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sing the loves, the joys, the rural scenes and rural pleasures of my native Soil, in my native tongue: I tuned my wild, artless notes, as she inspired.----She zobispered me to come to this ancient metropolis of Caledonia, and lay my Songs under your honoured protection : I now obey ber dictates.

Though much indebted to your goodness, I do not approach you my Lords: and Gentlemen, in the usual stile of dedication, to thank you for past favours, ; that path is so backneyed by prostituted Learning, that honest Rusticity is ashamed of it.---Nor do I present this Address with the venal soul of a servile Author, looking for a continuation of those favours: I was bred to the Plough, and an independent. I come to claim the conmon Scottish name with you, my il

, lustrious

lustrious Countrymen; and to tell the world that I glory in the title.--- I come to congratulate my Country, that the blood of her ancient beroes still runs uncontaminated; and that from your courage, knowledge, and public spirit, she may expect protection, wealth and liberty.--- In the last place, I come to proffer my warmest wishes to the Great Fountain of Honour, the Monarch of the Universe, for your welfare and happi


When you go forth to waken the Echoes, in the ancient and favourite amusement of your Forefathers, may Pleasure ever be of your party; and may

Social-joy await your return! When barassed in courts or camps with the justlings of bad men and bad measures, may tbe honest consciousness of injured


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Worth attend your return to your native Seats; and may Domestic Happiness, with a smiling welcome, meet you at your gates! May Corruption shrink at your kindling indignant glance ; and may tyranny in the Ruler and licentiousness in the People equally find you an inexorable foe! I have the honour to be, With the sincerest gratitude and

highest respect,

My LORDS AND GENTLEMEN, Your most devoted bumble servant,


April 4, 1787


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'Twas in that place o’ Scotland's ille,

That bears the name o' Auld |King Coil, "Upon a bonie day in June, When wearing thro' the afternoon, "Twa dogs that were na thrang at hame, Forgather'd ance upon a time.




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The first I'll name, they ca'd him Cæsar,

Was keepit for his Honor's pleasure :
His hair, his fize, his mouth, his lugs,
Shew'd he was nane o' Scotland's dogs,

But whelpit some place far abroad,

Where sailors gang to fish for Cod.

His locked, letter d, braw brass collar, Shew'd him the gentleman and Scholar: But though he was o' high degree, The fient a pride na pride had he; But wad hae spent an hour carefsin, Ev’n wi' a tinkler-gypsey's mesin : Atkirk or market, mill or fmiddie, Nae tawted tyke, tho' e'er so dudaie, But he wad stan't, as glad to see him, And stroan't on ftanes an' hillocks wi' him.

The tither was a ploughman's collie,

A rhyming,

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