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THEY'RE nae sae wretched's ane wad think;
Then chance an’ fortune are fàe guided;
The dearest comfort o' their lives,
Their grushie weans an' faithfu' wives ;.
The prattling things are just their pride,
AN' whyles twalpennie worth o' nappy
Can mak the bodies unco happy ;.
They lay aside their private cares,
To mind the Kirk and State affairs :
They'll talk o'patronage and priests,
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,
That merry day the year begins, They bar the door on frosty winds; The nappy reeks wi' mantling ream, An' leds a heart-inspiring steam;
The Tuntin pipe, an' sneeshin mill,-
The young anes-rantin thro' the house,
My heart has been so fain to see them,
That I for joy hae barkit wi' them.
STILL is't owre. true that ye hae said, Sic game is now owre aften play'd.. There's monie a creditable stock
o decent, honest fawsont folk,
Are riven out baith root and brancli,
Some rascal's pridefu' greed to quenchy
Wha thinks to knit himsel the faster.
In favour wi' fome gentle Master,
Wha, ablins, thrang a parliamentin,
HAITH, Lad, ye little ken about it:
For Britain's guid! guid faith! I doubt it.
To Hague or Calais takes a waft,
To mak a tour, an’tak a whirl,
To learn bon ton an' see the worl',
THERE, at Vienna or Versailles,
He rives his father's auld entails;
Or by Madrid he takes the rout,
Wh-re-hunting among groves o' myrtles ;
L U A T H.
Hech man ! dear firs! is that the gate
They waste fae mony a braw estate"!
Are we fae foughten an' harass'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!