"At Andrew's shall thy praise remain, While ale is made of malt and grain, While Johnnie trembles at the dean

:

Ev'n, Nic, so long

Shall bards thy hapless fate complain

In lofty song.

"What though the Killeigh knell be broke? Kind memory shall thy name invoke,

And every jovial heart of oak

Inscribe thy stone

With epitaphs, at whose each stroke

The De'il would groan,

"Fu' long shall Marks * thy merit tell, And Hugh recount thy gambols well: For in sly pranks thou bor'st the bell,

And wouldst succeed;

While Gragueall* cries, in sad farewell,

"Nick Surlock's dead.'

"O matchless taylor, whose bra † clothes Would swathe so fine the country beaus! Must Death thus take thee by the nose,

And pinch it red;

While boys resound, in tuneful woes,

'Our taylor's dead ?

*Marks and Gragueall, two of his village friends.

+ Brave, fine.

+ Dress.

"When the old surly haugher * came, Why didst thou not defend thy fame; His dog's-ears with thy scissars maim,

Or hurl thy goose?

Ah, no! poor wight, thou went'st quite tame Into his noose.

"Done-over taylor' art thou now: A cold stone on thy weam below, Knock'd by thy rude carniv'rous foe

Upon the head;

Ah! soon shall ill-made garments shew,

Nice Nick is dead."

THE DEATH OF POOR DAVIE, THE KILLEIGH PIPER.

"COME all ye jolly folks of Killeigh, And ponder on the tale I tell ye: Relinquish Susan, Kate, and Nelly,

And droop the head;

Grim Death has stopt your piper's gullie † ;

Poor Davie's dead.

* Death.

+ Throat,

"Wae's me! no more shall thy stuff'd pudding Set heels quick stamping on a sudden,

And fill the hearts of Giles and Cudden
With huge delight:

Just when the rose of life was budding,

Came a fell blight.

"Oft have I heard your windy music
Till it would make both me and you sick,
And drunk the beer of Goody Cusack
Till darkness fled;

Now on your grave I must a yew stick;

Poor Davie's dead!

"When Death, the gilligapus, stole To pluck away thy gabby soul, Had'st thou inspir'd thy tuneful hole

With skilful head,

He would have run like filly-foal;

But now thou'rt dead.

"Southerne shall strew thy coal-black hearse

With epic Hudibrastic verse;

Thy praise in lofty lays rehearse

And blath'ring rhyme;

Wow, he thy future fame shall nurse

In scrawls sublime.

* Bagpipe.

+ Ah me, alas.

"To greyhound's tail he'll tie* thy glory,
And propagate the rey'rend story:
Fam'd as the famous John-a-Dory,

His song

shall save ye;

And tell to trimmer, whig, and tory,
Hic jacet Davies

"At wedding-dinner when thou'st been, With breeches red and cravat clean,

How thou would'st tune thy engine keen;

And, droning loudly,

Set cats, maids, dogs, upon the green,

A prancing proudly!

"Then, when the sheepskin cloth was spread,

Grasp at the bacon white and red,

Against the tankard knock thy head,

Or spill the gravy;

While younkers laugh'd at a' you said,

Right hum'rous Davie.

"Around thy tomb shall May-maids revel, Scatt'ring sweet flow'rs to scare the devil, And keep thy corse from nightly evil;

And bless the sod

Where shuffling Davie, blithe yet civil,

Lies cold as toad."

* A custom he used to put in practice.

RECANTATORY POSTSCRIPT.

"BE it known to all men, as I stumbled Towards Hughye's cot, and fell, and fumbled, Something I heard that strangely grumbled: Amaz'd I canter;

Lest by the fays I should be home led,

Or Ariel's chanter.

"However, I took heart o' grace, And ken'd a noise i' that same place, At which I blest myself with face

As pale as stone;

For I could swear, in any case,

'Twas Davie's drone.

"So in I went, pry'd all about; The people wonder'd at the rout: At last, with one outrageous shout,

Unkennel'd Davie;

So stunn'd, that scarce one word came out,

To say God save ye !'

"Like that madcap in Hamlet's play, We star'd, and star'd our fears away; And then sat down, full spruce and gay,

As sound as cherry:

And Davie's here this very day,

Alive and merry.