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LUATH.

THEY'RE nae fae wretched's ane wad think;;

Tho' constantly on poortith's brink;
They're fae accustom'd wi' the fight,
The view o't gies them little fright.

THEN chance an' fortune are sae guided,

They're ay in less or mair provided;
An' tho' fatigu'd wi' close employment,
A blink o' rest's a sweet enjoyment.

THE dearest comfort o' their lives, Their grushie weans an' faithfu' wives; The prattling things are just their pride,

That sweetens a' their fire-fide.

AN' whyles twalpennie worth o' nappy Can mak the bodies unco happy;

They

They lay afide their private cares,
To mind the Kirk and State affairs:
They'll talk o' patronage and priests,
Wi' kindling fury in their breasts,
Or tell what new taxation's comin,
An ferlie at the folk in Lon'on.

As bleak-fac'd Hollowmas returns,

They get the jovial, ranting kirns,
When rural life, o' ev'ry station,
Unite in common recreation;

Love blinks, Wit flaps, an' social Mirth,
Forgets there's Care upo' the earth.

THAT merry day the year begins, They bar the door on frosty winds; The nappy reeks wi' mantling ream, An' sheds a heart-inspiring steam;

The

The Iuntin pipe, an' sneeshin mill,

Are handed round wi' right guid will;

The cantie auld folks, crackin croufe,
The young anes rantin thro' the house, -
My heart has been so fain to fee them,
That I for joy hae barkit wi' them.

STILL is't owre true that ye hae faid,

Sic game is now owre aften play'd..
There's monie a creditable stock

O' decent, honeft fawsont folk,
Are riven out baith root and branch,
Some rascal's pridefu' greed to quench,
Wha thinks to knit himfel the fafter.
In favour wi' fome gentle Master,
Wha, ablins, thrang a parliamentin,
For Britain's guid his foul indentin -

CÆSAR CÆSAR.

HAITH, lad, ye little ken about it:
For Britain's guid! guid faith! I doubt it.
Say rather, gaun as Premiers lead him,
An' faying aye or no's they bid him;
At operas an' plays parading,

Mortgaging, gambling, masquerading;

Or may be in a frolic daft,

To Hague or Calais takes a waft,.
To mak a tour, an' tak a whirl,
To learn bon ton an' fee the worl',

THERE, at Vienna or Versailles,

He rives his father's auld entails;

Or by Madrid he takes the rout,

To thrum guitars, and fetch'd wi' nowt

Or down Italian vista startles,

Wh-re

Wh-re-hunting among groves o' myrtles;

Then boufes drumly German water,

To mak himsel look fair and fatter,
An' clear the consequential forrows,
Love-gifts of Carnival fignoras.
For Britain's guid! for her destruction!
Wi' diffipation, feud, an' faction.

LUATH.

HECH man! dear firs! is that the gate

They waste sae mony a braw estate!
Are we fae foughten an' harafs'd
For gear to gang that gate at last!

O WOULD they stay aback frae courts,
An' please themsels wi' countra sports,
It wad for ev'ry ane be better,
The Laird, the Tenant, an' the Cotter!

For

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