See, see auld Orthodoxy's faes, There Learning, wi' his Greekish face, Her plaint this day. But there's Morality himsel', Between his twa companions; To every New Light* mother's son, Like oil, some day. THE CALF. TO THE REV. MR On his Text, MALACHI, ch. iv. ver. 2" And they shall go forth, and grow up, like CALVES of the stall." RIGHT SIR! your text I'll prove it true, An' should some Patron be so kind, I doubt nae, Sir, but then we'll find, But, if the Lovers raptur'd hour Tho', when some kind, connubial Dear, Your but-and-ben adorns, The like has been that you may wear A noble head of horns. And in your lug, most reverend James, And when ye're number'd wi' the dead, Wi' justice they may mark your headHere lies a famous Bullock ! ADDRESS TO THE DEIL. O Prince! O Chief of many throned Pow'rs, O THOU! whatever title suit thee, Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee, *New Light is a cant phrase in the West of Scotland, for those religious opinions which Dr Taylor of Nor. wich has defended so strenuously. I'm sure sma' pleasure it can gie, To skelp an' scaud poor dogs like me, Great is thy pow'r, an' great thy fame; An' faith! thou's neither lag nor lame, Whyles, ranging like a roarin' lion, Whyles, in the human bosom pryin', I've heard my reverend Graunie say, When twilight did my Graunie summon, To say her prayers, douce honest woman! Aft yont the dyke she's heard you bummin'! Wi' eerie drone ; Or, rustlin', thro' the boortries comin', Ae dreary, windy, winter night, Ayont the lough; Ye, like a rash-bush stood in sight, Wi' waving sough. Is instant made no worth a louse, Just at the bit. When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord, An nighted Trav'llers are allured An aft your moss-traversing Spunkies Decoy the wight that late and drunk is; The bleezin', curst, mischievous monkeys Delude his eyes, Till in some miry slough he sunk is, When Masons' mystic word an' grip, In storms an' tempests raise you up, Some cock or cat your rage maun stop, Or, strange to tell; The youngest Brother ye wad whip Aff straught to hell! Lang syne, in Eden's bonnie yard, When youthfu' lovers first were pair'd, An' all the soul of love they shared, The raptured hour, Sweet on the frgrant flowery swaird In shady bower: Then you, ye auld, snic-drawing dog! An' gied the infant world a shog, D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz, Your spitefu' joke? An' how ye gat him i' your thrall, An' lowsed his ill tongued wicked Scawl, But a' your doings to rehearse, Wad ding a Lallan tongue, or Erse, An' now, auld Cloots, I ken ye're thinkin', * Vide Milton, book vi, When ance life's day draws near the Gie wealth to some be-ledger'd cit, gloamin', Then fareweel vacant careless roamin'; An' fareweel cheerfu' tankards foamin', An' social noise; An' fareweel dear deluding woman, O Life! how pleasant in thy morning, Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning ! Cold pausing Caution's lesson scorning, We frisk away, Like school-boys, at the expected warning, To joy and play. We wander there, we wander here, We eye the rose upon the brier, Unmindful that the thorn is near, Amang the leaves : And though the puny wound appear, Short while it grieves. Some lucky, find a flowery spat, For which they never toiled nor swat They drink the sweet and eat the fat, But care or pain And haply eye the barren hut With high disdain. My pen I here fling to the door, And kneel, Ye Pow'rs!' and warm implore, Grant me but this, I ask no more, Aye rowth o' rhymes. Gie dreeping roasts to countra lairds, An' yill an' whisky gie to cairds, A title, Dempster merits it; In cent. per cent. But give me real, sterling wit, An' I'm content. But surely dreams were ne'er indicted treason. [On reading, in the public papers, the Laureate's Ode, with the other parade of June 4, 1786, the author was no sooner dropt asleep, than he imagined himself transported to the birth-day levee; and in his dreaming fancy, made the following Address.] I. GUID-MORNIN' to your Majesty! When ance life's day draws near the Gie wealth to some be-ledger'd cit, gloamin', Then fareweel vacant careless roamin'; An' fareweel dear deluding woman, O Life! how pleasant in thy morning, Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning! Cold pausing Caution's lesson scorning, We frisk away, Like school-boys, at the expected warning, To joy and play. We wander there, we wander here, We eye the rose upon the brier, Unmindful that the thorn is near, Amang the leaves : And though the puny wound appear, Short while it grieves. Some lucky, find a flowery spat, For which they never toiled nor swat They drink the sweet and eat the fat, But care or pain And haply eye the barren hut With high disdain. With steady aim, some Fortune chase; Then cannie in some cozie place, An' others, like your humble servan', Poor wights! nae rules or roads observin'; To right or left, eternal swervin', They zig-zag on; Till curst wi' age, obscure an' starvin', They aften groan. Alas! what bitter toil an' strainingBut truce with peevish poor complaining! Is Fortune's fickle Luna waning? E'en let her gang, Beneath what light she has remaining, Let's sing our sang. My pen I here fling to the door, And kneel, Ye Pow'rs!' and warm implore, Grant me but this, I ask no more, Aye rowth o' rhymes. Gie dreeping roasts to countra lairds, An' yill an' whisky gie to cairds, A title, Dempster merits it; A garter gie to Willie Pitt; In cent. per cent. But give me real, sterling wit, An' I'm content. |