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THE AULD FARMER'S
NEW-YEAR MORNING SALUTATION
HIS AULD MARE MAGGIE,
ON GIVING HER THE ACCUSTOMED RIPP OF CORN TO HANSEL IN THE NEW
A guid New-year I wish thee, Maggie!
I've seen the day,
Out-owre the lay.
Tho' now thou's dowie, stiff, crazy,
A bonnie gray:
Ance in a day.
Thou ance was i' the foremost rank,
As e'er tread yird ;
Like onie bird.
It's now some nine-an’-twenty year,
An' fifty mark;
An' thou was stark.
When first I gaed to woo my Jenny,
minnie: Tho' ye was trickie, slee, an' funnie,
Ye ne'er was donsie; But hamely, tawie, quiet, an' cannie,
An' unco sonsie.
That day ye pranc'd wi' muckle pride,
Wi' maiden air!
For sic a pair.
Tho' now ye dow but hoyte and hobble,
For heels an’ win!
Far, far behin'.
When thou an' I were young and skeigh,
An' tak the road!
An' ca't thee mad.
When thou was corn't, an' I was mellow,
For pith an’ speed;
Whare'er thou gaed.
The sma', droop-rumpl't, hunter cattle,
An' gart them whaizle ; Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle
O'saugh or hazel.
Thou was a noble fittie-lan',
On guid March weather, Hae turn'd sax rood beside our han',
For days thegither.
Thou never braindg't, an' fech't, an' fliskit,
Wi' pith an' pow'r,
When frosts lay lang, an' snaws were deep,
Aboon the timmer;
For that, or simmer.
In cart or car thou never reestit;
Then stood to blaw;
Thou snoov't awa.
My pleugh is now thy bairn-time a':
That thou hast nurst: They drew me thretteen pund an' twa,
The vera warst.
Monie a sair daurk we twa hae wrought,
We wad be beat!
Wi' something yet.
And thinkna, my auld, trusty servan', That now perhaps thou's less deservin, An' thy auld days may end in starvin,
For my last fou, A heapit stimpart, I'll reserve ane
Laid by for you.
We've worn to crazy years thegither ;
To some hain'd rig, Whare ye may nobly rax your leather,
Wi' sma' fatigue.
TO A MOUSE,
ON TURNING HER UP IN HER NEST WITH THE PLOUGH,
Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie,
Wi' bickering brattle!
Wi' murdering pattle !
I'm truly sorry man's dominion
Which maks thee startle
I doubtna, whyles, but thou may thieve;
'S a sma' request: I'll get a blessin wi' the lave,
And never miss't!
Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin!
O’ foggage green!
Baith snell an' keen !