On thee aft Scotland chows her cood,1
In souple scones,3 the wale o' food!
Or tumbling in the boiling flood

Wi' kail an' beef;

But when thou pours thy strong heart's blood,

There thou shines chief.

Food fills the wame,5 an' keeps up livin:
Tho' life's a gift no worth receivin,
When heavy-dragg'd wi' pine an' grievin;
But oil'd by thee,

The wheels o' life gae down-hill, scrievin,

Wi' rattlin glee.

Thou clears the head o' doited? Lear:
Thou cheers the heart o' drooping Care;
Thou strings the nerves o' Labor sair,

At's weary toil:

Thou even brightens dark Despair

Wi' gloomy smile.

Aft, clad in massy siller weed,
Wi' Gentles thou erects thy head;
Yet humbly kind, in time o' need,

The poor man's wine,
His wee drap parritch, or his bread,

Thou kitchens fine.

Thou art the life o' public haunts;
But thee, what were our fairs and rants?
Ev'n godly meetings o' the saunts,

By thee inspir'd,

When gaping they besiege the tents,

Are doubly fir'd.

That merry night we get the corn in,
O sweetly, then, thou reams the horn in!
Or reekin on a New-year mornin

In cogs or bicker,

An' just a wee drap sp'ritual burn in,

An' gusty' sucker!

When Vulcan gies his bellows breath,
An' ploughmen gather wi' their graith,10
O rare! to see thee fizz an' freath

I' th' lugget caup!"
Then Burnewin12 comes on like Death

1 Chews her cud.

5 Belly.

2 Flexible.

10 Gear.

6 Swiftly.

7

At ev'ry chaup.13

3 A kind of bread. 4 The choice. Stupified. 8 A wooden dish. 11 A wooden cup with handle. 12 Burnewin-Burn-the-wind-the Blacksmith. 13 Blow.

9 Tasteful.

Nae mercy, then, for airn1 or steel;
The brawnie, bainie, ploughman chiel,
Brings hard owrehip,2 wi' sturdy wheel,

The strong forehammer,

Till block an' studdie3 ring an' reel

Wi' dinsome clamour.

When skirlin1 weanies see the light,
Thou maks the gossips clatter bright,
How fumbling cuifs5 their dearies slight,

Wae worth the name!

Nae Howdie gets a social night,

Or plack' frae them.

When neebors anger at a plea,
An' just as wuds as wud can be,
How easy can the barley-bree

Cement the quarrel !

It's aye the cheapest Lawyer's fee,

To taste the barrel.

Alake! that e'er my Muse has reason
To wyte1o her countrymen wi' treason!
But monie daily weet their weason11

Wi' liquors nice,

An' hardly, in a winter's season,

E'er spier12 her price.
Wae worth that brandy, burning trash!
Fell source o' monie a pain an' brash!
Twins monie a poor, doylt, druken hash,18
Ŏ' half his days;

An' sends, beside, auld Scotland's cash

To her warst faes.11

Ye Scots, wha wish auld Scotland well,

Ye chief, to you my tale I tell,
Poor plackless devils like mysel,
It sets you ill,

Wi' bitter, dearthfu' wines to mell,

Or foreign gill.
May gravels round his blather wrench,
An' gouts torment him, inch by inch,
Wha twists his gruntle wi' a glunch

O' sour disdain,

O Whisky! soul o' plays an' pranks!
Accept a Bardie's gratefu' thanks!
When wanting thee, what tuneless cranks

Thou comes

Are my poor verses!
-they rattle i' their ranks
At ither's a-
-s!

Thee, Ferintosh !1 O sadly lost!
Scotland, lament fra coast to coast!
Now colic-grips, an' barkin hoast,

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-d drinkers.

Fortune! if thou'll but gie me still
Hale breeks, a scone, an' Whisky gill,
An' rowth o' rhyme to rave at will,

Tak' a' the rest,

An' deal't about as thy blind skill

Directs the best.

THE AUTHOR'S EARNEST CRY AND PRAYER1

TO THE SCOTCH REPRESENTATIVES IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS.

Dearest of Distillation! last and best

How art thou lost!

Parody on Milton.

YE Irish Lords, ye Knights an' Squires,
Wha represent our brughs an' shires,

An' doucely manage our affairs

In Parliament,

To you a simple Bardie's prayers

Are humbly sent.

Alas! my roupet5 Muse is hearse!

Your Honor's heart wi' grief 'twad pierce,

1 From Ferintosh, in Cromartyshire, where the Forbes family long had the privilege of distilling whisky, duty free.

2 Stills.

3 Breeches.

4 This was written before the Act anent the Scotch Distilleries, of Session t786; for which Scotland and the Author return their most grateful hanks.-R. B.

5 Hoarse.

To see her sitten on her a—

Low i' the dust,

An' scriechen out prosaic verse,

An' like to brust!

Tell them whae hae the chief direction,
Scotland an' me's in great affliction,
E'er sin' they laid that curst restriction
On Aquavitæ ;

An' rouse them up to strong conviction,

An' move their pity.

Stand forth, an' tell yon Premier Youth,
The honest, open, naked truth:

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 and gloom?
Speak out, an' never fash your thoom!
Let posts an' pensions sink or soom

Wi' them wha grant 'em :

If honestly they canna come,

Far better want 'em.

In gath'rin votes you were na slack;
Now stand as tightly by your tack ;
Ne'er claw your lug, an' fidge your back,
An' hum an' haw;

But raise your arm, an' tell your crack1

Before them a'.

Paint Scotland greetin owre her thrissle;2
Her mutchkin stoup as toom's a whissle :3
An' d-d Excisemen in a bussle,1

Seizin a Stell,

Triumphant crushin't like a mussel,

Or lampit shell.

Then on the tither hand present her,
A blackguard Smuggler, right behint her,
An' cheek-for-chow, a chuffie Vintner,

Is there, that bears the name o' Scot,
But feels his heart's bluid rising hot,
To see his poor auld Mither's pot

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 out o' sight!

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 Honors, can ye see't,
The kind, auld, cantie Carlin greet,
An' no get warmly to your feet,

An' gar them hear it!

An' tell them, wi' a patriot-heat,

Ye winna bear it!

Some o' you nicely ken the laws,
To round the period an' pause,
An' with rhetoric clause on clause

To mak harangues;
Then echo thro' Saint Stephen's wa's

Auld Scotland's wrangs.

Dempster,1 a true blue Scot I'se warran;
Thee, aith2-detesting, chaste Kilkerran ;3
An' that glib-gabbet1 Highland Baron,

The Laird o' Graham;5
An' ane, a chap that's d-d auldfarran,"
Dundas his name.

Erskine, a spunkie Norland billie;
True Campbells, Frederick an' Ilay;
An' Livingstone, the bauld Sir Willie ;

An' monie ithers,

Whom auld Demosthenes, or Tully,

Might own for brithers.

Arouse, my boys! exert your mettle,
To get auld Scotland back her kettle;
Or faith! I'll wad my new pleugh-pettle,
Ye'll see't or lang,
She'll teach you, wi' a reekin whittle,
Anither sang.

1 George Dempster, Esq., of Dunnichen, in Forfarshire.

3 Sir Adam Ferguson.-R. B.

8

2 Oath.

* Quick and smooth-speaking. 5 The Duke of Montrose.-R. B.

6 Sagacious.

Fiery.

8 Plough-staff.