A rhyming, ranting, raving billie,
Wha for his friend and comrade had him,
And in his freaks had Luty ca'd him,

After fome dog in Highland sang ",

Was made lang syne,-Lord knows how'lang.

He was a gain an' faithful tyke,
As ever lap a fheugh or dyke..
His honeit, fonfie, baws'nt face,

Ay gat him friends in ilka place.
His breast was white, his touzie back

Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black;
His gawcie tail, wi' upward curl,
Hung o'er his hurdies wi' a swirl..

Nac doubt but they were fain o'ither,
An' unco pack an' thick the gither;

B 2

Wii

Cuchulling's dog in Ossian's Fingal.

Wi' social nore whyles snuff d an' snowkit,
Whyles mice an' moudieworts they howkit;
Whyles scour'd awa in lang excursion,
An' worry'd ither in diversion;

Until wi' daffin weary grown,

Upon a knowe they fat them down,
And there began a lang digression

What fort o'life poor dogs like you have; An' when the gentry's life I saw,

What way poor bodies liv'd ava,

Our Laird gets in his racked rents, His coals, his kain, and a' his ftents :

He rises when he likes himsel;

His flunkies answer at the bell;

He ca's his coach ; he ca's his horse;

He draws a bonie filken purse,

a

As lang's my tail, whare, thro' the steeks,
The yellow letter d Geordie kecks.

FRAE morn to e'en its nought but toiling, At baking, roasting frying, boiling ; An' tho' the gentry first are stechin, Yet e’en thie ha' folk fill their pechan Wi' sauce ragouts, and sicklike trashtrie, That's little short o' downright waftrie. Our Whipper-in, wee blaftit wonner, Poor. worthless elf, it eats a dinner,

Better than ony tenant man

His honour has in a the lan':

An' what poor cot-folk pit their painch ing.. I own it's past.my comprehension.

ĻU ATH.

TROTH, Cesar, whyles they're fash't enough;

A cottar howkin in a fheugh,
Wi’ dirty ftanes biggin a dyke,
Baring a quarry and fick like,

Himsel, a wife, he thus sustains, i A smytrie o' wee duddie weaos,

An' nought but his han' darg, to keep
Them right and tight in thack an' rape.

An' when they meet wi' sair disasters,

Like loss o' health, or want o' masters,

Ye maist wad think a wee touch langer,

An' they maun farve o'cauld and hunger:

But, how it comes, I never kend yet,

They're maistly wonderfucontented;

An' buirdly chiels, an' clever hizzies,

Are bred in fic a way as this is.

CESARE

BUT then see how ye're negleckit,
How huff'd, and cuff'd, and disrespeckit!
L-d, man, our gentry care as little
For delvers, ditchers, an' fic cattle;
They gang as faucy by poor folk,
As I wad by a stinking brock.

I've notic'd, on our Laird's court-day,

An' mony a time my heart's been wae,

Poor tenant bodies, fcant o'cash,
How they maun thole a factor's snash :
He'll stamp an' threaten, curse an' swear,
He'll apprehend them, poind their gear;
While they maun stan', wi' aspect humble,
An' hear it a', an' fear an' tremble !

I see how folk live that hae riches;

But surely poor folk maun be wretches ?

LUATH.,