A ^^= C A ^B C/J O = IE 3D - m CD O 7 5 55 4 > - re 4 ===== g 7 ^^^= C 3 ^^^^ = H 7> * , 7 y -,V,^->" > >-> > ? > > j :>> B. H. BLACK WELL Ltd ai-^ : x^ v - ^ ;'''#? 5 %&&^ p *2 c^> " J > > > vr*> -> * -> , -&* S > , i? f > ' - , / . 15 1 J* ^ tel5 -1 J - >* V J j * ^ * i ^ > % J , ^ l-^ > 4' :> if?-- ^'3i. I it POEMS, xuimttr in tbm SCOTISH BIAMGCT; BOTH HUMOUROUS AJfD EJVTERTJIJVIJVG. >#< THOMAS DONALDSON, irEJFBIit GLMffTOtH. Cntntu at CD -5 3 ?'^B TO THE MOST NOBLE HUGH, >UKE AND W ARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND, iE^fl ^/JV'T) BJRON PERCY, J ftc !fc. Sfe. i THESE POEMS ARE RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED, BY his grace's much obliged, AND MST II I' MB IE SERVANT, /f'm. Davison, 400367 DEDICATION. I MAKE this dedication, To all men in the nation, In ev'ry tituation ; With greatest veneration And hope their acceptation* Ar.d warmest approbation, WW, on deliberation. Crown thit my publication. And when they know my station- And useful occupation, Allow my penetration^ In Scots versification t Though I've no education. So I remain, 'Gain and agavn % Your humhle servant : Weil-wishes fervent Shall hoi be wanting, JFrom 1 jot of GlanUm, PREFACE TO T. DONALDSON S POEMS. HMMOMHttn .NOTHING is more common, when an Author sends a book into the world, than to introduce it, whether large or small, with a Preface. Indeed, the Public ex- pect every Author to make some Plea for bis imposing his productions upon them; and they as naturally look for a Prefatory discourse, as they do for the Contents of the Work. With tools and common sens?, a person may becomt a good mechanic; but he who aspires to be a Poet> must possess something more; viz. a Genius, and Judgment. The first must be born with him, and is *i PREFACE hit nnsiinidN poems. the peculiar gift of - eaver. ; without it, 'tis in rain for any man to set up for a Poet: for the Mnsri will still be deaf to his Invocations. The other is, in a great measure, acquired by observation, and experience ; and improved by a ri^ht method of Thinking. Nature and art then, must unite to make a Poet} and he, who is not possessed of these qualifications, can boast of no call from Apollo; and must, at best, be pronounced but a dabbler in versification. The following Pieces are the effusions of an unletter- ed mind ; and whatever claims they may have to Poetic Genius, it must be acknowledged that they fall far short of that - p ii it which inspired Burns, and enabled him so powerfully to paint Nature in all her diversified opera* tions. But though they may not possess those sublime beauties which abound in his Works; it is presumed, the simplicity of the strains, and the ludicrous subjects, will please the bulk of his Readers ; while the more re* jl .ed scholar, though he may find nothing peculiarly interesting, may be induced to pronounce himself a* greeably disappointed. PREPACK vif IO T. DONALDSON S POEMS. It wu never the intention of the Author to make hit Compositions public; but as the number of them hag Increased on his hauds, and the subjects are pretty well known in the neighbourhood, a number of Friends ad- vised hira to commit them to the Press. He, therefore, hopes, that whatever imperfections may be found in them, they will attribute them rather to his want of e ducation, than to a want of that vigour of thought ia which the Poetic Art chiefly consists. Leaving, therefore, the merits of the performance to the decision of the Public, he hopes their candour wiH make every allowance; and nothing will give him greater pleasure than, to find, that bis Poem bav yielded them the highest satisfaction. Gtanltn, May, the 94th. 1809. TBI AUTHOR'S ADDRESS