But Homer-like, the glowran byke, CHORUS. For a' that, and a' that, And twice as muckle's a' that; I've lost but ane, I've twa behin', I've wife eneugh for a' that. II. I never drank the Muses' stank, But there it streams, and richly reams, For a' that, &c. III. Great love I bear to a' the fair, Their humble slave, and a' that; But lordly will I hold it still For a' that, &c. IV. In raptures sweet, this hour we meet, For a' that, &c. V. Their tricks and craft have put me daft, The wife slade cannie to her bed, "A countra laird had taen the batts, The lad, for twa guid gimmer pets, "A bonie lass, ye kenn'd her name, Horn sent her aff to her lang hame, "That's just a swatch o' Hornbook's way; Thus does he poison, kill, an' slay, Yet stops me o' my lawfu' prey, "But hark! I'll tell you of a plot, As dead's a herrin; Niest time we meet, I'll wad a groat, But just as he began to tell, The auld kirk-hammer strak the bell, Some wee short hour ayont the twal, I took the way that pleas'd mysel', And sae did Death. A DREAM. Thoughts, words, and deeds, the statute blames with reason; [On reading, in the public papers, the Laureat's Ode, with the other parade of June 4, 1786, the author was no sooner dropt asleep, than he imagined himself transported to the birth-day levee; and in his dreaming fancy, made the following address.] I. GUID morning to your Majesty! May heav'n augment your blisses, I see ye're complimented thrang, By monie a lord and lady; That's unco easy said ay; The Poets, too, a venal gang Wi' rhymes weel-turn'd and ready, Wad gar ye trow ye ne'er do wrang, But ay unerring steady, On sic a day. III. For me! before a monarch's face, Than you this day. IV. "Tis very true, my sov'reign king, Your royal nest, beneath your wing, Than did ae day. V. Far be't frae me that I aspire To blame your legislation, Or say, ye wisdom want, or fire, To rule this mighty nation! But faith! I muckle doubt, my Sire, Ye've trusted ministration To chaps, wha, in a barn or byre, Wad better fill'd their station, VI. And now ye've gien auld Britain peace, Till she has scarce a tester: Or, faith! I fear, that wi' the geese, I' the craft some day. VII. I'm no mistrusting Willie Pitt, When taxes he enlarges, (An' Will's a true guid fallow's get, An' boats this day. VIII. Adieu, my Liege! may freedom geck An' may ye rax corruption's neck, In loyal, true affection, To pay your Queen, with due respect, My fealty an' subjection, This great birth-day |