Or if the Swede, before he halt,
Would play anithe Charles the Twalt;
If Denmark, any body spak o't;
Or Poland, wha had now the tack o't;
How cut-throat Prussian blades were hingin,
How libbet Italy was singin
If Spaniard, Portuguese, or Swiss,
Where sayin or takin aught amiss:
Or how our merry lads at hame,
In Britain's court kept up the game,
How royal George, the Lord leuk o'er him!
Was managing St. Stephen's quorum;
If sleekit Chatham Will was livin,
Or glaikit Charlie got his nieve in ;
How daddie Burke the plea was cookin,
If Warren Hastings' neck was yeukin;
How cesses, stents, and fees were rax'd,
Or if bare a-ses yet were tax'd;
The news o' princes, dukes, and earls,
Pimps, sharpers, bawds, and opera-girls;
If that daft buckie, Geordie W***s,
Was threshin still at hissies' tails,
Or if he has grown oughtlins douser,
And no a perfect kintra cooser,
A' this and mair I never heard of;
And but for you I might despair'd of.
So, gratefu', back your news I send you,
And pray, a' guid things may attend you!
Ellisland, 1790.
TO MRS. DUNLOP, ON NEW-YEAR'S DAY.
THIS day, Time winds the exhausted chain To run the twelvemonth's length again :
I see the old, bauld-pated fellow,
With ardent eyes, complexion sallow,
Adjust the unimpair'd machine,
To wheel the equal, dull routine.
The absent lover, minor heir,
Iu vain assail him with their prayer;
Deaf as my friend, he sees them press,
Nor makes the hour one moment less.
Will you(the Major's with the hounds,
The happy tenants share his rounds;
Coila's fair Rachel's care to-day,
And blooming Keith's engaged with Gray)
From housewife cares a minute borrow-
That grandchild's chap will do to-morrow-
And join with me a moralizing,
This day's propitious to be wise in.
First, what did yesternight deliver?
"Another year is gone for ever."
And what is this day's strong suggestion,
"The passing moment's all we rest on!"
Rest on-for what do we here?
Or why regard the passing year?
Will time, amus'd with proverb'd lore,
Add to our date one minute more?
A few days may-a few years must→
Repose us in the silent dust.
Then is it wise to damp our bliss?
Yes-all such reasonings are amiss!
The voice of nature loudly cries,
And many a message from the skies,
That something in us never dies:
That on this frail, uncertain state,
Hang matters of eternal weight;
That future life, in worlds unknown
Must take its hue from this alone;
Whether as heavenly glory bright,
Or dark as misery's woeful night.
Since then, my honor'd, first of friends,
On this poor being all depends;
Let us the important now employ,
And live as those that never die.
Tho' you, with days and honors crown'd,
Witness that filial circle round,
(A sight life's sorrows to repulse,
A sight pale envy to convulse,)
Others now claim your chief regard;
Yourself, you wait your bright reward,
NEW-YEAR MORNING SALUTATION TO HIS
AULD MARE, MAGGIE,
On giving her the accustomed rip of corn to hansel in the new-year.
A GUID NEW-YEAR I wish the, Maggie!
Hae, there's a rip to thy auld baggie:
Tho' thou's howe-backit, now, an' knaggie
I've seen the day
Thou could hae gaen like onie staggie
Tho' now thou's dowie, stiff, an' crazy, An' thy auld hide's as white's a daisy, I've seen thee dappl'd, sleek, and glaizie, A bonie
He should been tight that daur't to rais
Thou ance was i' the foremost rank,
A filly, buirdly, steeve an' swank,
An' set weel down a shapeless shank,
As e'er tread yird,
An' could hae flown out-owre a stank,
Like onie bird.
It's now some nine-an'-twenty year,
Sin' thou was my guid father's meere;
He gied me thee, o' tocher clear,
An' fifty mark;
Tho' it was sma', 'twas weel-won gear,
Án' thou was stark.
When first I gaed to woo my Jenny, Ye then was trottin wi' your minnie; Though ye was trickie, slee, an' funnie, Ye ne'er was donsie ; But hamely, tawie, quiet, an' cannie, An' unco sonsie.
That day, ye pranced wi' muckle pride,
When ye bure hame my bonie bride;
An' sweet an' gracefu' she did ride,
Kyle Stewart I could braggead wide,
For sic a pair.
Though now ye dow but hoyte and hobble,
An' wintle like a saumont cobble,
That day ye was a jinker noble,
For heels an' win!
An' ran them, till they a' did wauble,
Far, far behin'.
When thou an' I were young an' skeigh, An' stable-meals at fair were dreigh,
How thou wad prance, an' snore, an' skreigh, An' tak the road!
Town's bodies ran, and stood abeigh,
When thou was corn't, an' I was mellow
We took the road ay like a swallow;
At Brooses thou had ne'er a fellow,
For pith an' speed;
But ev'ry tail thou pay't them hollow,
Where'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
An' gar't them whaizle:
Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle
O' saugh or hazel.
Thou was a noble fittie-lan',
As e'er in tug or tow was drawn!
Aft thee an' I, in aught hours gaun,
On guid March-weather,
Hae turn'd sax rood beside our han'
Thou never braindg't an' fech't, an' fliskit,
But thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit,
An' spread abreed thy weel-fill'd brisket,
Wi' pith and pow'r,
Tid spritty knowes wad rair't and risket,
An' slypet owre.
When frosts lay lang, an' snaws were deep, An' threaten'd labour back to keep,
1 gied thy cog a weep-bit heap
Aboon the timmer;
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