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The Muse, nae Poet ever fand her,
An no think lang!
A heart-felt sang!
And I, wi' pleasure,
Bum owre their treasure.
In love fraternal:
Black fiend, infernal!
In Robert Burns.
My memory's no worth a preen ;
By this new light,*
*New light, a cant phrase iu the West of Scotland for those religious opinions which Dr. Taylor of Nois wich defended so strenuously.
'Bout which our herds sae aft hae been
Maist like to fight,
In days when mankind were but callans At Grammar, Logic, and sic talents, They took nae pains their speech to balance,
Or rules to gie, But spak their thoughts in plain, braid Lallains
Like you or me.
In thae auld times, they thought the moon, Just like sark, or pair o' shoon, Wore, by degrees, till her last roon,
Gaed past their viewin', An' shortly after she was done,
They gat a new one. This past for certain, undisputed : It ne're cam i' their heads to doubt it. Till chiels gat up an 'wad confute it,
An' ca'd it wrangi An' muckle din there was about it,
Baith loud and lang.
Some herds, weel learn'd upo' the beuk, Wad threap auld folk the thing misteuk ? For 'twas the auld moon turn'd a neuk,
An' out o' sight. An' backlins-comin, to the leuk,
She grew mair bright. This was deny'd, it was affirm'd; The herds an' hissles were alarm'); The rev’rend.gray-beards rav'd an' storm'd,
That beardless laddies should think they better were inform’d
Than their auld daddies.
Frae less to mair it gaed to sticks ;.
Wi' hearty crunt;
Were hang'd an' brunt,
Wi' nimble shanks,
Siç bluidy pranks.
Yell find ane plac'd;
Just quite barefac’d. Nae doubt the auld-light flocks are bleatin; Their zealous herds are vex'd an' sweatins Mysel, I've even seen them greetin
Wi' girnin spite, To hear the moon sae sadly lied on
By word an' write.
But shortly they will cowe the loups
To tak a flight,
An see them right.
Vol. I. P
The hindmost shaird, they'll fetch it wi' them
Just i' their pouch,
I think they'll crouch?
In logic tulzie,
Than mind sic brulzie.
EPISTLE TO J. R******.
ENCLOSING SOME POEMS
Q Rough, rude, ready-witted R******,
Your dreams* an' tricks
Straught to auld Nick's.
Ye hae sae monie cracks an' cants,
An' fill them fou;
Are an' seen thro',
*A certain humourous dream of his was then ma king a noise in the country-side.,
Hypocrisy, in mercy spare it!
The lads in black;
Rives't aff their back.
Think, wicked sinner, wha ye're skaithing, It's just the blue-gown badge an' claithing Osaunts; tak that, ye lea'e them naething
To ken them by,
Like you or I.
I will expect
And no neglect.
An' danc'd my fill!
At Bunker's Hill.
'Twas ae night, lately, in my fun, I gaed a roving wi' the gun, An' brought a partrick to the grun,
A bonie hen, An', as the twilight was begun,
Thought nane wad ken.
*A song he had promised the Author,