God's creatures they oppress! Baith careless, and fearless Then let us cheerfu' acquiesce; And, even should misfortunes come, They mak us see the naked truth, Though losses, and crosses, There's wit there, ye'll get there, But tent me, Davie, ace o' hearts! (To say aught less wad wrang the cartes, And flattery I detest) This life has joys for you and I; And joys that riches ne'er could buy And joys the very best. There's a' the pleasures o' the heart, Ye hae your Meg, your dearest par It warms me, it charms me, To mention but her name It heats me, it beets me, O all ye powers who rule above; Her dear idea brings relief All hail, ye tender feelings dear; Long since, this world's thorny ways Had it not been for you! Fate still has blest me with a friend, A tie more tender still. It lightens, it brightens The tenebrific scene, To meet with, and greet with O, how that name inspires my style! Amaist before I ken! The ready measure rins as fine, As Phœbus and the famous Nine And then he'll hilch, and stilt, and jimp, But lest then, the beast then, DEATH AND DR. HORNBOOK. A TRUE STORY. Some books are lies frae end to end, A rousing whid, at times, to vend, And nail't wi' Scripture. But this that I am gaun to tell, Or Dublin city: That e'er he nearer comes oursel 'S a muckle pity. The Clachan yill had made me canty, I wasna fou, but just had plenty : To free the ditches; An' hillocks, stanes, an' bushes, kenned aye Frae ghaists an' witches. The rising moon began to glowr But whether she had three or four, I cou'dna tell. I was come round about the hill, To keep me sicker; Though leeward whyles, against my will, I took a bicker. I there wi' something did forgather, Clear-dangling, hang: A three-tae'd leister on the ither Lay, large an' lang. Its stature seem'd lang Scotch ells twa, For fient a wame it had ava! And then, its shanks, As cheeks o' branks. They were as thin, as sharp an' sma' "Guid-een," quo I; "Friend! hae ye been mawin, When ither folk are busy sawin * ?" It seem'd to mak a kind o' stan', But naething spak : Will ye go back ?" At length says I, "Friend, whare ye gaun, * This rencounter happened in seed-time, 1785. It spak right howe" My name is Death, But tent me, billie: I red ye weel, tak care o' skaith, See, there's a gully!" "Guidman," quo' he, "put up your whittle, I'm no designed to try its mettle; But if I did, I wad be kittle To be mislear'd, I wadna mind it, no that spittle Out-owre my beard." "Weel, weel!" says I," a bargain be❜t; Come, gies your hand, an' sae we're gree't; We'll ease our shanks an' tak a seat, Come, gies your news; This while ye hae been mony a gate, At mony a house.” 66 Ay, ay!" quo' he, an' shook his head, An' choke the breath: Folk maun do something for their bread, An' sae maun Death. Sax thousand years are near-hand fled, An' mony a scheme in vain's been laid, To stap or scar me; * An epidemical fever was then raging in that country. |