Mein tyme, quhyle feifting on a fawn,
And drinking blude frae lamies drawn,
A tunefull Robin trig and zung
Hard by upon a bour-tree fung.
He fang the Eagle's ryall lyne,
His perfing ee and richt divyne
To fway out owre the fetherit thrang,
Quha dreid his martial bill and fang :
His flicht fublime, and eild renewit,
His mynd with clemencie endewit;
In fafter notes he fang his luve ;
Mair hie, his beiring bolts for Jove.
The monarch bird with blythness hard
The chaunting litil filvan bard,
Calit up a buzart, quha was than
His favourite and chamberlane.
"Swith to my treasury," quod he,
"And to zon canty Robin gie
"As meikle of our currant geir
"As may mentain him throw the zeir;
"We can weil fpair 't, and it 's his due."
He bad, and furth the Judas flew
Straight to the bench quhair Robin fung,
And with a wickit lieand tung
Said, "Ah! ze fing fae dull and ruch,
"Ze haif deivt our lugs mair than enuch;
"His majestie hes a nyfe eir,
"And nae mair of zour stuff can beir ; "Poke up your pypes, be nae mair sene I warn ze as a frein."
He spak, quhyle Robinis fwelling breift,
And drouping wings, his greif expreft;
The teirs ran happing doun his cheik,
Grit grew his hairt, he coud nocht speik,
No for the tinfell of rewaird,
But that his notis met nae regaird.
Straicht to the schaw he fpred his wing,
Refolvit again nae mair to fing,
Quhair princelie bountie is fuppreft
By fic with quhome they ar opprest,
Quha cannot beir, because they want it,
That ocht fuld be to merit grantit.
THE AUTHOR'S ADDRESS TO HIS BOOK IN IMITATION OF HORACE.
DEAR, vent'rous book, e'en take thy will,
And scowp around the warld thy fill:
Wow! ye 're newfangle to be feen,
In gilded Turkey clad, and clean.
Daft, giddy thing! to dare thy fate,
And spang o'er dykes that fear the blate:
But mind, when anes ye 're to the bent,
Altho' in vain, ye may repent.
Alake! I'm fleed thou aften meet
A gang that will thee fourly treat,
And ca' thee dull for a' thy pains,
When damps distress their drowzie brains.
I dinna doubt, whilst thou art new,
Thou 'It favour find frae not a few;
But when thou 'rt ruffled and forfairn,
Sair thumb'd by ilka coof or bairn,
Then, then by age ye may grow wise,
And ken things common gi'e na price.
I'd fret, wae 's me! to fee thee lye
Beneath the bottom of a pye;
Or cow'd out page by page, to wrap
Up fnuff, or sweeties, in a fhap.
Awa, fic fears! gae fpread my fame,
And fix me an immortal name;
Ages to come fhall thee revive,
And gar thee with new honours live.
The future critics, I forefee,
Shall have their notes on notes on thee;
The wits unborn fhall beauties find
That never enter'd in my mind.
Now when thou tells how I was bred
But hough enough to a mean trade,
To balance that, pray let them ken
My faul to higher pitch cou'd ften:
And when ye fhaw I'm scarce of gear,
Gar a' my virtues fhine mair clear:
Tell, I the best and fairest please ;
A little man that lo'es my ease,
And never thole thefe paffions lang
That rudely mint to do me wrang:
Gin ony want to ken my age,
See anno Dom. on title page;
This year, when springs, by care and skill,
The spacious leaden conduits † fill,
And first flow'd up the Castle-hill;
When South-Sea projects cease to thrive,
And only North-Sea seems alive,
Tell them your author 's thirty-five.
* The first edition of his poems was published in 1721.
The new lead pipes for conveying water to Edinburgh,
of four inches and a half diameter within, and fix tenths of an
inch in thickness; all caft in a mould invented by the ingenious
Mr. Harding of London.
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