Imprimis, then, for carriage cattle,
I hae four brutes o' gallant mettle,
As ever drew afore a pettle.
My Lan'-afore's * a guid auld has-been,
An' wight an' wilfu' a' his days seen:
My Lan'-ahin's a weel gaun fillie,
That aft has borne me hame frae Killie
An' your auld burro' monie a time,
In days when riding was nae crime;
But ance, when in my wooing pride,
I, like a blockhead, boost to ride,
The wilfu' creature sae I pat to,
(L—d pardon a' my sins, an' that to!)
I play'd my fillie sic a shavie,
She's a' bedevil'd wi' the spavie.
My Furr-ahin's § a wordy beast
As e'er in tug or tow was trac❜d.
The fourth's a Highland Donald hastie,
A d-n'd red-wud Kilburnie blastie;
Forbye a Cowt o' Cowt's the wale,
As ever ran afore a tail.

If he be spar'd to be a beast,
He'll draw me fifteen pun' at least.

Wheel-carriages I hae but few,Three carts, an' twa are feckly new; Ane auld wheel-barrow, mair for token, Ae leg an' baith the trams are broken; I made a poker o' the spin'le, An' my auld mither brunt the trin'le.

The fore-horse on the left-hand, in the plough. †The hindmost on the left-hand, in the plough. + Kilmarnock

The hindmost horse on the right-hand, in the plough

For men, I've three mischievous boys, Tun deils for rantin and for noise; A gaudsman ane, a thrasher t'other, Wee Davoc hauds the nowt in fother. I rule them as I ought, discreetly, Ar' aften labor them completely; An' ay on Sundays, duly, nightly, I on the questions targe them tightly; Till, faith! wee Davoc's turn'd sae gleg, Tho' scarcly langer than your leg, He'll screed you aff Effectual Calling, As fast as onie in the dwalling. I've nane in female servan' station, (L-d, keep me ay frae a' temptation!) I hae na wife; and that my bliss is, An' ye hae laid na tax on misses; An' then, if kirk-folk dinna clutch me, I ken the devils dare na touch me.

Wi' weans I'm mair than weel contented, Heav'n sent me ane mair than I wanted; My sonsie, smirking, dear-bought Bess, She stares the daddie in her face, Enough of aught ye like but grace; But her, my bonie, sweet, wee lady I've paid eneugh for her already; An' gin ye tax her, or her mither, B' the L-d, ye'se get them a' thegither

And now, remember, Mr. Aiken, Nae kind of license out I'm takin' Frae this time forth, I do declare, I'se ne'er ride horse nor hizzie mair; Thro' dirt an' dub for life I'll paddle, Ere I sae dear pay for a saddle!

My travel a' on foot I'll shank it,
I've sturdy bearers, Gude be thankit.

The kirk an' you may tak you that,
It puts but little in your pat:
Sae dinna put me in your buke,
Nor for my ten white shillings luke.

This list, wi' my ain hand I wrote it,
Day and date as under notit;

Then, know all ye whom it concerns,

Subscripsi huic,

Mossgiel, Feb. 22, 1786.

ROBERT BUrns.

TO A LOUSE,

ON SEEING ONE ON A LADY'S BONNET, AT CHURCH.

HA! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie?
Your impudence protects you sairly,
I canna say but ye strunt rarely

Owre gauze an' lace;

Tho' faith, I fear ye dine but sparely
On sic a place.

Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner,
Detested, shunn'd, by saunt and sinner,
How dare ye set your fit upon her,
Sae fine a lady?

Gae somewhere else, and seek your dinner
On some poor body!

Swith, in some beggar's haffet squattle: There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle Wi' ither kindred jumpin cattle,

In shoals and nations:

Whare horn nor bane ne'er dare unsettle Your thick plantations.

Now haud ye there, ye're out o' sight,
Below the fatt'rils, snug an' tight:
Na, faith, ye yet! ye'll no be right
Till ye've got on it,

The vera tapmost, tow'ring height,
O' Miss's bonnet.

My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose out,
As plump and gray as onie grozet;
O for some rank, mercurial rozet,
Or fell red smeddum,

I'd gie you sic a hearty dose o't,
Wad dress your droddum!

I wad na been surpris'd 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 dare you do't?

O, Jenny, dinna toss your head,
An' set your beauties a' abread!
Ye little ken what cursed speed
The blastie's makin!

Thae winks and finger-ends, I dread.
Are notice takin!

O, wad some Pow'r the giftie gie us
To see oursels as ithers see us!

free us,

And foolish notion;

What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us, And ev'n Devotion!

ADDRESS TO THE TOOTH-ACHE.

My curse upon thy venom'd stang, That shoots my tortur'd gums alang; An' thro' my lugs gies monie a twang, Wi' gnawing vengeance! Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang, Like racking engines!

When fevers burn, or ague freezes,
Rheumatics gnaw, or colic squeezes,
Our neighbor's sympathy may ease us,
Wi' pitying moan;

But thee, thou hell o' a' diseases,
Ay mocks our groan!

Adown my beard the slavers trickle!
I throw the wee stools o'er the mickle,
As round the fire the giglets keckle
To see me loup;

While, raving mad, I wish a heckle
Were in their doup!

O' a' the num'rous human dools,
Ill har'sts, daft bargains, cutty-stools,