і Lament him a' ye rantin core, Wha dearly like a random-fplore, Nae mair he'll join the merry roar, In focial key; For now he's taen anither fhore, An' owre the Sea! The bonnie laffes weel may wifs him, And in their dear petitions place him: The widows, wives, an' a' may bless him, Wi' tearfu' e'e; For weel I wat they'll fairly miss him That's owre the Sea. O Fortune, they hae room to grumble! Hadft thou taen aff fome drowsy bummle, Wha can do nought but fyke an' fumble, 'Twad been nae plea; But he was gleg as ony wumble, That's owre the Sea! Auld, Auld, cantie Kyle may weepers wear, He was her Laureat monie a year, That's owre the Sea! He faw Misfortune's cauld Nor-west Lang muftering up a bitter blast ; A Jillet brak his heart at last, Ill may she be! So, took a birth afore the maft, An' owre the Sea. To tremble under Fortune's cummock, On scarce a bellyfu' o' drummock, Could ill agree; So, row't his hurdies in a hammock, An' owre the Sea. He He ne'er was gien to great mifguiding, Yet coin his pouches wad na bide in Wi' him it ne'er was under hiding ; He dealt it free: The Mufe was a' that he took pride in, That's owre the Sea. Jamaica bodies, use him weel, An' hap him in a cozie biel: Ye'll find him ay a dainty chiel, And fou o' glee : He wad na wrang'd the vera Deil, That's owre the Sea. Fareweel, my rhyme-compofing billie! Your native foil was right ill-willie; But may ye flourish like a lily, Now bonnilie! I'll toast ye in my hindmoft gillie, Tho' owre the Sea! ΤΟ TO A HAGGIS. FAIR fa' your honest, sonfie face, Great Chieftan o' the Puddin-race ! Painch, tripe, or thairm: Weel are ye wordy of a grace As lang's my arm. The His knife fee Ruftic labour dight, Trenching your gufhing entrails bright Like onie ditch; And then, O what a glorious fight, Warm-reekin, rich! Then horn for horn they ftretch an' ftrive, Deil tak the hindmoft, on they drive, Till a' their weel-fwall'd kytes belyve Are bent like drums ;' Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive, Bethankit hums. |