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LUATH.

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

Tho' conftantly on poortith's brink;

They're fae accuftom'd wi' the fight,

The view o'tgies them little fright.

THEN chance an' fortune are fae guided,
They're ay in lefs or mair provided;
An' tho' fatigu'd wi' close employment,
A blink o' reft's a fweet enjoyment.

THE dearest comfort o' their lives, Their grufhie weans an' faithfu' wives; The prattling things are juft their pride, That fweetens a' their fire-fide.

AN' whyles twal pennie 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 ftation,

Unite in common recreation

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

THAT merry day the year begins, They bar the door on frofty winds; The nappy reeks wi' mantling ream,

An' fheds a heart-inspiring fteam;

The

The luntin pipe, an' fneefhin mill,
Are handed round wi' right guid will;
The cantie auld folks, crackin croufe,
The young anes-rantin thro' the houfe,-
My heart has been fo fain to fee them,
That I for joy hae barkit wi' them...

STILL is't owre true that ye hae faid, Sie game is now owre aften play'd.. There's monie a creditable stock.

O' decent, honeft fawfont folk,

Are riven out baith root and branch,

Some rafcal's pridefu' greed to quench,

Wha thinks to knit himfel the faster.
In favour wi fome gentle Mafter,

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 vifta ftartles,

Wh-re

Wh-re-hunting among groves o' myrtles;

Then boufes drumly German water,

To mak him fel look fair and fatter,
An' clear the confequential 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 wafte fae mony a braw eftate!

Are we fae foughten an' harass'd

For gear to gang that gate at laft!

O WOULD they ftay aback frae courts, An' please themfels wi' countra fports, It wad for ev'ry ane be better,

The Laird the Tenant, an' the Cotter!

For

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