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But fax Scotch miles thou try't their mettle,

An' gar't them whaizle ; Nae whip nor fpur, but just a wattle

O’ saugh or hazel.

Thou was a noble Fittie-lan',

As e'er in tug or tow was drawn!
Aft thee an' I, in aught hours gaun,

On guid March-weather, Hae turn'd fax rood beside our han',

For days thegither.

Thou never braindg't, an* fetch't, an' fiskit, But thy auld tail thod wad hae whiskit, An' spread abreed thy weel-fill'd brisket,

Wi' pith an' power, Till fpritty knowes wad rair't an' riskit,

An' flypet owre.

WHEN

WHEN frosts lay lang, an' fnaws were deep,

An' threaten'd labour back to keep,

I gied thy cog a wee-bit heap

Aboon the timmer;

I ken'd my Maggie wad na sleep

For that, or Simmer.

In cart or car thou never reeftit ;

The fteyest brae thou wad hae fact it ;
Thou never lap, an' sten't, an' breaftit,

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My Pleugb is now thy bairn-time a'; Four gallant brutes as e'er did draw; Forbye fax mae, I've sell't awa,

That thou hast nurit :

They

They drew me thretteen pund an' twa,

The vera warst.

MONIE a fair daurk we twa hae wrought; An'wi' the weary warl' fought! An' monie an anxious day, I thought

We wad be beat!

Yet here to crazy Age we're brought,

Wi' something yet.

An' think na, my auld, trufty Servan', That row perhaps thou's less defervin, An' thy auld days may end in starvin',

For my last fow,

A heapit Stimpart, I'll reserve ane

Laid by for you:

We've worn to crazy years thegither; We'll toyte about wi' ane anither;

!

Wi' tentie care I'll fit thy tether,

To fome hain'd rig, Whare ye may nobly rax your leather,

Wi' [ma' fatigue.

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THE

COTTER's

SATURDAY NIGHT.

INSCRIBED TO R. A****, Esq.

Let not Ambition mock tbeir useful toil,

Their bomely joys, and destiny obscure; Nor Grandeur bear, with a disdainful smile,

The sbort and simple annals of the Poor.

GRAY.

My lov'd, my honour'd, much refpected

friend!

No mercenary Bard his homage pays :

With honest pride, I scorn each felfish end,

My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise :

то

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