Wi' bitter, dearthfu' wines to mell, Or foreign gill. May gravels round his blather wrench, O' sour disdain, Out-owre a glass o' whisky punch Wi' honest men. O Whisky! saul o' plays an' pranks ! When wanting thee, what tuneless cranks Are my poor verses ! Thou comes they rattle i' their ranks At ither's a-s! Thee, Ferintosh! O sadly lost! May kill us a'; For loyal Forbes' charter'd boast Is ta'en awa! Thae curst horse-leeches o' th' Excise, Wha mak the Whisky Stells their prize! Haud up thy han', Deil! ance, twice, thrice! There, seize the blinkers ! An' bake them up in brunstane pies For poor d-n'd drinkers. Fortune! if thou'll but gie me still Tak a' the rest, An' deal't about as thy blind skill Directs thee best. THE AUTHOR'S EARNEST CRY AND PRAYER TO THE SCOTTISH REPRESENTATIVES IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS. Ye Irish Lords, ye Knights an' Squires, An' doucely manage our affairs In parliament, To you a simple poet's prayers Are humbly sent. Alas! my roupet Muse is hearse! Your honors' heart wi' grief 'twad pierce, To see her sittin on her a Low i' the dust, An' scriechin out prosaic verse, An' like to brust! Tell them wha hae the chief direction, An' rouse them up to strong conviction, Stand forth, an' tell yon premier youth, His servants humble: The muckle devil blaw ye south, If ye dissemble! Does ony great man glunch an' gloom? Wi' them wha grant 'em : If honestly they canna come, Far better want 'em. In gathering votes you werena slack; But raise your arm, an' tell your crack Paint Scotland greeting owre her thrissle Seizin a stell, Triumphant crushin't like a mussel Then on the tither hand present her, Colleaguing join, Picking her pouch as bare as winter Of a' kind coin. Is there, that bears the name o' Scot, Thus dung in staves, An' plunder'd o' her hindmost groat By gallows knaves? Alas! I'm but a nameless wight, Trode i' the mire an' out o' sight! But could I like Montgomeries fight, Or gab like Boswell, There's some sark-necks I wad draw tight, And' tie some hose well. God bless your Honors, can ye see't, An' gar them hear it, An' tell them wi' a patriot heat, Ye winna bear it? Some o' you nicely ken the laws, To mak harangues ; Then echo through Saint Stephen's wa's Auld Scotland's wrangs. Dempster, a true blue Scot I'se warran: The Laird o' Graham; An' ane, a chap that's d-mn'd auldfarren, Erskine, a spunkie Norland billie; An' monie ithers, Whom auld Demosthenes or Tully Might own for brithers. Arouse, my boys! exert your mettle, She'll teach you, wi' a reekin whittle, Anither sang. This while she's been in crankous mood, An' now she's like to rin red-wud About her Whisky. An', L-d, if ance they pit her till't, She'll tak the streets, An' rin her whittle to the hilt, I' the first she meets! For Gd sake, sirs! then speak her fair, An' to the muckle house repair, Wi' instant speed, An' strive, wi' a' your wit and lear, To get remead. Yon ill-tongu'd tinkler, Charlie Fox, 'E'en cowe the caddie; An' send him to his dicing box An' sportin lady. Tell yon guid bluid o' auld Boconnock's An' drink his health in auld Nanse Tinnock's If he some scheme, like tea an' winnocks, Wad kindly seek. Could he some commutation broach, I'll pledge my aith in guid braid Scotch, He needna fear their foul reproach Nor erudition, |