Good God! what tuneless heart-strings wadna

twang,

When love and beauty animate the fang?

Skies echo back, when thou blaws up thy reed
In Burchet's praise for clapping of thy head:
And when thou bids the paughty Czar stand yon,
The wandought feems beneath thee on his throne.
Now, be my faul, and I have nought behin,
And well I wat fause fwearing is a fin,
I'd rather have thy pipe and twa three sheep,
Than a' the gowd the monarch's coffers keep.

Coly, look out, the few we have 's gane wrang, This fe'enteen owks I have not play'd fae lang; Ha! Crummy, ha! trowth I man quat my fang; But, lad, neist mirk we 'll to the haining drive, When in fresh lizar they get spleet and rive: The royts will reft, and gin ye like my play, I'll whistle to thee all the live-lang day.

TO MR. WILLIAM STARRAT,

ON RECEIVING THE FOREGOING.

FRAE fertile fields where nae curs'd ethers creep,
To ftang the herds that in rafh buffes fleep;
Frae where Saint Patrick's bleffings freed the bogs
Frae taids, and afks, and ugly creeping frogs;
Welcome to me the found of Starrat's pipe,
Welcome as weftlen winds or berries ripe,
When speeling up the hill, the dog-days' heat
Gars a young thirsty fhepherd pant and sweat :
Thus while I climb the mufes' mount with care,
Sic friendly praises give refreshing air.

O! may
the laffes loo thee for thy pains,
And may thou lang breathe healfome o'er the

plains :

Lang mayft thou teach, with round and nooked

lines,

Subftantial skill, that 's worth rich filler mines;
To fhaw how wheels can gang with greatest case,
And what kind barks fail fmootheft o'er the feas;
How wind-mills fhould be made; and how they
work

The thumper that tells hours upon the kirk;

How

How wedges rive the aik; how pullifees

Can lift on highest roofs the greatest trees,
Rug frae its roots the craig of Edinburgh castle,
As easily as I cou'd break my whistle

What pleugh fits a wet foil, and whilk the dry;
And mony a thousand useful things forby.

I own 'tis cauld encouragement to fing, When round ane's lugs the blatran hail-ftanes ring;

But feckfu' folks can front the baldeft wind,
And flunk thro' moors, and never fash their mind.
Aft have I wid thro' glens with chorking feet,
When neither plaid nor kelt cou'd fend the weet;
Yet blythly wald I bang out o'er the brae,
And stend o'er burns as light as ony rae,
Hoping the morn might prove a better day.
Then let 's to lairds and ladies leave the spleen,
While we can dance and whistle o'er the green.
Mankind's account of good and ill's a jeft,
Fancy 's the rudder, and content 's a feast.

Dear friend of mine! ye but o'er meikle reefe The lawly mints of my poor moorland muse, Wha looks but blate, when even'd to ither twa, That lull'd the deel, or bigg'd the Theban wa'; But trowth 'tis natural for us a' to wink At our ain fauts, and praises frankly drink :

Fair faʼ ye then, and may your flocks grow rife, And may nae elf twin crummy of her life.

The fun shines sweetly, a' the lift looks blue,
O'er glens hing hovʼring clouds of rising dew
Maggy, the bonnieft lafs of a' our town,
Brent is her brow, her hair a curly brown,
I have a tryst with her, and man away,

Then ye 'll excufe me till anither day,
When I've mair time; for fhortly I'm to fing

Some dainty fangs, that fall round Crochan ring.

TO MR. GAY,

ON HEARING THE DUCHESS OF QUEENSBURY COMMEND SOME

OF HIS POEMS

DEAR lad, wha linkan o'er the lee,
Sang Blowzalind and Bowzybee,
And, like the lavrock, merrily

Wak'd up the morn,

When thou didst tune, with heartsome glee,
Thy bog-teed horn.

To thee frae edge of Pentland height,
Where fawns and fairies take delight,
And revel a' the live-lang night

O'er glens and braes,

A bard that has the second fight,
Thy fortune fpaes.

Now

* Gay was a great admirer of the poems of Ramfay, particularly of his "Gentle Shepherd;" and they afterwards became perfonally acquainted, when Gay visited Scotland with the duke and duchefs of Queenfbury.