TO HIS BOOK. ^1 OW Booke' ye an' I raaan part, I wish ye weel wi' a' my heart ; XiV o' you tak' my last adieu, liri' ye the warl hae to gang through. Where ye may roam, I dinna ken, Aiblin* 'mang great an' learned men 'Mang Deans an' Bishops, Lords an 1 Dukes i For great men a' delight in Books. Giff you're endow'd wi' common sense, Tho' na' adorn d wi' eloquence j Th**re' little mair can be expected, Where education's been neglected.: Perhaps wi' Cri:icsye may dwell, Wha freely a' your fauts will tU. THE AUTHOR'S ADDRIM TO HIS BOOK. An' as you're joggin' thro' the nation, You men will see o' ev'ry station. Frae some you'll get a partial glow'r. An' your sma' fauts a' leuket o'er ; Frae ithers you'll get kick an' cuff, They'll swear you're a' confounded stuffs Wi' patience bear their observation, Without the least retaliation. Giff e'er ye chance to tak' a seat, Within the chamber's o' the great Speak truth, without dissimulation, To men o' this denomination : May bashfulness ne'er mak you shrink^ But freely tell them what ye think ; An' when ye thus your mind explain* They'll do the same to you again* Sae ye maun try to bear sic jokes, 'ATang frien's, an' foes, like ither folk* Wha kens, but thou, in future times. If ay bear my name to foreign clime*t G'ff ye sud travel far awa, Till places which 1 ncrcrsawt THE AUTHOR'S ADDRESS a. TO HIS BOOK. May civil usage be your fare, An' guid men your companions there. May you ne'er meet wi' knaves er thieves, To pelt your skin, or riye your leaves: An' when they dinna like your crack, Regardlessly will turn their back ; Or giff they're rais'd to unco ire, They'll aiblins stap you i' the fire. But ye maun gang whate'er betide, An' try to face this warl' sae wide : My best advice I'm sure to gie you ; Te ken I canna now gang wi' you. Glanttn, May, 1809. / LINES INSCRIBED TO T. DONALDSON, READING HIS MS. POEMSo I WONXER at the Glanton Weaver, An' tak him for a witty shaver; He's wi' his pen sae unco clever, At makin rhyme : Eut in his company I was never At ony time. Cud I hut see this chiel o' the Muses, Wha ev'ry honest bairn abuses; I'd daud or gie him weel his souses, Fof iik bad trick ; Or wad come smack amang his louses, Wi 1 svt irlic stick. 14 TO T. DONALDSON, ON HEADING HIS MS. POEMS. What is it raaks ye, Turn o' Glanton, Sae vera free, sae unco -wanton ; 'JJhat ye frae raorn to night do rant on An' play your jokes l Ye care na' wha ye spout your cant on, Rich or poor folks. 1 e'er maun ain thee Nature's chee!, Ye rhyme sae vera warm an' w eel ; To ev'ry ane his fauts ye tell Without a gliff, An' while ye tend the Loom an' Wheel Your pen aft lift. There's nae man, Tavi, that's worth a rusk, But dares ay gin corruption push : An' ev'ry kuave an' villain brush, Wi' keenest words : Then let ui a' sic sinners crush, But na' wi' swords. TO THOMAS DONALDSON'. If, ON READING HIS MS. rOFMS. When e'er I cross au!d Alnwick moor, A thing I've never done before, Then Tarn ' Glunton's house I've swoor, I'll visit first; There we will con the Poets o'er The best an' worst But mind ye, Tam* that when I come, I find jou clashing at the Loom ; Or makin fit the Muses room, For you an' me ; An' there, for anee, I'll d3rc presume To tak my tea. I love a' leal men like you, Wha dar'd i' wicked times be true ; An' never frae their colours flew, But faithfu' stuid ; Sic men I ain are vera few, An' vera guid, 16 TO T. DONALDSON, ON READING U18 MS. POEMS. 