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Besides your targe, in battle keen,

Bat little danger tholes,

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

An' thirl'd sair wi' holes.

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

Lat deeds o' words tak' place,

An lat your stoutness now be try'd,

Just 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 est successor habendus.

Denique, quid verbis opus est? spectemur agendo :

Arma viri fortis medios mittantur in hostes;

Inde jubete peti: et referentem ornate relatis.

THE END

А

JOURNAL

FROM

LONDON to PORTSMOUTH.

SIR,

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I

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. Fousomever, fin we're speakin o' journals, I hảe been sae baul as sen you a sampJer o' mine frae London to Portsinouth. An' first an’ foremelt, there was three i' the coach forby me. The first was a leiftenant o'a fhip, a gaucy; swack young follow, an' as guid a pint-ale's man as 'ere beeked his fit at the coutchack o' a browster wife's ingle: he was well wordy o' the gardy-chair itsel, or e'en to fit ben iuno the guid. man upo' the best bink o' the house: 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 second chiel was a thick, fetterel, fwown pallach, wi' a great chuller oner his chocks, like an ill scraped haggis: he's now gane back to Lon. don, an' I'm feer, gin ye'll tak the pains to fin him out, an' Alay him belly-ffaught, his skin wad mak a gallant tulchin for you: bat I canna say 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 broudend upon't, that he was like to finore us i' the coach wir 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.

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

But there was something 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 wilt, gin the wort was blinket, or fat it was, bat you ne'er saw fik peltry i' your born days; for it tafted sweet i’ your mou, bat fan anes it was down your wizen, it had an ugly knaggim, an 'a wauch wa-gang: an’syne the head o'r was as yallow as biest milk; it was enough to gi’ a warsh-stamack'd body a scunner; 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 suddenty, our great gillegapous follow oot coach-man turned o'er our gallant cart amo heap o' Thirrels, an' peat-mow, an' Alang her po her bred-side i’ the gutter. My side happed to be newmost, an' the great hudderen car'n was riding hockerty cockerty upo my shours in a hand-clap: for the wile limmer was se dozn’d an'funied wi' cauld, that she had neiper farrach nor maughts; for (he tumbled dowrupo me wi' sik a reimis, that she gart my head ry knoit upo the coach door. I wat she rais'd ; norlick 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 ftirkie that had ftaver'd into a well-eye. Saul man, I began to think be this time that my disty-meiller wis near made, an' wad hae gien twice forty pennies to had the gowan oner my feet again; for thinks I, an' the horse takia brattle now, they may come to lay up my mito, tens, an' ding me yavil, anʼas styth as gin I had been elf-thot. Bat the thing that anger'd me wart 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 a

en, gin The had been neiperly. Bat to mak a Ing tale short, 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 eronlan' rantle-tree. Saul man, ye may laugh at mefan ye read this, bát I wat it was na' mows, br I was fidgin fain an' unco vokie fan I gat out der her, for as laggart an' trachel'd as I wis wi' taxin amo' the dubs; I believe gin ye had seen me than (for it was just i' the glomin) staak. in about likea hallen-fhaker, you wou'd hae taen me for a water-wreath, or some gruous ghaift. Bat I'm feer you wou'd hae laughin sair, 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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