He died for ever.-Fair and bright
The Phoenix frae his ashes sprang. Thus wicked men sink down to night, While just men join the glorious thrang.
DEEP in a narrow craiged Pig
Lay mony a dainty nut and fig.
A greedy Callan, half a sot,
Shot his wee nive into the pot,
And thought to bring as mony out
As a' his fangs could gang about;
But the strait neck o't wadna suffer
The hand of this young foolish truffer,
Sae struted, to return again,
Which gae the gowkie nae sma' pain.
He gowls to be sae disappointed,
And drugs till he has maist disjointed
His shekelbane.-Anither lad
Stood by, wha some mair judgment had;
Said, "Billy, dinna grip at a',
And you with ease a part may draw."
This same advice to men I lend;
Ne'er for o'er much at anes contend,
But take the canniest gate to ease,
And pike out joys by twas and threes.
THE MAN WITH THE TWA WIVES.
IN ancient tales there is a story,
Of ane had twa Wives, whig and tory.
The Carlie's head was now attir'd
With hair, an equal mixture lyart.
His Wives (faith ane might well suffic'd)
Alternately was ay ill pleas'd:
They being reverse to ane another
In age and faith, made a curs'd pother
Whilk of the twa shou'd bear the bell,
And make their man maist like themsell.
Auld Meg the tory took great care
To weed out ilka sable hair,
Plucking out all that look'd like youth,
Frae crown of head to weeks of mouth;
Saying, that baith in head and face,
Antiquity was mark of grace.
But Bess the whig, a raving rump,
Took figmalaries, and wald jump,
With sword and pistol by her side,
And cock a-stride a rowing ride
On the hag-ridden sumph, and grapple
Him hard and fast about the thrapple;
And with her furious fingers whirle
Frae youthfu' black ilk silver curle.
Thus was he serv'd between the twa,
Till no ae hair he had ava.
THE moral of this fable's easy,
But I shall speak it out to please ye.
'Tis an auld saying and a trow,
Between twa stools the arse fa's throw."
Thus Britain's morals are much plucked,
While by two opposites instructed;
Who still contending, have the trick
The strongest truths to contradict;
Tho' orthodox, they'll error make it,
If party opposite has spake it.
Thus are we keytch'd between the twa,
Like to turn deists ane and a'.
THE FABLE OF THE CONDEMNED ASS.
A DREADFUL plague, the like was sindle seen,
Cast mony a beast wame upwards on the green:
By thousands down to Acheron they sank,
To dander ages on the dowie bank,
Because they lay unburied on the sward
The sick survivors cou'dna give them eard.
The wowf and tod with sighing spent the day,
Their sickly stamacks scunner'd at the prey;
Fowls droop the wing, the bull neglects his love;
Scarce crawl the sheep, and weakly horses move:
The bauldest brutes that haunt Numidian glens,
Ly panting out their lives in dreary dens.
Thick lay the dead, and thick the pain'd and weak,
The prospect gart the awfu' Lion quake.
He ca's a council.-" Ah! my friends," said he, ""Tis for some horrid faut sae mony die;
Sae heaven permits.-Then let us a' confess,
With open breast, our crimes baith mair and less,
That the revengefu' Gods may be appeas'd,
When the maist guilty wight is sacrific'd.
Fa't on the fey'st: I shall first begin,
And awn whate'er my conscience ca's a sin.
The sheep and deer I've worried, now, alace!
Crying for vengeance, glowr me i' the face;
Forby their herd, poor man! to croun my treat,
Limb after limb, with bloody jaws I ate:
Ah, glutton me! what murders have I done!-
Now say about, confess ilk ane as soon
And frank as I."-" Sire," says the pawky Tod,
"Your tenderness bespeaks you haf a god!
Worthy to be the monarch of the grove,
Worthy your friends' and a' your subjects' love.
Your scruples are too nice: what's harts or sheep?
An idiot crowd, which for your board ye keep;
And where's the sin for ane to take his ain?
Faith 'tis their honour when by you they're slain.
Neist, what's their herd?—a man, our deadly fae!
Wha o'er us beasts pretends a fancy'd sway;
And ne'er makes banes o't, when 'tis in his power,
With guns and bows our nation to devour."
He said; and round the courtiers all and each
Applauded Lawrie for his winsome specch.
The tyger, bair, and every powerfu' fur,
Down to the wilcat and the snarling cur,
Confest their crimes :-but wha durst ca' them crimes, Except themsells?
The Ass, dull thing! neist in his turn confest, That being with hunger very sair opprest,
In o'er a dike he shot his head ae day,
And rugg'd three mouthfu's aff a ruck of hay:
"But speering leave," said he, some wicked de'il
Did tempt me from the parish priest to steal."
He said;
and all at ains the powerfu' croud,
With open throats, cry'd hastily and loud,
"This gypsie Ass deserves ten deaths to die,
Whase horrid guilt brings on our misery!"
A gaping wolf, in office, straight demands
To have him burnt, or tear him where he stands:
Hanging, he said, was o'er an easy death;
He should in torture yield his latest breath.
What, break a bishop's yard! ah crying guilt!
'Which nought can expiate till his blood be spilt.
The Lion signs his sentence, "hang and draw:"
Sae poor lang lugs maun pay the kane for a'.
Hence we may ken, how power has eith the knack
To whiten red and gar the blew seem black:
They'll start at winlestraes, yet never crook,
When Interest bids, to lowp out o'er a stowk.
LANGSYNE in Egypt beasts were Gods;
Sae mony that the men turn'd beasts;
Vermin and brutes but house or hald,
Had offerings, temples, and their priests.
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