was a ploughman's collie,
A rhyming, ranting, roving billie,
Wha for his friend and comrade had him,
And in his freaks had Luath ca'd him,
After some dog in Highland sang,
He was a gash and faithful tyke,
As ever lap a sheugh or dike.
His honest, sonsie, baws'nt face,
Aye gat him friends in ilka place.
His breast was white, his touzie back
Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black;
His gaucy tail, wi' upward curl,
Hung o'er his hurdies wi' a swirl.
Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither,
And unco pack and thick thegither;
Wi' social nose whyles snuffed and snowkit,
Whyles mice and moudieworts they howkit,
Whyles scoured awa' in lang excursion,
And worried ither in diversion;
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