In answer to a Mandate by a Surveyor of the Taxes.
as your mandate did request, I send you here a faithfu' list, O'gudes an' gear, an' a' my graith, To which I'm clear to gie my aith.
Imprimis then, for carriage cattle,
I have four brutes o' gallant mettle,
As ever drew afore a pettle.
My (25) Hand-afore a gude auld has been,
An' wight an' wilfu' a' his days been.
My (26) Hand-ahin a weel gaun fillie,
That aft has borne me hame frae Killie, (27)
An' your auld burrough monie a time,
In days when riding was nae crime
But ance whan in my wooing pride
I like a blockhead boost to ride,
The wilfu' creature sae I pat to,
(Ld pardon a' my sins an' that to!
I play'd my fillie sic a shavie,
She's a' bedevil'd wi' the spavie.
My (28) Furr-a-hin a wordy beast,
As e'er in tug or tow was trac’d.—
The fourth's a Highland Donald hastie,
A d—n'd red-wud Kilburnie blastie ;
Forby a Cont, o' Cont's the wale,
As ever ran afore a tail.
If he be spar'd to be a beast,
He'll draw me fifteen pun' at least.-
Wheel carriages I hae but few,
Three carts, an' twa' are feckly new;
An auld wheelbarrow, mair for token,
Ae leg an' baith the trams are broken:
I made a poker o' the spin'le,.
An' my auld mother brunt the trin’le.→→→
For men, I've three mischievous boys,
Run deils for rantin and for noise;
A gaudsman ane, a thrasher t'other,
Wee Davock hauds the nowt in fother.
I rule them as I ought, discreetly,
An' aften labour them completely.
An ay on Sundays duly nightly,
I on the questions targe them tightly;
Till faith, wee Davock's turn'd sae gleg,
Tho' scarcely langer than your leg,
He'll screed you aff Effectual Calling,
As fast as ony in the dwalling.
I've nane in female servan' station,
(L-d keep me ay frae a' temptation!)
I hae nae wife; and that my bliss is,
An' ye have laid nae tax on misses;
An' then if kirk folks dinna clutch me,
I ken the devils dare pa touch me.
Wi' weans I'm mair than weel contented,
Heav'n sent me ane mae than I wanted
My sonsie smirking dear-bought Bess,.
She stares the daddy in her face,
Enough of ought ye like but grace;
But her my bonny sweet wee lady,
I've paid enough for her already,
An gin ye tax her or her mither,
B' the L-d! ye'se get them a' thegither.
And now, remember Mr A-k-n, Nae kind of licence out I'm takin; Frae this time forth, I do declare, I'se ne'er ride horse nor hizzie mair ;
Thro' dirt an' dub for life I'll paidle,
Ere I sae dear pay for a saddle;
My travel a' on foot I'll shank it,
I've sturdy bearers, Gude be thankit.-
The Kirk and you may tak' you
It puts but little in your pat:
Sae dinna put me in your buke,
Nor for my ten white shillings luke.
This list wi' my ane han' I wrote it,
Day an' date as under notit,
Then know all ye whom it concerns,
Mossgiel, Feb. 22d, 1786,
THE sun had clos'd the winter day,
The curlers quat their roaring play,
An' hunger'd Maukin taen her way
To kail-yards green,
While faithless snaws ilk step betray
Whare she has been.
The Thresher's weary flingin tree
The lee-lang day had tired me:
And whan the Day had clos'd his e'e,
Ben the Spence, right pensivelie,
I gaed to rest.
There, lanely, by the ingle-cheek, I sat and ey'd the spewing reek,
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