A rhyming, ranting, raving billie, Wha for his friend and comrade had him, And in his freaks had Luath ca'd him, After fome dog in Highland fang *, Was made lang fyne,-Lord knows how'lang. HE was a gafh an' faithful tyke,. As ever lap a fheugh or dyke, His honest, fonfie, baws'nt face, Ay gat him friends in ilka place. His gawcie tail, wi' upward curl, Hung o'er his hurdies wi' a fwirl. NAE doubt but they were fain o' ither, An' unco pack an' thick the gither; Wi' focial nose whyles fnuff'd an' fnowkit, Whyles mice an' moudieworts they howkit; Whyles fcour'd awa in lang excurfion, An' worry'd ither in diverfion; Until wi' daffin weary grown, Upon a knowe they fat them down, And there began a lang digreffion About the lord's o' the creation. CESAR. I'VE aften wonder'd, honeft Luath, What fort o' life poor dogs like you have; An' when the gentry's life I faw, OUR Laird gets in his racked rents, His coals, his kain, and a' his ftents: He rifes when he likes himfel; His flunkies anfwer at the bell; He ca's his coach; he ca's his horfe; He draws a bonie filken purfe, As lang's my tail, whare, thro' the fteeks, FRAE morn to e'en its nought but toiling, At baking, roafting. frying, boiling; Better than ony tenant man His honour has in a' the lan': An' what poor cot-folk pit their painch in, I own it's paft my comprehenfion. LUATH. TROTH, Cæsar, whyles they're fafh't enough; A cottar howkin in a fheugh, Wi' dirty ftanes biggin a dyke, Himfel, a wife, he thus fuftains, AN' when they meet wi' fair difafters, An' buirdly chiels, an' clever hizzies, CESAR. CESAR. But then fee how ye're negleckit, How huff'd, and cuff'd, and difrefpeckit! For delvers, ditchers, an' fic cattle; They gang as faucy by poor folk, I'VE notic'd, on our Laird's court-day, How they maun thole a factor's fnafh: I SEE how folk live that hae riches; LUATH, |