Imprimis, then, for carriage cattle,
I hae four brutes o' gallant mettle,
As ever drew before a pettle.
My hand-a-fore, a guid auld has-been,
And wight and wilfu' a' his days seen;
My hand-a-hin, a guid brown filly,
Wha aft hae borne me safe frae Killie,
And your auld borough mony a time,
In days when riding was nae crime:
My fur-a-hin, a guid grey beast,
As e'er in tug or tow was trac❜d:
The fourth, a Highland Donald hasty,
A d-mn'd red-wud, Kilburnie blastie.
For-by a cowte, of cowtes the wale,
As ever ran before a tail;
An' he be spar'd to be a beast,
He'll draw me fifteen pund at least.
Wheel carriages I hae but few,
Three carts, and twa are feckly new;
An auld wheel-barrow, mair for token,
Ae leg and baith the trams are broken;
I made a poker o' the spindle,
And my auld mither brunt the trundle.
For men, I've three mischievous boys,
Run-deils for rantin and for noise;
A gadsman ane, a thresher t'other,
Wee Davoc hauds the nowte in fother.
I rule them, as I ought, discreetly,
And often labour them completely,
And ay on Sundays duly nightly,
I on the questions tairge them tightly,
Till faith wee Davoc's grown sae gleg,
(Tho' scarcely langer than my leg,)
He'll screed you off effectual calling,
As fast as ony in the dwalling.
I've nane in female servant station,
Lord keep me ay frae a' temptation!
I hae nae wife, and that my bliss is,
And ye hae laid nae tax on misses;
For weans I'm mair than well contented,
Heaven sent me ane mair than I wanted;
My sonsie, smirking, dear-bought Bess,
She stares the daddie in her face,
Enough of ought ye like but grace.
But her, my bonny, sweet, wee lady,
I've said enough for her already,
And if ye tax her or her mither,
By the L-d ye'se get them a' thegither!
And now, remember, Mr. Aiken,
Nae kind of license out I'm taking.
Thro' dirt and dub for life I'll paidle,
Ere I sae dear pay for a saddle;
I've sturdy stumps, the Lord be thanked!
And a' my gates on foot I'll shank it.
This list wi' my ain hand I've wrote it,
The day and date as under noted;
Then know all ye whom it concerns,
Subscripsi huic
NAE gentle dames, tho' e'er sae fair,
Shall ever be my muse's care;
Their titles a' are empty show;
Gie me my highland lassie, O.
Within the glen sae bushy, 0,
Aboon the plain sae rushy, 0,
I set me down wi' right good will;
To sing my highland lassie, O.
Oh, were yon hills and valleys mine,
Yon palace and yon gardens fine!
The world then the love should know
I bear my highland lassie, O.
Within the glen, &c.
But fickle fortune frowns on me,
And I maun cross the
But while my crimson currents flow,
I'll love my highland lassie, O.
Within the glen, &c.
Altho' thro' foreign climes I'range,
I know her heart will never change,
For her bosom burns with honour's glow, My faithful highland lassie, O.
For her I'll dare the billow's roar,
For her I'll trace a distant shore,
That Indian wealth may lustre throw
Around the highland lassie, O.
Within the glen, &c.
She has my heart, she has my hand,
By sacred truth and honour's band!
Till the mortal stroke shall lay me low,
I'm thine, my highland lassie, O.
Farewell the glen sae bushy, O!
Farewell the plain sae rushy, O!
To other lands Inow must go,
To sing my highland lassie, O!
OLD Winter with his frosty beard,
Thus once to Jove his prayer prefer'd;
What have I done of all the year,
To bear this hated doom severe ?
My cheerless suns no pleasure know;
Night's horrid car drags, dreary, slow;
My dismal months no joys are crowning,
But spleeny English, hanging, drowning.
Now, Jove, for once be mighty civil,
To counterbalance all this evil;
Give me, and I've no more to say,
Give me Maria's natal day!
That brilliant gift will so enrich me,
Spring, summer, autumn, cannot match me; 'Tis done! says Jove; so ends my story, And Winter once rejoic'd in glory.
Oн, wert thou in the cauld blast,
On yonder lea, on yonder lea;
My plaidie to the angry airt,
I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee:
Or did misfortune's bitter storms
Around thee blaw, around thee blaw,
Thy bield should be my bosom,
To share it a', to share it a'.
Or were I in the wildest waste,
Sae black and bare, sae black and bare; The desert were a paradise,
If thou wert there, if thou wert there.
Or were I monarch o' the globe,
Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign;
The brightest jewel in my crown,
Wad be my queen, wad be my queen.
VOL. XXXIX.
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