ΙΟ 155 Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner, Sae fine a lady! Gae somewhere else, and seek your dinner Swith! in some beggar's hauffet squattle; In shoals and nations, Whare horn nor bane ne'er daur unsettle Now haud you there! ye're out o' sight, The vera tapmost, tow'ring height O' Miss's bonnet. My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose out, As plump an' grey as onie grozet; O for some rank, mercurial rozet I'd gie ye sic a hearty dose o't I wad na been surprised to spy You on an auld wife's flainen toy, Or aiblins some bit duddie boy, On's wyliecoat; But Miss's fine Lunardi-fie! How daur ye do 't! O Jenny, dinna toss your head, The blastie's makin! 40 Thae winks an' finger-ends, I dread, O wad some Power the giftie gie us It wad frae monie a blunder free us, What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us, What's a' your jargon o' your schools, What sairs your grammars? Ye'd better taen up spades and shools A set o' dull, conceited hashes Confuse their brains in college classes; An' syne they think to climb Parnassus Gie me ae spark o' Nature's fire, 1786. 45 5 ΙΟ 15 20 25 1785. Then, tho' I drudge thro' dub an' mire My Muse, though hamely in attire, May touch the heart. 30 1786. ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH Edina, Scotia's darling seat! All hail thy palaces and tow'rs, Here Wealth still swells the golden tide, Bids elegance and splendour rise; High wields her balance and her rod; Thy sons, Edina, social, kind, With open arms the stranger hail; Or modest Merit's silent claim: And never Envy blot their name! Thy daughters bright thy walks adorn, Heav'n's beauties on my fancy shine; I see the Sire of Love on high, And own His work indeed divine! 1786. There, watching high the least alarms, And marked with many a seamy scar: And oft repelled th' invader's shock. With awe-struck thought and pitying tears, Famed heroes, had their royal home: Alas, how changed the times to come! Their hapless race wild-wand'ring roam! Tho' rigid Law cries out, "'T was just!" Wild beats my heart to trace your steps, Old Scotia's bloody lion bore: Ev'n I, who sing in rustic lore, Haply my sires have left their shed, Edina, Scotia's darling seat! All hail thy palaces and tow'rs, 35 40 45 50 55 60 GREEN GROW THE RASHES, O CHORUS.-Green grow the rashes, O; Green grow the rashes, O; The sweetest hours that e'er I spend 1787. There's naught but care on ev'ry han', In every hour that passes, O; An' 't were na for the lasses, O? The war'ly race may riches chase, 1786. An' tho' at last they catch them fast, Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O. But gie me a cannie hour at e'en, An' war'ly cares an' war'ly men For you sae douce ye sneer at this, Ye're naught but senseless asses, 0: There wild woods grow, and rivers row, And monie a hill between; But day and night my fancy's flight Is ever wi' my Jean. I see her in the dewy flowers, 1787. 5 ΙΟ 15 20 5 ΙΟ I hear her in the tunefu' birds, |