What tho' their Phoebus kinder warms, While fragrance blooms and beauty charms! When wretches range, in famish'd swarms,

The scented groves,

Or hounded forth, dishonour arms

In hungry droves.

Their gun's a burden on their shouther; They downa bide the stink o' powther; Their bauldest thought's a hank'ring swither To stan' or rin,

Till skelp-a shot-they're aff, a' throwther, To save their skin.

But bring a Scotsman frae his hill,
Clap in his cheek a Highland gill,
Say, such is royal George's will,

An' there's the foe,

He has nae thought but how to kill

Twa at a blow.

Nae cauld, faint-hearted doubtings tease him;
Death comes, wi' fearless eye he sees him;
Wi' bluidy hand a welcome gies him;

An' when he fa's,

His latest draught o' breathin lea'es him

In faint huzzas.

Sages their solemn een may steek,
An' raise a philosophic reek,

An' physically causes seek,

In clime and season;

But tell me whisky's name in Greek,

I'll tell the reason.

Scotland, my auld, respected mither!
Tho' whiles ye moistify your leather,
Till whare ye sit, on craps o' heather,

Ye tine your dam; Freedom and whisky gang thegither!

Tak aff your dram!

THE HOLY FAIR'.

A robe of seeming truth and trust
Hid crafty Observation;

And secret hung, with poison'd crust,
The dirk of Defamation:

A mask, that like the gorget show'd,
Dye-varying on the pigeon;
And for a mantle large and broad,
He wrapt him in Religion.

Hypocrisy a-la mode.

UPON a simmer Sunday morn,
When Nature's face is fair,
I walk'd forth to view the corn,
An' snuff the caller air,

The rising sun owre Galston muirs,
Wi' glorious light was glintin;
The hares were hirplin down the furs,
The lav'rocks they were chantin

Fu' sweet that day.

As lightsomely I glowr'd abroad,
To see a scene sae gay,
Three hizzies, early at the road,
Cam skelpin up the way;

Twa had manteeles o' dolefu' black,

But ane wi' lyard lining;

The third, that gaed a-wee a-back,

Was in the fashion shining,

Fu' gay that day.

Holy fair is a common phrase in the West of Scotland

for a sacramental occasion,

The twa appear'd like sisters twin,
In feature, form an' claes!

Their visage, wither'd, lang an' thin,
An' sour as ony slaes:

The third cam up, hap-step-an'-lowp,
As light as ony lambie,

An' wi' a curchie low did stoop,

As soon as e'er she saw me,

Fu' kind that day.

Wi' bonnet aff, quoth I, 'Sweet lass,
I think ye seem to ken me;
I'm sure I've see that bonnie face,
But yet I canna name ye.'
Quo' she, an' laughin as she spak,

An' taks me by the hands,

'Ye, for my sake, hae gi'en the feck

Of a' the ten commands

A screed some day.

'My name is Fun-your cronie dear,

The nearest friend ye hae;

An' this is Superstition here,

An' that's Hypocrisy,

I'm gaun to *

To spend an hour in daffin:

Holy Fair,

Gin ye'll go there, yon runkl'd pair,

We will get famous laughin

At them this day.'

Quoth I, 'With a' my heart, I'll do't;

I'll get my Sunday's sark on,

An' meet you on the holy spot;

Faith we'se bae fine remarkin!

Then I gaed hame at crowdie-time,
An' soon I made me ready;

For roads were clad, frae side to side,
Wi' monie a wearie body,

In droves that day.

Here farmers gash, in ridin graith
Gaed hoddin by their cotters;
There, swankies young, in braw braid-claith
Are springin o'er the gutters.
The lasses, skelpin barefit, thrang,
In silks an' scarlets glitter;

Wi' sweet-milk cheese, in monie a whang,

An' farls bak'd wi' butter

Fu' crump that day.

When by the plate we set our nose,
Weel heaped up wi' ha'pence,
A greedy glowr Black-Bonnet throws,
An' we maun draw our tippence.
Then in we go to see the slow,
On ev'ry side they're gathrin,

Some carrying dales, some chairs an' stools,

An' some are busy blethrin

Right loud that day.

Here stands a shed to fend the show'rs,
An' screen our countra gentry,
There, racer Jess, an' twa-three wh-res,
Are blinkin at the entry.

Here sits a raw of tittlin jades,

Wi' heaving breast and bare neck, An' there a batch o' wabster lads, Blackguarding frae Kilmarnock

For fun this day.