Whilk heisit and bleisit
My heart with sic a fyre,
As raises these praises,

That do to heaven aspyre.

ELEGY ON MAGGY JOHNSTON,*

WHO DIED IN THE YEAR 1711.

Auld Reekiet mourn in sable hue;
Let fouth o' tears dreep like May-dew:
To braw tippenny‡ bid adieu,

Which we wi' greed

Bended as fast as she could brew;

But, ah! she's dead.

To tell the truth, how Maggy dang, S
O' customers she had a bang;
For lairds and souters a' did gang
To drink bedeen :

The barn and yard were aft sae thrang,
We took the green;

And there by dizens we lay down;
Syne sweetly ca'd the healths aroun',
To bonny lasses, black or brown,
As we loed best;

In bumpers we dull cares did drown,
And took our rest.

* Maggy Johnston lived about a mile southward of Edinburgh, kept a little farm, and had a particular art of brewing a small sort of ale, agreeable to the taste, very white, clear, and intoxicating, which made people, who loved to have a good pennyworth for their money, be her frequent customers; and many others of every station, sometimes for diversion, thought it no affront to be seen in her barn or yard. [This was one of the earliest of Ramsay's publications.]

† A name the country people give Edinburgh, from the cloud of smoke or reek that is always impending over it.

She sold the Scots pint, which is near two quarts English, for twopence.

§ He dings, or dang, is a phrase which means to excel or get

the better.

I

When in our pouch we fand some clinks,
And took a turn ower Bruntsfield Links,*
Aften in Maggy's at hy-jinks, †

We guzzl'd scuds,

Till we could scarce, wi' hale out-drinks,
Cast aff our duds.

We drank and drew, and fill'd again,
Oh wow,
but we were blythe and fain!
When ony had their count mistane,
Oh it was nice

To hear us a' cry, " Pike your bane,‡
And spell your dice!"

Fu' close we us'd to drink and rant,
Until we did baith glow'r and gaunt,

* Fields between Edinburgh and Maggy's, where the citizens commonly play at the golf.

+ A drunken game, or new project to drink and be rich; thus the quegh or cup is filled to the brim, then one of the company takes a pair of dice, and, after crying "Hy-jinks," he throws them out. The number he casts up points out the person that must drink; he who threw beginning at himself, number one, and so round, till the number of the person agree with that of the dice (which may fall upon himself, if the number be within twelve); then he sets the dice to him, or bids him take them: he on whom they fall is obliged to drink, or pay a small forfeiture in money; then throws, and so on; but if he forget to cry "Hyjinks," he pays a forfeiture into the bank. Now, he on whom it falls to drink, if there be any thing in bank worth drawing, gets it all if he drinks; then, with a great deal of caution, he empties his cup, sweeps up the money, and orders the cup to be filled again, and then throws; for if he err in the articles, he loses the privilege of drawing the money. The articles are-1. Drink; 2. Draw; 3. Fill; 4. Cry "Hy-jinks;" 5. Count just; 6. Choose your doublet-man-namely, when two equal numbers of the dice are thrown, the person whom you choose must pay double of the common forfeiture, and so must you when the dice is in his hand. A rare project this, and no bubble, I can assure you; for a covetous fellow may save money, and get himself as drunk as he can desire in less than an hour's time.

Is a cant phrase; when one leaves a little in the cup, he is advised to pike his bone, that is, drink it clean out.

And roar, and splore, and yesk, and maunt,
Right swash I true;

Then o' auld stories we did cant

Whan we were fou.

Whan we were wearied at the gowff,
Then Maggy Johnston's was our howff;
Now a' our gamesters may sit dowff,
Wi' hearts like lead,

Death wi' his rung rax'd her a yowff,*
And sae she's dead.

Maun we be forc'd thy skill to tine,
For which we will right sair repine?
Or hast thou left to bairns o' thine

The pauky knack

O' brewing ale amaist like wine,

That gar'd us crack?

Sae brawly did a pease-scone toast
Bizz i' the quegh, and flee the frost:†
There we got fou wi' little cost,

And muckle speed;

Now, wae worth Death! our sport's a' lost,
Since Maggy's dead.

Ae summer night I was sae fou,‡
Amang the rigs as I gaed through,
I fell on a green bawk, I trow,
And took a nap,

And soucht a' night balillilow,

As sound's a tap.

And whan the dawn begoud to glow,
I hirsl'd up my dizzy pow

Frae 'mang the corn, like wirricow,

Wi' banes sae sair,

And kenn'd nae mair than if a ewe

How I cam there.

* Reached her a blow. † Or fright the frost or coldness off it.

+ The two following stanzas are a true narrative:

On that slid place where I maist brak my banes,
To be a warning I set up twa stanes,

That nane may venture there as I hae dune,
Unless wi' frosted nails he clink his shune.

Some said it was the pith o' broom
That she stow'd in her masking-loom,
Which in our heads rais'd sic a fume;
Or some wild seed,

Which aft the chappin-stoup did toom,
But fill'd our head.

But now since it's sae that we must
Not in the best ale put our trust,
But whan we're auld return to dust,
Without remead,

Why should we tak it in disgust
That Maggy's dead?

O' warldly comforts she was rife,
And liv'd a lang and hearty life,
Right free o' care, or toil, or strife,
Till she was stale,

And kenn'd to be a canny wife
At brewing ale.

Then fareweel, Maggy, douce and fell,
O' brewers a' thou bure the bell:
Let a' thy gossips yelp and yell,
And without feid,

Guess whether ye're in heav'n or hell,
They're sure ye're dead.

ELEGY ON LUCKY WOOD.
MAY 1717. *

O Canigate! poor elritch hole,

What loss, what crosses does thou thole!
London and death† gars thee look droll,
And hing thy head;

Wow! but thou has e'en a cauld coal

To blaw, indeed.

* Lucky Wood kept an ale-house in the Canongate, and was much respected for hospitality, honesty, and the neatness both of her person and house.

+ The place of her residence being the greatest sufferer by the

Hear me, ye hills, and ev'ry glen,
Ilk craig, ilk cleugh, and hollow den,
And echo shrill, that a' may ken

The waefu' thud

By rackless death, wha cam unseen

To Lucky Wood.

*

She's dead, ower true, she's dead and gane,
Left us and Willie, burd alane,†

To bleer and greet, to sab and mane,
And rugg our hair,

Because we'll ne'er see her again
For evermair.

She gaid as fait as a new preen,
And kept her housie snod and bien :
Her peuther glanc'd upo' your een
Like siller plate;

She was a donsie wife and clean,
Without debate.

It did ane guid to see her stools,
Her boord, fireside, and facing tools;+
Racks, chandlers, tangs and fire-shools,
Basket wi' bread.

Poor Facers § now may chew pea-hools,
Since Lucky's dead.

loss of our members of Parliament, which London now enjoysmany of them having their houses there, being the suburbs of Edinburgh, nearest the King's palace. This, with the death of Lucky Wood, are sufficient to make the place ruinous.

*Or unsent for. There is nothing extraordinary in this, it being his common custom, except in some few instances of late, since the falling of the bubbles, that is, South Sea adventurers. † Her husband, William Wood.

Stoups, or pots, and cups, so called from the Facers.

§ The Facers were a club of fair drinkers, who inclined rather to spend a shilling on ale than twopence for meat. They had their name from a rule which they observed, of obliging themselves to throw all they left in the cup in their own faces; wherefore, to save their face and clothes, they prudently sucked the liquor clean out.