« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »
A rhyming, ranting, raving billie,
After fome dog in Highland sang ",
Was made lang syne,-Lord knows how'lang.
He was a gain an' faithful tyke,
Ay gat him friends in ilka place.
Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black;
Nac doubt but they were fain o'ither,
Cuchulling's dog in Ossian's Fingal.
Wi' social nore whyles snuff d an' snowkit,
Until wi' daffin weary grown,
Upon a knowe they fat them down,
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,
As lang's my tail, whare, thro' the steeks,
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.
TROTH, Cesar, whyles they're fash't enough;
A cottar howkin in a fheugh,
Himsel, a wife, he thus sustains, i A smytrie o' wee duddie weaos,
An' nought but his han' darg, to keep
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.
BUT then see how ye're negleckit,
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,
I see how folk live that hae riches;
But surely poor folk maun be wretches ?