Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare, THE GOWDEN LOCKS OF ANNA YESTREEN I had a pint o' wine, The hungry Jew in wilderness, Ye monarchs, take the East and West Gie me, within my straining grasp, There I'll despise Imperial charms, Awa, thou flaunting God of Day! Ilk Star, gae hide thy twinkling ray, Come, in thy raven plumage, Night, (Sun, Moon, and Stars, withdrawn a';) And bring an angel-pen to write POSTSCRIPT The Kirk an' State may join an' tell, And I'll gae to my Anna. She is the sunshine o' my e'e, SONG-I MURDER HATE I MURDER hate by flood or field, The deities that I adore Are social Peace and Plenty; I would not die like Socrates, GUDEWIFE, COUNT THE LAWIN GANE is the day, and mirk's the night, Chorus.-Then gudewife, count the lawin, Then gudewife, count the lawin, There's wealth and ease for gentlemen, For ilka man that's drunk's a lord. My coggie is a haly pool That heals the wounds o' care and dool; At the close of the contest for representing the Dumfries Burghs, 1790. Addressed to R. GRAHAM, Esq. of Fintry. FINTRY, my stay in worldly strife, Come then, wi' uncouth kintra fleg, O'er Pegasus I'll fling my leg, And ye shall see me try him. But where shall I go rin a ride, In manhood's various paths and ways Thus I break aff wi' a' my birr, Alas! curst wi' eternal fogs, And damn'd in everlasting bogs, As sure's the creed I'll blunder! I'll stain a band, or jaup a gown, Sair do I rue my luckless fate, When, as the Muse an' Deil wad hae't, Suppose I take a spurt, and mix Amang the wilds o' Politics Electors and elected, Where dogs at Court (sad sons of bitches!) Septennially a madness touches, Till all the land's infected. All hail! Drumlanrig's haughty Grace, Once godlike great in story; Hate, envy, oft the Douglas bore, And sunk them in contempt; I'll sing the zeal Drumlanrig bears, Of princes, and their darlings: And, bent on winning borough touns, Combustion thro' our boroughs rode, Of mad unmuzzled lions; But cautious Queensberry left the war, But left behind him heroes bright, Heroes in Cæsarean fight, Or Ciceronian pleading. O for a throat like huge Mons-Meg, Beneath Drumlanrig's banners; Heroes and heroines commix, All in the field of politics, To win immortal honours. M'Murdo and his lovely spouse, She won each gaping burgess' heart, Amang their wives and lasses. Craigdarroch led a light-arm'd core, Like Hecla streaming thunder: And bared the treason under. In either wing two champions fought; And Welsh who ne'er yet flinch'd his ground, Miller brought up th' artillery ranks, While Maxwelton, that baron bold, To these what Tory hosts oppos'd, Squadrons, extended long and large, With furious speed rush to the charge, What verse can sing, what prose narrate, The butcher deeds of bloody Fate, Amid this mighty tulyie! |