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Befides your targe, in battle keen,

Bat little danger tholes,

2

While mine wi' mony a thudd is clour'd,

An' thirl'd fair wi' holes.

Bat now, fat need's for a' this din?

Lat deeds o' words tak' place,

An lat your ftoutness now be try'd,

Juft here before your face.

Lat the arms of ACHILLES brave

Amon' our faes be laid,

An' the first chiel that brings them back,

Lat him wi' them be clad.

Adde, quod iste tuus, tam raro praelia passus,
Integer eft clypeus. noftro, qui tela ferendo
Mille patet plagis, novus eft fucceffor habendus.
Denique, quid verbis opus eft? spectemur agendo :

Arma viri fortis medios mittantur in hoftes;

Inde jubete peti: et referentem ornate relatis.

THE EN D.

JOURNAL

FROM

LONDON to PORTSMOUTH.

I

SIR,

Wou'd hae written you lang 'ere now, bat I hae been fae eident writin journals that I hae been quite forfoughen wi' them: bat diel ane has glacked my mitten for as fair as I hae been nidder'd wi' them. Foufomever, fin we're speakin o' journals, I hae been fae baul as fen you a fampler o' mine frae London to Portfinouth. An' first an' foremeft, there was three i' the coach forby me. The firft was a leiftenant o' a fhip, a gaucy, fwack young follow, an' as guid a pint-ale's man as 'ere beeked his fit at the coutchack o' a browfter wife's ingle: he was well wordy o' the gardy-chair itfel, or e'en to fit ben iuno the guidman upo' the best bink o' the houfe: I believe an

honefter follow never brack the nook o' a corter, nor cuttit a fang frae a kebbuck, wi' a futtle that lies i' the quinzie o' the maun oner the cleath.

The fecond chiel was a thick, fetterel, fwown pallach, wi' a great chuller oner his chocks, like an ill fcraped haggis: he's now gane back to London, an' I'm feer, gin ye'll tak the pains to fin him out, an' flay him belly-flaught, his skin wad mak a gallant tulchin for you: bat I canna fay I had ony cause to with the body ill, for he did gaylies confeirin; only he connach'd a hantle o' tobacco; for deil belickit did he the hale gate bat feugh at his pipe; an' he was fae brouden'd upon't, that he was like to fmore us i' the coach wi the very ewder o't: bat yet he was a fine gabby, auld-farren carly, and held us browly out o' lang, er bi' the rod.

The thrid was an auld, wizen'd, haave colour. ed carlen, a fad gyfard indeed, an' as baul as o ny ettercap: we had been at nae great tinfel a piest we had been quit o' her; for diel a maik to her that e'er you faw: for altho you had feen her yoursel, you wou'd na' kent fat to mak o' her, unless it had been a gyr-carlen, or set her up amon a curn air bear to fley awa the ruicks. Jidge ye gin we had na' bony company.

But there was fomething war na' a' this yet, the diel a drap guid ale cou'd we get upo' the rod. I canna tell you fat diel was the matter wi't, gin the wort was blinket, or fat it was, bat you ne'er faw fik peltry i' your born days; for it tafted fweet i' your mou, bat fan anes it was down your wizen, it had an ugly knaggim, an 'a wauch wa-gang: an' fyne the head o't was as yallow as biest milk; it was enough to gi' a warsh-stamack'd body a fcunner; bat ye ken well enough that I was never vera ogertfu'. Bat for a that we came browlies o' the rod, till we came within a mile of Godlamin, a little townie upo the rod; an' syn on a fuddenty, our great gillegapous follow o' coach-man turned o'er our gallant cart amc a heap o' fhirrels, an' peat-mow, an' flang her po her bred-fide i' the gutter. My fide happed to be newmost, an' the great hudderen car'n was riding hockerty cockerty upo my fhours in a hand-clap: for the wile limmer was fe dozn'd an' funied wi' cauld, that he had neiner farrach nor maughts; for the tumbled dowrupo me wi' fik a reimis, that she gart my head ry knoit upo the coach door. I wat fhe rais'd snorlick on my crown, that was not well for tw days. By this time the gutters was comin in a the coach door galore, an' I was lyin tawin an' wamlin under

lucky-minny like a sturdy hoggie that had fa'n into a peat-pot, or a stirkie that had faver'd into a well-eye. Saul man, I began to think be this time that my difty-meiller wis near made, an' wad hae gien twice forty pennies to had the gowan oner my feet again; for thinks I, an' the horfe takia brattle now, they may come to lay up my mit-, tens, an' ding me yavil, an' as ftyth as gin I had been elf-shot. Bat the thing that anger'd me warft awa, was to be fae fair gnidg'd by a chanler-chafted, auld runk carlen; for an it had been a tyddie, cauller, fwack penny-worth, I might hae chanc'd to get a mens o' her, an' gotten a ride on her aen, gin the had been neiperly. Bat to mak a Ing tale fhort, I gat out oner the wife, an' clam ou at t'ither door o' the coach, as gin I had been gain out at the lum o' a house that wanted baith ero an' rantle-tree. Saul man, ye may laugh at mefan ye read this, bat I wat it was na' mows, or I was fidgin fain an' unco vokie fan I gat out er her, for as laggart an' trachel'd as I wis wi' tavin amo' the dubs; I believe gin ye had feen me than (for it was just i' the glomin) staakin about likea hallen-fhaker, you wou'd hae taen me for a water-wreath, or fome gruous ghaist. -Bat I'm feer you wou'd hae laughin fair, gin ye had feen how the auld hag gloffed fan fhe fell down after I got put oner her; however twa or

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