And drink his health in auld Nanse Tinnock's'
Nine times a week,

If he some scheme, like tea and winnocks,"
Wad kindly seek.

Could he some commutation broach,
I'll pledge my aith in guid braid Scotch,
He need na fear their foul reproach,
Nor erudition,

Yon mixtie-maxtie queer hotch-potch,
The Coalition.

Auld Scotland has a raucle tongue;
She's just a devil wi' a rung;
And if she promise auld or young
To tak their part,

stout

bludgeon

Though by the neck she should be strung,
She'll no desert.

And now, ye chosen Five-and-Forty,
May still your mither's heart support ye;

1 A worthy old hostess of the author's in Mauchline, where he sometimes studies politics over a glass of guid auld Scotch drink. B. Nanse's story was different. On seeing the poem, she declared that the poet had never been but once or twice in her house. A portrait of Nanse was taken by Brooks in 1799, and has been engraved.

2 The young Chancellor of the Exchequer had gained some credit by a measure introduced in 1784 for preventing smug. ghag of tea by reducing the duty, the revenue being compen sated by a tax on windows.

Then, though a minister grow dorty,
And kick your place,

Ye'll snap your fingers poor and hearty,
Before his face.

God bless your honours a' your days,
Wi' sowps o' kail and brats o' claise,
In spite o' a' the thievish kaes

That haunt St. Jamie's!

Your humble Poet sings and prays,
While Rab his name is.

sulky

suits

jackdaws

POSTSCRIPT.

Let half-starved slaves in warmer skies
See future wines, rich clust'ring, rise;
Their lot auld Scotland ne'er envíes,
But blithe and frisky,

She eyes her freeborn, martial boys
Tak aff their whisky.

What though their Phoebus kinder warms, While fragrance blooms and beauty charms! When wretches range, in famished swarms, The scented groves,

Or hounded forth, dishonour arms

In hungry droves.

Their gun's a burden on their shouther; They downa bide the stink o' powther; canno

Their bauldest thought's a hank'ring

swither

To stan' or rin,

uncertainty

Till skelpa shot they're aff, a'thr'owther, slap To save their skin.

But bring a Scotchman frae his hill,
Clap in his cheek a Highland gill,
Say such is royal George's will,
And there's the foe,

He has nae thought, but how to kill
Twa at a blow.

Nae cauld, faint-hearted doubtings tease him ; Death comes wi' fearless eye he sees him; Wi' bluidy han' a welcome gies him;

And when he fa's,

His latest draught o' breathin' lea❜es him
In faint huzzas !

Sages their solemn een may steek,

And raise a philosophic reek,

shut

mist

And physically causes seek,

In clime and season;

But tell me whisky's name in Greek,
I'll tell the reason.

Scotland, my auld, respected mither!

Though whiles ye moistify your leather, sometimes Till whare ye sit, on craps o' heather

crope

Ye tine your dam;

Freedom and whisky gang thegither! -
Tak aff your dram!

lose

THE AULD FARMER'S NEW-YEAR MORNING SALUTATION TO HIS AULD MARE MAGGIE,

ON GIVING HER THE ACCUSTOMED RIPP OF CORN, TO HANSEL IN THE NEW YEAR.

To the early part of 1786 may be referred a poem which seems to have attracted less attention than most others of the same degree of effort, but which, we think, presents a most pleasing strain of that benevolent feeling which Burns entertained towards the humbler animals. He here assumes a fictitious character- that of an old farmer.

A GUID New-year I wish thee, Maggie!
Hae, there's a ripp to thy auld baggie: handful
Though thou's howe-backit, now, and hollow-backed
knaggie,

I've seen the day

Thou could hae gaen like ony staggie
Out-owre the lay.

Though now thou's dowie, stiff, and crazy,
And thy auld hide's as white's a daisy,
I've seen thee dappl't, sleek, and glaizie,
A bonny gray:

bony

colt

drooping

He should been tight that daur❜t to raize

thee

Ance in a day.

Thou ance was i' the foremost rank,

excite

A filly buirdly, steeve, and swank, stout--firm-stately And set weel down a shapely shank

As e'er tread yird;

And could hae flown out-owre a stank
Like ony bird.

It's now some nine-and-twenty year,
Sin' thou was my guid-father's meare;
He gied me thee, o' tocher clear,

And fifty mark;

Though it was sma', 'twas weel-won gear,
And thou was stark.

When first I gaed to woo my Jenny,
Ye then was trottin' wi' your minnie;
Though ye was trickie, slee, and funnie,
Ye ne'er was donsie:

But hamely, tawie,' quiet, and cannie,
And unco sonsie.

That day ye pranced wi' muckle pride,
When ye bure hame my bonny bride:
And sweet and gracefu' she did ride,
Wi maiden air.

ground

morass

dowry

strong

mother

mischievous

That allows itself peaceably to be handled

engaging