Let warlocks' grim, an' withered hags,
Tell how wi' you on ragweed2 nags,
They skim the muirs, an' dizzy crags,
Wi' wicked speed;

And in kirk-yards renew their leagues,
Owre howkits dead.

1 wizards.

5 fondled.

⚫ thaws.

Thence, countra wives, wi' toil an' pain,
May plunge an' plunge the kirn1 in vain;
For, oh the yellow treasure's taen

By witching skill;

6

An' dawtit, twal-pint Hawkie's gaen

7

As yell's the bill.

When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord 1o,
An' float the jinglin' icy-boord,
Then Water-kelpies haunt the foord,
By your direction,

An' nighted Trav❜llers are allured

To their destruction.

11

An' aft your moss-traversing Spunkies
Decoy the wight that late an' drunk is:
The bleezin, curst, mischievous monkies
Delude his eyes,

Till in some miry slough he sunk is,
Ne'er mair to rise.

When masons' mystic word an' grip,
In storms an' tempests raise you up,
Some cock or cat your rage maun stop,
Or, strange to tell!

The youngest 'brother' ye wad whip
Aff straught to hell.

2

ragwort.

• twelve-pint.

10 hoard.

digged up.

7 milkless.

Will-o'-the-wisp.

⚫ churn.

8 bull.

Lang syne, in Eden's bonie yard,
When youthfu' lovers first were paired,
An' all the soul of love they shared,
The raptured hour,

Sweet on the fragrant, flow'ry swaird,
In shady bow'r :

Then you, ye auld, snick-drawin1 dog!
Ye came to Paradise incog,

An' played on man a cursed brogue,
(Black be your fa'3!)

An' gied the infant warld a shog*,
'Maist ruined a'.

An' how ye gat him i' your thrall,
An' brak him out o' house an' hal',
While scabs an' blotches did him gall,
Wi' bitter claw,

An' lowsed 10 his ill-tongued wicked scaul ",
Was warst ava 12?

But a' your doings to rehearse,

Your wily snares and fechtin 13 fierce,
Sin' that day Michael1 did you pierce,
Down to this time,

Wad ding 15 a' Lallan 16 tongue, or Erse,
In prose or rhyme.

• smoky rags.

8 blackened face. • slanted. 10 loosed.

is fighting.

singed periwig. 11 scold. 12 of all.

14 Vide Milton, Book vi.-R. B. 15 exhaust. 16 Lowland.

An' now, auld Cloots, I ken ye're thinkin,
A certain Bardie's rantin, drinkin,
Some luckless hour will send him linkin'
To your black pit ;

But, faith! he'll turn a corner jinkin',
An' cheat you yet.

FROM 'THE HOLY FAIR.'

Now, butt an' ben, the change-house fills,
Wi' yill-caup commentators:

5

6

Here's crying out for bakes an' gills,

An' there the pint-stowp clatters;
While thick an' thrang, an' loud an' lang,
Wi' logic, an' wi' Scripture,

They raise a din, that, in the end,

Is like to breed a rupture

O' wrath that day.

Leeze me on drink! it gies us mair
Than either school or college:

10 small beer.

11 tickle.

The lads an' lasses, blythely bent
To mind baith saul an' body,
Sit round the table, weel content,
An' steer1 about the toddy.

On this ane's dress, an' that ane's leuk,
They're makin observations;

While some are cozie i' the neuk 2,

An' formin assignations

To meet some day.

But now the Lord's ain trumpet touts3,
Till a' the hills are rairin,

An' echoes back return the shouts ;
Black Russel is na spairin:

His piercing words, like Highlan swords,
Divide the joints an' marrow;

His talk o' Hell, whare devils dwell,
Our vera sauls does harrow' 95

Wi' fright that day.

A vast, unbottom'd, boundless pit,
Fill'd fu' o' lowin6 brunstane,

Wha's raging flame, an' scorching heat,
Wad melt the hardest whun-stane 7!

The half asleep start up wi' fear,
An' think they hear it roarin,
When presently it does appear,
'Twas but some neibor snorin
Asleep that day.

'Twad be owre lang a tale, to tell
How mony stories past,

An' how they crowded to the yill3,

When they were a' dismist :

How drink gaed round, in cogs an' caups,

Amang the furms and benches;

An' cheese an' bread frae women's laps,

Was dealt about in lunches 10

2 nook.

Shakspeare's Hamlet.-R.B.

• wooden vessels.

In comes a gaucie1 gash Guidwife,
An' sits down by the fire,

Syne draws her kebbuck 2 an' her knife,
The lasses they are shyer.

The auld guidmen, about the grace,

Frae side to side they bother,

Till some ane by his bonnet lays,
An' gi'es them 't like a tether,
Fu' lang that day.

Waesucks! for him that gets nae lass,
Or lasses that hae naething!

Sma' need has he to say a grace,

4

Or melvie his braw claithing!
O wives be mindfu', ance yoursel
How bonie lads ye wanted,
An' diuna for a kebbuck-heel,
Let lasses be affronted

On sic a day!

Now Clinkumbell 5, wi' rattling tow,

6

Begins to jow an' croon ;

Some swagger hame, the best they dow',
Some wait the afternoon.

8

9

At slaps the billies halt a blink,

Till lasses strip their shoon :

Wi' faith an' hope, an' love an' drink,

They're a' in famous tune

For crack 10 that day.

EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND "1.

May 1786.

I lang hae thought, my youthfu' friend,
A something to have sent you,
Tho' it should serve nae ither end

Than just a kind memento;