0' order o' the Ferula, I've been a member wiony day ? An' when a lad dees nouse but play, I skelp bis a*** ; But this is aj to mend his v, ay Or he'd dae warse. J5ae now I think l'Tecramm'd your wame, Wi' food as guid as chick an 1 ham, Or fin* green peas an' tender lamb, Or aught as gusty ; An' gif ye write me, Glanton Tarn, Dinna be rusty ! JJVDEX. SOLILOQUY 0V HEADING DONALDSON'S POEMS. JL AM raymes appropriate can mak, On ony subject in a crack $ 'Rout Cloeks, Legs, Otters, mak a clack; Ay like a mill ; E'en at auld Looms maun hae a smack, To try his skill. Gif ye'd hae Tarn to write an ode on> A Kit o' Butler or black -pudden ; Ye may be sure he'll mak a good ane ; Ay that he will : For aught he lores to mak his food on,- B3 His -wame he'll fib". 18 A SOLILOdUY, Olf READING DONALDSON S POEMS. Tarn's sonnets charm Ike gapin crowd, The souter lads sing them aloud ; An' o' his rhymes are xera proud, An' fu' o' ipunk : Thir they'll toar out midst 'bacco cloud, When ne'er half dnrnk. A miller's horse will nae pass by, But stands charm'd wi' Tarn's Poetry 5 An* a' the pigs in yonder sty Grunt their applause, Nay Tam does Orpheus far outvie, An' roaks hiru paus*. The auld pie wife when air escapes her. Fills Tam fu' o' poetic rapture ; An' then wi' pen, on bit o' paper, He'll scrawl a vers- i Wh<;n down i' black an' white hes chpt her \^ill it fhpnrsc A SOLILOQUY 19 OX READING OONILDSOV'S POPHS When 'tatoes travel s'.awly down, The throat o' this auld fashion'd loua ; Ye then will hear him rhymin soon, In Terse Heroic; But creesh them weel, nae mair he'll frown Like some auld stoic- Tarn sometimes rhymes on rural things, On fVabs, an' Traps, an' Bees, he sings : Fu' aft his Muse taks till her wings, An' soars away ; But always back fresh matter brings, To tune the lay. The Muses hac our Weaver made, A member o" the tuneful trade ; Ay an' he's sure a witty blade; But wark an' time, Wrl! a' his chimin notes invade, An' stap his rhyme. CJLLIOPCS, CONTENTS. TO T. LOJVJLDSOJV'S POEMS. %NoRTHVMBRIJ or th Illustrious Perries pa^e 25 An Epistle to Davie, a Shoemaker in Alnwick 31 Davie's Answer 34 Second Epistle to Davie 36 On the Death of a Favourite Hen 39 An Acrostic to a Young Recruit 43 Advice to a Young Recruit 44 On Bees, addressed to Mrs. Todd 47 On Creation and Providence 49 On seeing the situation of Dehdon Mill . . - . 51 The Mole-catcher's Lamentation 54 On the Author's being sent to Riddle Lime . . 57 An E!*gy on a Favourite Stallion ...... 59 On tho Chapel at Alemouth, by a Schoolmaster . 64 The Answer 65 ri CONTENTS, TO T. DONALDSON $ POEMS. On seeing a Clock, the Hour and Moment hands of pack which were going in contrary directions . . 67 On Repairing a Clock, to K. D 6J On Making a Watch case, to W. T . . . 71 Sent along with a Web to Bleach, to Mr. N . 74 The Answer 75 The Weaver's Reply 77 On a half Firkin of Batter, to J. \ ... 78 The Answer 80 On Reading Burns' Works .82 An Ele^y on a Favourite Thrush, belonging the Author 85 On the seven Senses . ... 85 An Ele^y on a Favourite Bitch 87 An Klegy on a Favourite Dog ,92 On Repairing a Loom, to R. I) 95 Hu t the Cutty,. a true Story ,98 oger, to J)r. B . , !0l An Elegy on, a ?*vourite Thrush ..... 104 ad \it Effects ....... 106 OnTc . ,...,. i n istle from W, C - . , , 115 CONTENTS, 23 TO T. DONALDSON S POIMS. ToW. C , Schoolmaster . . . . . page 119 The Answer from W. C . . 122 The Reply to W. C 125 On Contentment, to W. C 128 Another Epistle to W. C 131 Epistle from Debdon Mill, by J. A . . . Hi The Answer 138 This Laigh Warld 14 2 Second Epistle from Debdon Mill, by J. A . 144 The Answer 146 On Wee Johnie Jukes ..,,.-... 148 Journey to Galashiels 149 On Money 152 An Epistle to deliver to a Tailor, by J. N - . 1 5(5 The Answer 159 Reply, by J.N . . . J 161 The Report, to J. N 16s The Answer by J. S 168 Mac's ! legy ..,.. 173 Mac's Epitaph 177 Death and the Doctor 178 On snpping a Crowdy 182 24 CONTEXTS, TO T. DOMLrSONS POEMS. Advice to T. G page 184 Ode for the Year 1 809 186 Third Epistle to Davie, the Shoemaker . . . 