Reserving to myself the power
To alter this at latest hour,
Cum privilegio revocare,
Without assigning ratio quare:
And I (as in the Will before did)
Consent this deed shall be recorded:
In testimonium cujus rei,
These presents are deliver'd by
EPISTLE TO MR. ROBERT FERGUSSON.
Is Allanrisen frae the dead,
Wha aft has tuned the aiten reed,
And by the Muses was decreed
To grace the thistle?
Na-Fergusson's come in his stead,
To blaw the whistle.
In troth, my callant, I'm sae fain
To read your sonsy, canty strain;
You write sic easy style, and plain,
And words sae bonnie;
Nae southron loon dare you disdain,
Or cry, "Fye on ye!"
Whae'er has at Auld Reekie been,
And king's birth-days' exploits has seen
Maun own that ye hae gien a keen
And true description;
Nor say, ye've at Parnassus been
To form a fiction.
Hale be your heart, ye canty chield!
May ye ne'er want a gude warm bield,
And sie gude cakes as Scotland yields,
And ilka dainty
That grows or feeds upon her fields,
And whisky plenty!
But ye, perhaps, thirst mair for fame
Than a' the gude things I can name;
And then, ye will be fair to blame
My gude intention;
For that ye needna gae frae hame,
You've sic pretension.
Sae saft and sweet your verses jingle,
And your auld words sae meetly mingle,
'Twill gar baith married fouk and single
To roose your lays;
When we forgather round the ingle,
We'll chant your praise.
When I again Auld Reekie see,
And can forgather, lad, wi' thee,
Then we, wi' meikle mirth and glee,
Shall tak a gill,
And o' your caller oysters we
Shall eat our fill.
If sie a thing should you betide,
To Berwick town to tak a ride,
I'se tak ye up Tweed's bonny side
Before ye settle,
And shaw you there the fisher's pride,
A Sa'mon-kettle.
There lads and lasses do conveen,
To feast and dance upo' the green;
And there sic brav'ry may be seen
As will confound ye,
And gar ye glowr out baith your een
At a' around ye.
To see sae mony bosoms bare,
And sic huge puddins i' their hair,
And some o' them wi' naething mair,
Upo' their tete;
Yea, some wi' mutches that might scare
Craws frae their meat.
I ne'er appear'd before in print,
But, for your sake, wad fain be in't,
E'en that I might my wishes hint
That you'd write mair;
For sure your head-piece is a mint
Where wit's nae rare.
Sonse fa' me, gif I hadna 'lure
I could command ilk muse as sure,
Than hae a chariot at the door
To wait upo' me;
Though, poet-like, I'm but a poor
Mid-Louthian Johnny.
BERWICK, August 31, 1772.*
ANSWER TO MR. J. S.'S EPISTLE.
I TROW, my mettled Louthian lathie!
Auld-farran birkie, I maun ca' thee;
For when in gude black print I saw thee,
Wi' souple gab
I skirl'd fu' loud, "Oh, wae befa' thee!
But thou'rt a daub."
Awa', ye wily fleetchin' fallow!
The rose shall grow like gowan yellow,
*Until the appearance of Dr. Grosart's edition of Fergusson, in 1851, this date was erroneously printed as 1773.
Before I turn sae toom and shallow,
And void o' fushion,
As a' your butter'd words to swallow
In vain delusion.
Ye mak my Muse a dautit pet;
But gin she could like Allan's met,
Or couthy cracks and hamely get
Upo' her carritch,
Eithly wad I be in your debt
A pint o' parritch.
At times, when she may lowse her pack,
I'll grant that she can find a knack
To gar auld-warld wordies clack
In hamespun rhyme,
While ilk ane at his billy's back
Keeps gude Scots time.
But she maun e'en be glad to jook,
And play teet-bo frae nook to nook,
Or blush, as gin she had the yook
Upo' her skin,
When Ramsay or when Pennicuik
Their lilts begin.
At mornin' ear', or late at e'en,
Gin ye sud hap to come and see ane,
Nor niggard wife, nor greetin' wee ane,
Within my cloyster,
Can challenge you and me frae priein'
A caller oyster.
Hegh, lad! it would be news indeed
Were I to ride to bonny Tweed,
Wha ne'er laid gamon owre a steed
Beyont Lusterrick;*
And auld shanks-naig would tire, I dread,
To pace to Berwick.
*The village of Restalrig.
You crack weel o' your lasses there:
Their glancin' een, and brisket bare;
But, though this town be smeekit sair,
I'll wad a farden,
Than ours there's nane mair fat and fair,
Cravin' your pardon.
Gin heaven should gie the earth a drink, And afterhend a sunny blink,
Gin ye were here, I'm sure you'd think
It worth your notice,
To see them dubs and gutter jink
Wi' kiltit coaties.
And frae ilk corner o' the nation
We've lasses eke o' recreation,
That at close-mou's tak up their station
By ten o'clock:-
The Lord deliver frae temptation
A' honest fouk!
Thir queans are aye upo' the catch
For pursie, pocket-book, or watch,
And can sae glib their leesins hatch,
That you'll agree,
Ye canna eithly meet their match
'Tween you and me.
For this gude sample o' your skill
I'm restin' you a pint o' yill,
By and attour a Highland gill
O' aqua vitæ ;
The which to come and sock at will
I here invite ye.
Though jillet Fortune scowl and quarrel,
And keep me frae a bien beef barrel,
As lang's I've twopence i' the warl'
I'll aye be vokie
To part a fadge or girdle farl
Wi' Louthian Jockie.
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