But ere the key-stane she could make,
The fient a tail she had to shake!

а

For Nannie, far before the rest,
Hard upon noble Maggie prest,
And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle;
But little wist she Maggie's mettle-
Ae spring brought off her master hale,
But left behind her ain gray tail :
The carlin claught her by the rump,
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.

Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read
Ilk man and mother's son, take heed:
Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd,
Or cutty-sarks run in your mind,
Think, ye may buy the joys o'er dear,

Remember Tam o' Shanter's mare.

M

ON THE LATE CAPTAIN GROSE'S PEREGRINATIONS THRO' SCOTLAND,

COLLECTING THE ANTIQUITIES OF THAT KINGDOM.

HEAR, Land o' Cakes, and brither Scots,

Frae Maidenkirk to Johnny Groats!

If there's a hole in a' your coats,

I rede you tent it :

A chield's amang you, taking notes,
And, faith, he'll prent it.

If in your bounds ye chance to light
Upon a fine, fat, fodgel wight,
O' stature short, but genius bright,

That's he, mark weel

And wow! he has an unco slight
O' cauk and keel.

By some auld, houlet-haunted, biggin,1
Or kirk deserted by its riggin,

It's ten to ane ye'll find him snug in

Some eldritch part,

Wi' deils, they say, Lord save's! colleaguin
At some black art.-

1 Vide his "Antiquities of Scotland.”

Ilk ghaist that haunts auld ha' or chamer,
Ye gipsy-gang that deal in glamor,

And you, deep-read in hell's black grammar,
Warlocks and witches;

Ye'll quake at his conjuring hammer,

Ye midnight bitches.

It's tauld he was a sodger bred,
And ane wad rather fa'n than fled;
But now he's quat the spurtle-blade,
And dog-skin wallet,

And taen the-Antiquarian trade,

I think they call it.

He has a fouth o' auld nick-nackets:
Rusty airn caps and jinglin jackets,1
Wad haud the Lothians three in tackets,
A towmont gude;

And parritch-pats, and auld saut-backets,
Before the Flood.

Of Eve's first fire he has a cinder;
Auld Tubalcain's fire-shool and fender;
That which distinguished the gender
O' Balaam's ass;

A broom-stick o' the witch of Endor,
Weel shod wi' brass.

1 Vide his treatise on ancient armour and weapons

Forb

shape you aff, fu' gleg

The cut of Adam's philibeg;

The knife that nicket Abel's craig

He'll prove you fully,

It was a faulding jocteleg,

Or lang-kail gullie.—

But wad ye see him in his glee,
For meikle glee and fun has he,

Then set him down, and twa or three
Gude fellows wi' him;

And port, O port! shine thou a wee,
And THEN ye'll see him!

Now, by the Pow'rs o' Verse and Prose ! Thou art a dainty chield, O Grose !— Whae'er o' thee shall ill suppose,

They sair misca' thee;

I'd take the rascal by the nose,

Wad say, Shame fa' thee.

VERSES WRITTEN UNDER THE PORTRAIT OF FERGUSSON THE POET,

IN A COPY OF THAT AUTHOR'S WORKS
PRESENTED TO A YOUNG LADY IN EDINBURGH,
MARCH 19TH, 1787.

'URSE on ungrateful man, that can be pleas'd,

CUR

And yet can starve the author of the pleasure.

O thou, my elder brother in misfortune,
By far my elder brother in the muses,
With tears I pity thy unhappy fate!
Why is the bard unpitied by the world,
Yet has so keen a relish of its pleasures?

VERSES

ON THE DESTRUCTION OF THE WOODS NEAR

DRUMLANRIG.

S on the banks o' wandering Nith,

Ae smiling simmer-morn I stray'd,
And traced its bonnie howes and haughs,

Where linties sang and lambkins play'd.