Soon as the horse had heard his brither.
Joukum and Rose were prick'd thegither,
Awa he scours o'er hight and how,
Fu' fidgin fain whate'er he dow,
Counting what things he now did mister,
That wad be gi'en him by his fifter.
Like fhallow bards, wha think they flee,
Because they live fax ftories high,
To fome poor lifelefs lucubration
Prefixes fleeching dedication,
And blythly dream they 'll be reftor'd
To alehouse credit by my Lord.
Thus Bawfy's mind in plenty row'd,
While he thought on his promis'd gowd
And baillyfhip, which he wi' fines
Wad mak' like the Weft India mines;
Arrives, wi' future greatnefs dizzy,
Ca's, where 's Mess Jouk?
My Lady Rose, is she at leisure?
No, Sir, my Lady's at her pleasure.
Upo' my faul this porter 's faucy!
Sirrah, go tell my name is Bawsy,
Their brither wha made up the marriage.
And fae I thought by your daft carriage.
Between your houghs gae clap your gelding,
Swith hame and feast upon a fpelding,
For there's nae room beneath this roof
To entertain a fimple coof,
The like o' you, that nane can trust,
Wha to your ain ha'e been unjust.
This faid, he dadded to the yate,
And left poor Bawsy in a fret,
Wha loudly gowl'd, and made a din,
That was o'erheard by a' within.
Quoth Rofe to Jouk, Come, let 's away,
And fee wha's yon mak's a' this fray.
Awa' they went, and faw the creature
Sair runkling ilka filly feature
O' his dull phiz, wi' girns and glooms,
Stamping and biting at his thumbs.
They tented him a little while,
Then came full on him wi' a fmile,
Which foon gart him forget the torture
Was rais'd within him by the porter.
Sae will a fucking weanie yell,
But shake a rattle, or a bell,
It hauds its tongue; let that alane,
It to its yamering fa's again;
Lilt up a fang, and ftraight it 's feen
To laugh wi' tears into its een.
Thus eithly anger'd, eithly pleas'd,
Weak Bawfy lang they tantaliz'd
Wi' promises right wide extended,
They ne'er perform'd, nor e'er intended:
But now and then, when they did need him,
A fupper and a pint they gie'd him;
That done, they ha'e nae mair to say,
And scarcely ken him the niest day.
Poor fallow! now this mony a year,
Wi' fome faint hope, and rowth o' fear,
He has been wrestling wi' his fate,
A drudge to Joukum and his mate.
While Bristle faves his manly look,
Regardless baith o' Rofe and Jouk,
Maintains right quietly 'yond the kairns,
His honour, conscience, wife, and bairns,
Jouk and his rumblegarie wife
Drive on a drunken gaming life,
'Caufe, fober, they can get nae rest,
For Nick and Duniwhistle's ghaift,
Wha in the garrets aften tooly,
And fhore them wi' a bloody gully.
Thus I ha'e fung, in hamelt rhyme, A fang that fcorns the teeth o' time; Yet modeftly I hide my name, Admiring virtue mair than fame. But tent ye wha defpife inftruction, And gi'es my wark a wrang construction, Frae 'hind my curtain, mind I tell ye, I'll fhoot a fatire through your belly: But wha wi' havins jees his bonnet, And fays, Thanks t' ye for your fonnet, He shanna want the praises due To generofity.-Adieu.
THE EAGLE AND THE ROBIN REDBREAST.
THE Prince of all the fethert kind,
That with fpred wings outflees the wind,
And tours far out of human ficht,
To view the fchynand orb of licht:
This ryall bird, tho' braif and great,
And armit ftrang for ftern debait,
Nae tyrant is, but condefcends
Aftymes to treit inferiour friends.
Ane day, at his command did flock
To his hie palace on a rock,
The courtiers of ilk various fyze
That swiftly swim in christal skyis.
Thither the valiant Terfals doup,
And heir rapacious Corbies croup,
With greidy Gleds, and flie Gormahs,
And dinfome Pyis, and clatterin Daws;
Proud Pecocks, and a hundred mae,
Brufcht up thair pens that folemn day,
Bowd firft fubmiffive to my lord,
Then tuke thair places at his borde.
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