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If ony mettled stirrah1 grien?
For favour frae a lady's ein,
He mauna care for being seen
Before he sheath
His body in a scabbard clean
For gin he comes wi' coat thread-bare,
A feg for him she winna care,
But crook her bony mou' fu' sair,
An' scald him baith.
Wooers shou'd ay their travel spare
Without Braid Claith.
Braid Claith lends fouk an unco heese
Makes mony kail-worms butter-flies,
Gies mony a doctor his degrees
For little skaith®:
In short, you may be what you please
Wi' gude Braid Claith.
For thof ye had as wise a snout on,
As Shakespeare or Sir Isaac Newton,
Your judgment fouk wud hae a doubt on,
I'll tak' my aith,
Till they cou'd see ye wi' a suit on
O' gude Braid Claith.
FROM CALLER WATER.'
Whan father Adie' first pat spade in
The bonny yeard of antient Eden R
His amry had nae liquor laid in,
To fire his mou',
Nor did he thole his wife's upbraidin'
For being fou.
long for. 3 if 4 jolk. 5 lift. 6 harm. Adam. • 'Langsyne in Eden's bonny yard.'
Burns' Address to the Deil.
A caller burn o' siller sheen,
Ran cannily out o'er the green,
And whan our gutcher's1 drouth had been
To bide right sair,
He loutit down and drank bedeen"
A dainty skair1.
His bairns a' before the flood
Had langer tack o' flesh and blood,
And on mair pithy shanks they stood
Than Noah's line,
Wha still hae been a feckless brood
Wi' drinking wine.
The fuddlin' Bardies now-a-days
Rin maukin"-mad in Bacchus' praise,
And limp and stoiter thro' their lays
While each his sea of wine displays
As big's the Pontic.
My muse will no gang far frae hame,
Or scour a' airths to hound for fame;
In troth, the jillet' ye might blame
For thinking on 't,
Whan eithly she can find the theme
Of aqua font.
This is the name that doctors use
Their patients' noddles to confuse;
Wi' simples clad in terms abstruse,
They labour still,
In kittle words to gar you roose 10
Their want o' skill.
But we'll hae nae sick clitter-clatter,
And briefly to expound the matter,
It shall be ca'd good Caller Water,
Than whilk, I trow,
Few drogs in doctors' shops are better
For me or you.
Tho' joints are stiff as ony rung1,
Your pith wi' pain be fairly dung,
Be you in Caller Water flung
Out o'er the lugs3,
Twill mak you souple, swack and young,
Tho' cholic or the heart-scad teaze us,
Or ony inward pain should seize us,
It masters a' sic fell diseases
That would ye spulzie,
And brings them to a canny crisis
Wi' little tulzie o.
Wer't na for it the bonny lasses
Would glowr nae mair in keeking-glasses",
And soon tine dint o' a' the graces
That aft conveen
In gleefu' looks and bonny faces,
To catch our ein.
The fairest then might die a maid,
And Cupid quit his shooting trade,
For wha thro' clarty' masquerade
Could then discover,
Whether the features under shade
Were worth a lover?
ODE TO THE GOWDSPINK 10.
Frae fields where Spring her sweets has blawn
Wi' caller verdure o'er the lawn,
The gowdspink comes in new attire,
The brawest 'mang the whistling choir,
That, ere the sun can clear his ein,
Wi' glib notes sane 11 the simmer's green.
Sure Nature herried 12 mony a tree,
For spraings 18 and bonny spats to thee;
7 looking-glasses. 8 lose regard for. 11 bless. 12 plundered.
13 different coloured stripes.
Nae mair the rainbow can impart
Sic glowing ferlies' o' her art,
Whase pencil wrought its freaks at will
On thee the sey-piece 2 o' her skill.
Nae mair through straths in simmer dight'
We seek the rose to bless our sight;
Or bid the bonny wa'-flowers sprout
On yonder Ruin's lofty snout.
Thy shining garments far outstrip
The cherries upo' Hebe's lip,
And fool the tints that Nature chose
To busk and paint the crimson rose.
'Mang men, wae's heart! we aften find
The brawest drest want peace of mind,
While he that gangs wi' ragged coat
Is weil contentit wi' his lot.
Whan wand wi' glewy birdlime's set,
To steal far aff your dautit3 mate,
Blyth wad ye change your cleething gay
In lieu of lav'rock's sober grey.
In vain thro' woods you sair may ban
Th' envious treachery of man,
That, wi' your gowden glister ta'en,
Still haunts you on the simmer's plain
And traps you 'mang the sudden fa's*
O' winter's dreary dreepin' snaws.
Now steekit frae the gowany field,
Frae ilka fav'rite houff" and bield,
But mergh, alas! to disengage
Your bonny bouck frae fettering cage,
Your free-born bosom beats in vain
For darling liberty again.
In window hung, how aft we see
Thee keek around at warblers free.
That carrol saft, and sweetly sing
Wi' a' the blythness of the spring?
Like Tantalus they hing you here
To spy the glories o' the year;
And tho' you're at the burnie's brink,
They douna' suffer you to drink.
Ah, Liberty! thou bonny dame,
How wildly wanton is thy stream,
Round whilk the birdies a' rejoice,
An' hail you wi' a gratefu' voice.
The gowdspink chatters joyous here,
And courts wi' gleesome sangs his peer:
The mavis frae the new-bloom'd thorn
Begins his lauds at earest morn;
And herd lowns 2 louping o'er the grass,
Need far less fleetching3 till their lass,
Than paughty damsels bred at courts,
Wha thraw their mou's and take the dorts':
But, reft of thee, fient flee we care
For a' that life ahint can spare.
The gowdspink, that sae lang has kend
Thy happy sweets (his wonted friend),
Her sad confinement ill can brook
In some dark chamber's dowy nook;
Tho' Mary's hand his nebb supplies,
Unkend to hunger's painfu' cries,
Ev'n beauty canna chear the heart
Frae life, frae liberty apart;
For now we tyne its wonted lay,
Sae lightsome sweet, sae blythely gay.
Thus Fortune aft a curse can gie,
To wyle us far frae liberty :
Then tent her syren smiles wha list,
I'll ne'er envy your girnal's 1o grist;
For whan fair freedom smiles nae mair,
Care I for life? Shame fa' the hair:
A field o'ergrown wi' rankest stubble,
The essence of a paltry bubble.