Tell them wha hae the chief direction, An' rouse them up to strong conviction, An' move their pity. Stand forth, an' tell yon Premier-Youth, Tell him o' mine an' Scotland's drouth, 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 gath'rin votes you were na 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, Picking her pouch as bare as winter 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, But could I like Montgomeries fight, Or gab like Boswell; There's some sark-necks I wad draw tight, An' tie some hose well. God bless your honours, 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 thro' saint Stephen's wa's Auld Scotland's wrangs. Dempster, a true blue Scot I'se warran; The Laird o' Graham 3; Erskine, a spunkie Norland billie ; An' monie ithers, Whom auld Demosthenes or Tully Might own for brithers. Thee, sodga Hugh', my watchman stented, I ken if that your sword were wanted, Ye'd lend your hand, Arouse, my boys! exert your mettle, Anither sang. This while she's been in crankous mood, (Deil na they never mair no guid, Play'd her that pliskie!) An' now she's like to rin red-wud 2 Sir Adam Ferguson. About her whisky. 3 The Duke of Montrose. 4 Earl of Eglintoun, then Colonel Montgomery, and representative for Ayrshire. An' L-d, if ance they pit her till❜t, She'll tak the streets, An' rin her whittle to the hilt, I' th' first she meets! For G-d sake, sirs! then speak her fair, An' to the muckle house repair, Wi' instant speed, An' strive, wi' a' your wit and lear, 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 I'll be his debt twa mashlum bonnocks, If he some scheme, like tea an' winnocks, Wad kindly seek. Could he some commutation broach, Nor erudition, Yon mixtie-maxtie queer hotch-potch, The Coalition. 5 A worthy old hostess of the author's in Mauchline, where be sometimes studied politics over a glass of gude auld Scotch drink. Auld Scotland has a raucle tongue; To tak their part, Tho' by the neck she should be strung, An' now, ye chosen Five-and-Forty, An' kick your place, Ye'll snap your fingers, poor an' hearty, Before his face. God bless your honours a' your days, That haunt St. Jamie's! Your humble poet sings an' prays While Rab his name is, POSTSCRIPT. LET half-starv'd slaves in warmer skies But blythe and frisky, She eyes her freeborn, martial boys VOL. I. Tak aff their whisky D |