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There, him* at Agincourt wha shone,

Few better were or braver;
And yet, wi' funny, queer Sir John,
He was an unco shaver

For monie a day.



For you right rev'rend O- 0

Nane sets the lawn-sleeve sweeter,
Altho' a ribban at your lug

Wad been a dress completer:

disown yon paughty dog
That bears the keys of Peter,
Then, swith! an' get a wife to hug,
Or, trouth! ye'll stain the mitre

Some luckless day.


Young, royal Tarry Breeks, I learn,

Ye've lately come athwart her;
A glorious galley, I stem an' stern,

Weel rigg'd for Venus barter;


* King Henry V.

+ Sir John Falstaff, vide Shakespeare.

# Alluding to the news-paper account of a certain royal

sailor's amour.

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But first hang out, that she'll discern,

Your hymeneal charter, Then heave aboard your grapple airn, An' large upo' her quarter,

Come full that day.


Ye, lastly, bonie blossoms a',

Ye royal lasses dainty, Heav'n mak you guid as weel as braw,

An' gie you lads a-plenty: But sneer na British boys awa',

For kings are unco scant ay ; An' German gentles are but sma', They're better just than want ay

On onie day.

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God bless you a'! consider now,

Your unco muckle dautet;
But ere the course o’ life be thro',

It may be bitter sautet:
An' I hae seen their coggie fou,

That yet hae tarrow't at it ;
But or the day was done, I trow,
The laggen they hae clautet

Fu' clean that day.




The sun had clos’d the winter day,

The curlers quat their roaring play,
An' hunger'd maukin ta’en her way

To kail-yards green,
While faithless snaws ilk step betray

Whare she has been.


* Duan, a term of Ossian's for the different divisions of a digressive poem.

See his Cath-Loda, vol. ï. of M Pherson's translation,

The thresher's weary flingin tree
The lee-lang day had tired me;
And whan the day had closed his e'e,

Far i' the west,
Ben i' the spence, right pensivelie,

I gaed to rest.

There, lanely, by the ingle-cheek,
I sat and ey'd the spewing reek,
That fill’d wi' hoast-provoking smeek,

The auld clay biggin;
An' heard the restless rattons squeak

About the riggin.

All in this mottie, misty clime,
I backward mus'd on wasted time,
How I had spent my youthfu' prime,

An' done nae-thing,
But stringin blethers


in rhyme For fools to sing.

Had I to guid advice but harkit,
I might, by this, hae led a market,
Or strutted in a bank an' clarkit

My cash-account:
While here, half-mad, half-fed, half-sarkit,

Is a' th' amount.

I started,

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I started, mutt'ring, blockhead! coof!
And heav'd on high my waukit loof,
To swear by a' yon starry roof,

Or some rash aith,
That I, henceforth, would be rhyme-proof


last breath

When click! the string the snick did draw; And jee! the door gaed to the wa’; An' by my ingle-lowe I saw,

Now bleezin bright, A tight, outlandish Hizzie, braw,

Come full in sight.

Ye need na doubt, I held my whisht; The infant aith, half-form'd, was crusht; I glowr'd as eerie's I'd been dusht

In some wild glen; When sweet, like modest worth, she blusht,

And stepped ben.

Green, slender, leaf-clad holly-boughs Were twisted, gracefu', round her brows; I took her for some Scottish Muse,

By that same token; An' come to stop those reckless vows,

Wou'd soon been broken.

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