And set our stamacks in a low,

Or we turn'd tail.

Ah, Johnny! aften did I grumble
Frae cozy bed fu' ear' to tumble;
Whan art and part I'd been in some ill,
Troth I was sweer,

His words they brodit like a wumill
Frae ear to ear.

Whan I had been fu' laith to rise,
John than begude to moralize :
"The tither nap, the sluggard cries,
"And turns him round;

"Sae spake auld Solomon the wise
"Divine profound!"

Nae dominie, or wise mess John,
Was better lear'd in Solomon ;
He cited proverbs one by one

Ilk vice to tame;

He gar'd ilk sinner sigh an' groan,
And fear hell's flame.

"I hae nae meikle skill, quo' he, "In what you ca' philosophy;

46 It tells that baith the earth and sea

"Rin round about;

"Either the Bible tells a lie,

Or you're a' out.

"Its i' the psalms o' David writ,

"That this wide warld ne'er shou'd flit,

"But on the waters coshly sit

Fu' steeve and lasting;

K

"An' was na he a head o' wit

"At sic contesting!"

On einings cauld wi' glee we'd trudge
To heat our shins in Johnny's lodge;
The de'il ane thought his bum to budge
Wi' siller on us:

To claw het pints we'd never grudge
O' molationis.

Say ye, red gowns! that aften here
IIae toasted bakes to Kattie's beer,
Gin e'er thir days hae had their peer,
Sae blyth,,sae daft;
You'll ne'er again in life's career
Sit ha'f sae saft.

Wi' haffit locks sae smooth and sleek,
John look'd like ony antient Greek ;
He was a Naz'rene a' the week,

And doughtna tell out

A bawbee Scots to straik his cheek

Till Sunday fell out.

For John ay lo'ed to turn the pence,
Thought poortith was a great offence:1

1 In a very humorous letter to Andrew Gray from 'Philo-Crambo,' in reply to his second epistle to Fergusson, this and the succeeding stanza

are very happily introduced. Fergusson had taken no notice

of

Andrew

Gray's second epistle, and therefore in duty bound Philo-Crambo did so

for him. He says

* * * I maun answer thine
Because that Robin

Nae leisure has to write a line,

For thrang wi' jobbin.

For he's (the truth to you I'll own)
Sae warldly an' sae greedy grown,

"What recks tho'

ye

ken mood and tense?

"A hungry wyme

"For gowd wad wi' them baith dispense "At ony time.

"Ye ken what ails maun ay befal “The chiel that will be prodigal; "When wasted to the very spaul

"He turns his tusk,

"For want o' comfort to his saul

"O hungry husk !

Ye royit lowns! just do as he'd do;
For mony braw green shaw and meadow
He's left to cheer his dowy widow,

His winsome Kate,

That to him prov'd a canny she-dow,
Baith ear' and late.

There's ne'er a scribe in a' our town
That is mair keen

O' cash, than this young thrifty loun
Our couthy frien'.

He owns, he "loves to turn the pence,"
Says "Poortith is a great offence:

"What recks tho' ye ken mood and tense?
"A hungry wyme

"For gowd wad wi' them baith dispense
At ony time.

"Ye ken what ails maun ay befal

The chiel that will be prodigal;
"When wasted to the very spaul
"He turns his tusk,

"For want o' comfort to his saul

"O hungry husk!"

Perth Magazine, Vol. vi. pp. 51, 52: October 8th, 1773.

A DRINK ECLOGUE.

LANDLADY, BRANDY AND WHISKY.

ON auld worm-eaten skelf, in cellar dunk,
Whare hearty benders syn'd their drouthy trunk,
Twa chappin bottles, pang'd wi' liquor fu',
Brandy the tane, the tither Whisky blue,
Grew canker'd; for the twa ware het within,
An' het-skin'd fock to flyting soon begin;

The Frenchman fizz'd, and first wad foot the field,
While paughty Scotsman scorn'd to beenge or yield.

BRANDY.

Black be your fa! ye cottar loun mislear'd, Blawn by the porters, chairman, city-guard; 1 Ha'e ye nae breeding, that you cock 2 your nose Anent my sweetly gusted cordial dose. I've been near pauky courts, and aften there Ha'e ca'd hystericks frae the dowy fair; And courtiers aft gaed greening for my smack, To gar them bauldly glour, and gashly crack. The priest, to bang mishaunters black, and cares, Has sought me in his closet for his prayers. What tig then takes the fates, that they can thole, Thrawart to fix me in this weary hole,

Sair fash'd wi' din, wi' darkness, and wi' stinks, Whare cheery day-light thro' the mirk ne'er blinks.

WHISKY.

But ye maun be content, and mauna rue, Tho' erst ye’ve bizz'd in bonny madam's mou';

1 See p. 6, Note 2.

2 Var. shaw.