It wad for ev'ry ane be better,
'The Laird, the Tenant, and the Cotter!
For thac frank, rantin, ramblin billies,
Fient haet o' them's ill-hearted fellows;
Except for breakin o' their timmer,
Or speakin lightly o' their limmer,
Or shootin o' a hare or moor-cock,
The ne'er a bit they're ill to poor folk.
But will ye tell me, Master Casar,
Sure great folk's life's a life o' pleasure?
Nae cauld nor hunger e'er can steer them,
The vera thought o't need na fear them.
L-d, man, were ye but whyles whare I am, The gentles ye wad ne'er envy 'em.
It's true they need na starve or sweat,
Thro' winter's cauld, or simmer's heat;
They've nac sair wark to craze their banes,
An' fill auld age wi' gripes an' granes:
But human bodies are sic fools,
For a their colleges and schools,
That when nae real ills perplex them,
They make enow themselves to vex them;
An' ay the less they hae to sturt them,
In like proportion less will hurt them.
A country fellow at the plough,
His acres till'd, he's right eneugh;
A kintra lassie at her wheel,
Her dizzens done, she's unco weel:
But Gentlemen, an' Ladies warst,
Wi' ev'ndown want o' wark are curst.
They loiter, lounging, lank, an' lazy;
Tho' deil haet ails them, yet uneasy;
Their days, insipid, dull, an' tasteless;
Their nights unquiet, lang an' restless;
An' e'en their sports, their balls an' races,
Their galloping thro' public places.
There's sic parade, sic pomp, an' art,
The joy can scarcely reach the heart.
The men cast out in party matches,
Then sowther a' in deep debauches;
Ae night they're mad wi' drink an' wh-ring,
Niest day their life is past enduring.
The Ladies arm-in-arm in clusters,
As great and gracious a' as sisters;
But hear their absent thoughts o' ither,
They're a' run deils an' jads thegither.
Whyles o'er the wee bit cup an' platie,
They sip the scandal potion pretty;
Or lee-lang nights, wi' crabbit leuks
Pore owre the devil's pictur'd beuks;
Stake on a chance a farmer's stackyard,
An' cheat like onie unhang'd blackguard.
There's some exception, man an' woman; But this is Gentry's life in common.
By this, the sun was out o' sight, An' darker gloaming brought the night! The bum-clock humm'd wi' lazy drone; The kye stood rowtin i' the loan;
Paint Scotland greeting owre her thriss.e;
Her mutchkin stoup as toom's a whissle:
EARNEST CRY AND PRAYER* An' d-mn'd Excisemen in a bussle,
Seizin a Stell,
Triumphant crushin't like a mussel
Or lampit shell.
Are springin o'er the gutters.
The lasses, skelpin barefit, thrang,
In silks an' scarlets glitter;
Wi' sweet-milk cheese, in monie a whang
An' farls bak'd wi' butter
Fu' crump that day.
VIII.
When by the plate we set our nose,
Weel heaped up wi' ha'pence,
A greedy glowr Black Bonnet throws,
An' we maun draw our tippence.
Then in we go to see the show,
On ev'ry side they're gathrin,
Some carrying dales, some chairs an' stools, An' some are busy blethrin
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