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THEY'RE nae sae wretched's ane wad think;
Tho' constantly on poortith's brink;
They're sae 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 lay aside their private cares,
To mind the Kirk and State affairs :
They'll talk o' patronage and priests,
Wi' kindling füry 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' focial 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' leds a heart-inspiring steam ;



The luntin pipe, an' sneefhin mill,
Are handed round wi' right guid will;
The cantie auld folks, crackin crouse,
The young anes-rantin thro' the house, -

heart has been fo fain to see them,


That I for joy hae barkit'wi' them.

STILL is't owre. true that ye hae said,


game is now owre aften play'l..

There's monie a creditable stock

O'decent, honest fawfont folk,

Are riven out baith root and branch;

Some rascal's pridefu' greed to quench,

Wha thinks to knit himsel the faster.

In favour wi? some gentle Master,
Wha, ablins, thrang a parliamentin,
For Britain's guid his soul indentin


HAITH, Lad, ye little ken about it:

For Britain's guid! guid faith! I doubt it.
Say rather, gaun as Premiers lead him,
An'laying aye or no's they bid him ;
Àt 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' see the world,

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,


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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 signoras.
For Britain's guid! for her destruction!
Wi' diflipation, feud, an' faction.

L U A T H.

Hech man ! dear firs! is that the gate

They waste fae mony a braw estate!
Are we sae foughten an' harassid
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!


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