For whan fair Freedom smiles nae mair,
Care I for life? Shame fa' the hair;
A field o'ergrown wi' rankest stubble,
The essence o' a paltry bubble.

CAULER WATER.

WHAN father Aidie first pat spade in
The bonny yard of ancient Eden,
His amry had nae liquor laid in,

To fire his mou',

Nor did he thole his wife's upbraidin,
For being fu'.

A cauler burn o' siller sheen,
Ran cannily out-owre the green;
And whan our gutcher's drouth had been
To bide right sair,

He loutit down, and drank bedeen
A dainty skair.

His bairns had a', before the flood,
A langer tack o' flesh and blood;

And on mair pithy shanks they stood Than Noah's line,

Wha still hae been a feckless brood, Wi' drinkin wine.

The fuddlin bardies, now-a-days,
Rin maukin-mad in Bacchus' praise ;
And limp and stoiter thro' their lays
Anacreontic,

While each his sea of wine displays,
As big's the Pontic.

My Muse will no gang far frae hame, Or scour a' airths to hound for fame; In troth the jillet ye might blame For thinking on't, Whan eithly she can find the theme O' aquafont.

This is the name that doctors use,
Their patients' noddles to confuse
Wi' simples clad in terms abstruse,

They labour still,

In kittle words to gar you roose

;

Their want o' skill.

But we'll hae nae sic clitter-clatter; And, briefly to expound the matter,

It shall be ca'd gude Cauler Water;

Than whilk, I trow,

Few drugs in doctors' shops are better For me or you.

Tho' joints be stiff as ony rung,
Your pith wi' pain be sairly dung,
Be you in Caller Water flung

Out o'er the lugs,

"Twill mak ye souple, swack, and young, Withouten drugs.

Tho' cholic or the heart-scad teaze us, ony inward dwaam should seize us,

Or

It masters a' sic fell diseases,

That wad ye spulzie,

And brings them to a canny crisis

Wi' little tulzie.

Wer't na for it the bonny lasses

Wad glow'r nae mair in keekin glasses, And soon tine dint o' a' the graces

That aft conveen

In gleefu' looks and bonny faces,
To catch our een.

The fairest then might die a maid,
And Cupid quit his shooting trade,

For wha thro' clarty masquerade

Cou'd then discover,

Whether the features under shade

Were worth a lover?

As Simmer rains bring Simmer flowers,
And leaves to cleed the birken bowers,
Sae beauty gets by cauler showers,

Sae rich a bloom,

As for estate, or heavy dowers,

Aft stands in room.

What maks Auld Reikie's dames sae fair?

It cannot be the halesome air,

But cauler burn, beyond compare,

The best o' ony,

That

gars

them a' sic graces skair,

And blink sae bonny.

On May-day, in a fairy ring,

We've seen them round St Anthon's spring, Frae grass the cauler dew-draps wring

To weet their een,

And water clear as crystal spring,

To look sae feat, sae clean, sae gay!

Then shall their beauties glance like May,

And, like her, be

The Goddess of the vocal spray,

The Muse, and me.

THE SITTING OF THE SESSION.

PHOEBUS, sair Cow'd wi' Simmer's hight,
Cours near the yird wi' blinkin light;
Cauld shaw the haughs, nae mair bedight
Wi' Simmer's claes,

Which heese the heart o' dowie wight
That thro' them gaes.

Weel loes me o' you, Business! now;
For ye'll weet mony a drouthy mou,
That's lang a geyzenin gane for you,
Withouten fill

O' dribbles frae the gude brown cow,
Or Highland gill.

The Court o' Session, weel wat I,
Pits ilk chiel's whittle i' the pye;