After fome dog in * Highland fang,

Was made lang fyne, lord knows how lang.

He was a gash, an' faithfu' tyke,

As ever lap a fheugh or dyke.

His honeft, fonfie, bawf'nt face,
Ay gat him friends in ilka place;
His breast was white, his towzie back,
Weel clad wi' coat o' gloffy black;
His gawfie tail, wi' upward curl,
Hung owre his hurdies wi' a fwirl.

Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither, An' unco pack an' thick thegither; Wi' focial nose whyles fnuff'd an' snowket; Whyles mice and modewurks they howket; Whyles fcour'd awa in lang excursion, An' worry'd ither in diversion; Till tir'd at laft wi' mony a farce, They set them down upon their arse, An' there began a lang digreffion About the lords o' the creation.

* Cuchullin's dog in Offian's Fingal.

CESAR.

I've aften wonder'd, honeft Luath,.

What fort o' life poor dogs like you
An' when the gentry's life I faw,
What way poor bodies liv'd ava.

have;

Our Laird gets in his racked rents, His coals, his kane, an' a' his stents: He rifes when he likes himsel;

His flunkies anfwer at the bell;

1

He ca's his coach; he ca's his horse;
He draws a bonie, filken purfe

As lang's my tail, whare thro' the steeks,
The yellow letter'd Geordie keeks.

Frae morn to een it's nought but toiling, At baking, roasting, frying, boiling; An' tho' the gentry first are steghan, Yet ev❜n the ha' folk fill their peghan Wi' fauce, ragouts, an' fic like trashtrie, That's little fhort o' downright wastrie. Our Whipper-in, wee, blaftet wonner, Poor, worthless elf, it eats a dinner,

His Honor has in a' the lan':

An' what poor Cot-folk pit their painch in,
I own it's past my comprehenfion.

LUAT H.

Trowth, Cæfar, whyles their fash't e

nough;

A Cotter howkan in a fheugh,

Wi' dirty ftanes biggan a dyke,
Bairan a quarry, an' fic like,
Himsel, a wife, he thus fuftains,
A fmytrie o' wee, duddie weans,
An' nought but his han'-daurk, to keep
Them right an' tight in thack an' raep.

An' when they meet wi' fair disasters,
Like lofs o' health or want o' mafters,
Ye maist wad think, a wee touch langer,
An' they maun starve o' cauld and hunger:
But how it comes, I never kent yet,
They're maiftly wonderfu' contented;

An' buirdly chiels, and clever hizzies,
Are bred in fic a way as this is.

CESAR.

But then, to see how ye're negleket,
How huff'd, an' cuff'd, an' difrefpeket!
L-d man, our gentry care as little
For delvers, ditchers, an' fic cattle;

They gang as faucy by poor folk,
As I wad by a ftinkan brock.

I've notic'd on our Laird's court-day,

An'

mony a time

my heart's been wae, Poor tenant bodies, scant o' cash, How they maun thole a factor's fnash; He'll ftamp an' threaten, curse an' swear, He'll apprehend them, poind their gear; While they maun stan', wi' aspect humble, An' hear it a', an' fear an' tremble!

I fee how folk live that hae riches; But furely poor-folk maun be wretches!

LUAT H.

They're no fae wretched's ane wad think; Tho' conftantly on poortith's brink, They're fae accuftom'd wi' the fight,

The view o't gies them little fright.

They're ay

Then chance and fortune are fae guided, in lefs or mair provided; An' tho' fatigu'd wi' clofe employment, A blink o' reft's a fweet enjoyment.

The dearest comfort o' their lives, Their grufhie weans an' faithfu' wives ; The prattling things are just their pride, That fweetens a' their fire fide.

An' whyles twalpennie-worth o' nappy
Can mak the bodies unco happy;
They lay afide their private cares,
To mind the Kirk and State affairs;
They'll talk o' patronage an' priests,
Wi' kindling fury i' their breafts,