Wi' wine we'll gargarise our craig,
Then enter in a lasting league,

Free of ill aspect or intreague;

And, gin ye please it,

Like princes when met at the Hague,
We'll solemnise it.

Accept of this, and look upon it
Wi' favour, tho' poor I hae done it;
Sae I conclude, and end my sonnet,
Wha am most fully,

While I do wear a hat or bonnet,

Yours-Wanton Willie.

POSTSCRIPT.

By this my postscript, I incline
To let ye ken my hail design
O' sic a lang imperfect line,

Lies in this sentence,

To cultivate my dull ingine

By your acquaintance.

Your answer, therefore, I expect,
And to your friend you may direct,
At Gilbertfield; do not neglect,

When ye hae leisure,

Which I'll embrace wi' great respect
And perfect pleasure.

ANSWER I.

Edinburgh, July 10, 1719.

Sonse fa' me, witty, wanton Willy,

Gin blythe I was nae as a filly:

Not a fou pint, nor short-hought gilly,

Or wine that's better,

Could please sae meikle, my dear Billy,
As thy kind letter.

Before a lord, and eik a knight,

In gossy Don's be candle light,
There first I saw't, and ca'd it right,

And the maist feck

Wha's seen't sinsyne, they ca'd as tight
As that on Heck.

Ha, heh! thought I, I canna say
But I may cock my nose the day,
When Hamilton, the bauld and gay,
Lends me a heezy,

In verse that slides sae smooth away,
Weel tell'd and easy.

Sae roosed by ane o' weel-kenn'd mettle,
Nae sma' did my ambition pettle,
My canker'd critics it will nettle,

And e'en sae be't:

This month I'm sure I winna settle,
Sae proud I'm wi't.

When I begoud first to cun verse,

And could your Airdrie Whins* rehearse,
Where Bonny Heck ran fast and fierce,
It warm'd my breast;

Then emulation did me pierce,

Whilk since ne'er ceast.

May I be licket wi' a bittle,

Gin of your numbers I think little;

Ye're never rugget, shan, nor kittle,
But blythe and gabby;

And hit the spirit to a tittle,

O' standart Habby.+

Ye'll quat your quill! that were ill-willy,
Ye's sing some mair yet, nill ye will ye,
Ower meikle haining wad but spill ye,
And gar ye sour,

Then up and waur them a' yet, Willy,
"Tis in your pow'r.

To knit up dollars in a clout,

And then to eard them round about,

*The last words of Bonny Heck, of which he was the author.

†The elegy on Habby Simpson, piper of Kilbarchan, a finished piece of its kind.

Syne to tell up, they downa lout

To lift the gear;

The malison lights on that rout,

Is plain and clear.

The chiels o' London, Cam, and Ox.
Hae raised up great poetic stocks
O' Rapes o' Buckets, Sarks, and Locks,
While we neglect

To shaw their betters. This provokes
Me to reflect

On the lear'd days o' Gawn Dunkell ;*
Our country then a tale could tell,
Europe had nane mair snack and snell
At verse or prose;

Our kings were poets too themsell,+
Bauld and jocose.

To Edinburgh, Sir, whene'er ye come,
I'll wait upon ye, there's my thumb,
Were't frae the gill-bells to the drum, §
And tak a bout,

And faith I hope we'll no sit dumb,

Nor yet cast out.

EPISTLE II.

DEAR RAMSAY,

Gilbertfield, July 24, 1719.

When I received thy kind epistle,

It made me dance, and sing, and whistle;

O sic a fyke and sic a fistle

* Gawn Douglas, brother to the Earl of Angus, Bishop of Dunkell, who, besides several other poems, hath left a most exact translation of Virgil's Eneis.

James the First and Fifth.

From half an hour before twelve at noon, when the musicbells begin to play, frequently called the gill-bells, from people taking a whetting dram at that time.

§ Ten o'clock at night, when the drum goes round to warn sober folk to call for a bill.

I had about it!

That ne'er was knight o' the Scots thistle *
Sae fain, I doubted.

The bonny lines therein thou sent me,
How to the nines they did content me;
Tho', Sir, sae high to compliment me
Ye might deferred;

For had ye but haff weel a kent me,
Some less wad ser'd.

Wi' joyfu' heart, beyond expression,
They're safely now in my possession;
O gin I were a winter session

Near by thy lodging,

I'd close attend thy new profession,

Without e'er budging.

In even down earnest, there's but few
To vie wi' Ramsay dare avow

In verse; for, to gie thee thy due,

And, without fleetching,
Thou's better at that trade, I trow,

Than some's at preaching.

For my part, till I'm better lear't,
To troke wi' thee I'd best forbear't,
For an' the fouk o' Edinburgh hear't,
They'll ca' me daft;

I'm unco irie, and dirt fear't,

I mak wrang waft.

Thy verses, nice as ever nicket,
Made me as canty as a cricket;
I ergh to reply, lest I stick it,

Syne like a coof

I look, or ane whase pouch is picket

As bare's my loof.

*The ancient and most noble order of knighthood, erected by King Achaius. The ordinary ensigns, worn by the knights of the order, was a green riband, to which was appended a thistle of gold, crowned with an imperial crown, within a circle of gold, with this motto, "Nemo me impune lacessct."

Heh, winsome! how thy saft sweet style,
And bonny auld words gar me smile;
Thou's travell❜d surely mony a mile,

Wi' charge and cost,

To learn them thus keep rank and file,
And ken their post.

For I maun tell thee, honest Allie,
(I use the freedom sae to ca' thee,)
I think them a' sae braw and wallie,
And in sic order,

I wad na care to be thy valie

Or thy recorder.

Hast thou wi' Rosicrucians wandert ?*
Or thro' some donsie desert dandert?
That wi' thy magic, town and landart,
For aught I see,

Maun a' come truckle to thy standart
O' poetrie.

Do not mistake me, dearest heart,
As if I charg'd thee wi' black art,
'Tis thy guid genius, still alert,

That does inspire

Thee wi' ilk thing that's quick and smart
To thy desire.

E'en mony a bonny knacky tale,
Braw to set ower a pint o' ale;
For fifty guineas I'll find bail,
Against a boddle,

That I wad quat ilk day a meal
For sic a noddle.

And, on condition I were as gabby
As either thee, or honest Habby,
That I lin❜d a' thy claes wi' tabby,
Ör velvet plush,

And then thou'd be sae far frae shabby,

Thou'd look right sprush.

* A people deeply learned in the occult sciences, who conversed with aërial beings-gentlemanlike kind of necromancers, or so.