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But bring a Scotsman frae his hill, Clap in his cheek a Highland gill, Say, such is royal George's will,

An' there's the foe,

He has nae thought but how to kill

Twa at a blow.

Nae cauld, faint-hearted doubtings tease him; Death comes, wi' fearless eye he sees him; Wi' bluidy hand a welcome gies him;

An' when he fa's,

His latest draught o' breathin lea'es him
In faint huzzas.

Sages their solemn een may steek An' raise a philosophic reek,

An' physically causes seek,

In clime and season;

But tell me Whisky's name in Greek,

I'll tell the reason.

Scotland, my auld, respected Mither! Tho' whiles ye moistify your leather, Till whare ye sit, on craps o' heather, Ye tine your dam;

Freedom and Whisky gang thegither!

Tak aff your dram!



A robe of seeming truth and trust
Hid crafty Observation ;

And secret hung, with poison'd crust,
The dirk of Defamation:

A mask that like the gorget show'd,
Dye-varying on the pigeon;
And for a mantle large and broad,
He wrapt him in Religion.



UPON a simmer Sunday morn,
When Nature's face is fair,
I walked forth to view the corn,
An' snuff the caller air,

The rising sun owre Galston muirs,

Wi' glorious light was glintin;

The hares were hirplin down the furs,

The lav'rocks they were chantin

Fu' sweet that day.


Holy Fair is a common phrase in the West of Scot

land for a sacramental occasion.


As lightsomely I glowr'd abroad,
To see a scene sae gay,

Three Hizzies, early at the road,
Cam skelpin up the way;

Twa had manteeles o' dolefu' black,
. But ane wi' lyart lining;

The third, that gaed a-wee a-back,

Was in the fashion shining,

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The twa appear'd like sisters twin,
In feature, form, an' claes!
Their visage, wither'd, lang an' thin,
An' sour as ony slaes:

The third cam up, hap-step-an'-lowp,

As light as ony lambie,

An' wi' a curchie low did stoop,

As soon as e'er she saw me,

Fu' kind that day.


Wi' bonnet aff, quoth I, 'Sweet lass,
'I think ye seem to ken me;
'I'm sure I've seen that bonie face,

But yet I canna name ye.'


Quo' she, an' laughin as she spak,
An', taks me by the hands,

'Ye, for my sake, hae gi'en the feck

Of a' the ten commands


A screed some day.

My name is Fun-your cronie dear,

The nearest friend ye hae;

An' this is Superstition here,

An' that's Hypocrisy.

'I'm gaun to ********* Holy Fair, 'To spend an hour in daffin :

'Gin ye'll go there, yon runkl'd pair,

'We will get

famous laughin

"At them this day.'


Quoth I, 'With a' my heart, I'll do't ;

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I'll get my Sunday's sark on,

• An' meet you on the holy spot;

Faith we'se hae fine remarkin!

Then I gaed hame at crowdie-time
An' soon I made me ready;

For roads were clad, frae side to side,

Wi' monie a wearie body,

In droves that day.


Here farmers gash, in ridin graith
Gaed hoddin by their cotters;

There, swankies young, in braw braid-claith
Are springin o'er the gutters.
The lasses, skelpin barefit, thrang,

In silks an' scarlets glitter;

Wi' sweet-milk and cheese, in monie a whang,

An' farls bak'd wi' butter

Fu' crump that day.


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

Right loud that day.


Here stands a shed to fend the show'rs,
An' screen our countra Gentry,
There, racer Jess, an' twa-three wh-res,

Are blinkin at the entry.


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