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But fax Scotch miles thou try't their mettle,

An' gar't them whaizle;

Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle

O' faugh 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 befide our han',

For days thegither.

THOU never braindg't, an' fetch't, an' flifkit, But thy auld tail thou wad hae whifkit,

An' fpread abreed thy weel-fill'd brifket,

Wi' pith an' power,

Till fpritty knowes wad rair't an' rifkit,

An' flypet owre.

WHEN

WHEN frofts 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 fleep

For that, or Simmer.

IN cart or car thou never reeftit; The fteyeft brae thou wad hae fac't it ; Thou never lap, an' ften't, an' breaftit,

Then flood to blaw;

But just thy step a wee thing haftit,

Thou fnoov't awa.

Mr Pleugb is now thy bairn-time a’; Four gallant brutes as e'er did draw;

Forbye fax mae, I've fell't awa,

That thou haft nurst:

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' fomething yet.

An' think na, my auld, trufty Servan', That now perhaps thou's less defervin,

An' thy auld days may end in starvin',
For my laft fow,

A heapit Stimpart, I'll referve ane

Laid by for your

WE'VE worn to crazy years thegither;

We'll toyte about wi' ane anither;

Wi' tentie care I'll flit thy tether,

To fome hain'd rig,

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THE

COTTER's

SATURDAY NIGHT.

INSCRIBED TO R. A****, Efq.

Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure;

Nor Grandeur bear, with a disdainful smile,

The short and simple annals of the Poor.

GRAY.

I.

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

friend!

No mercenary Bard his homage pays :

With honeft pride, I fcorn each felfish end,

My deareft meed, a friend's efteem and praise :

To

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