188 Fourth Epistle to Davie, on making two pairs of misfit Shoes 190 The Answer from Davie 192 The Reply to Davie's Answer 197 The Weaver's Glory 201 The Whistle, a true Story 206 Recapitulation by a brother Poet 211 Glossary 217 Subscribers' Names 227 POEMS. NORTHUMBRIA : ILLUSTRIOUS PERCIES. \ E gods of eloquence my Muse inspire, And warm my breast with true Poetic fire j From ancient page our Noble Heroes trace, And sing the trophies of the Percy race 1 The first Lord Percy (1) into England came, With William the JYorman of great fame (2) : From him, transplanted into British soil, A noble race has sprung to bless our Isle. U) William. (9) Afterwards ttjled William the Ouqueio; C 2* THE POETICAL WORKS A" OR I J1UMBR] \ : OR I II E I I.L USTB 1 O U S J'ERC I ES. Henry, (3) the first Lord was of Alnwick Ha!!, His Lordship made great Bruce's army fall On Scotia's plains, old Methfen was the spot, Among the pris'ners was the Queen of Scols. (4) Henry was one of those twelve Barons great, Who were assign'd to rule the church and slate; (For Edward III. was in his infant years,) But they bis foes appall'd with lasting fears. Twould take a Homer or a Virgil's pen, To trace the feats of all these worthy men. At many battles, Henry (5) led the band Against the Scots, and bore the high command: The English arms sustain'd at WcvilVs Cross, (6) And did the Scots defeat with heavy loss. His warlike courage did so far advance, He gen 'ral of our forces was in France : Richard, (7) to crown his noble deeds and name, Karl of JVor thumb er land him did proclaim, (S) The fourth Lord Percy. (4) Fifth Lord Prcr. ') Brac' Consort. (6) A place eev Du/lnti Ci) is Ririard H. OFT. DONALDSON. i* NORTHUM3RIA : OR THE ILLUSTRIOUS FERCIE*. At Olterburn, (8) he likewise bad command, And slew great Douglas 'midst his mighty hand. Here Lord Percy (9), and Sir Ralph displaj'd Their feats in arms ; but prisoners were made. Willi Henry IV. the Earl a fav'rite was, For standing firmly in his country's cause; The Isle of Man, and the Lancastrian sword, (10} Reward the services of this noble Lord. The martial Hotspur., Rapin does him style, ' The bravest man in all the British Isle 1" These worthy heroes did great valour show At JVesbit in the Jfferse, and beat the foe. They also fought the Scots near Humbledon, Where they another glorious vict'ry won. Here the bold Hotspur the right wing did lead, George Earl of March the left wing well convcy'd Against Earl Douglas, with ten thousand men, All trusty Scots assembl'd in his train : (8) A Village near 20 Miles west of Morpeth. - (9) Surnamed Hotspur, on acconnt of his great valour. (10) Henry, tVe fifth Iiord Percy, was the first Earl of Northumber- land, and privileged to carry this sword at coronations. THE POETICAL WORKS KOHIHI'KEKU : OR IHE ILI.US1 RIOUS PEI1CIFJ. And Fife and Lothian Lords who 'scap'd in June, From battle in the Merse near Jfesb'il town. Earl Douglas, though he did possess the hill, Yel valiant Hotspur, fara'd for warlike skill, Stopt his retreat, and fought him on the plain, Where the brave Lolkiau youth were mostly slain ; The battle-ax and instruments of war, Made clashing noise and might be heard afarr The groans of dying Englishmen and Scots, Appall'd the soul with most terrific thoughts. Five Scotish F.arls were pris'ners made that day, - Fife, dlhoil, JfonUitk, Jngus, and Murray. Douglas receiv'd five wou ids and lost au eye ; Five hundred Scots nil drown'd in Tweed did lies Such is the fa!e of war, which all must dread. And wish its end, no more to shew its head. The field is called Red-Rigs, as they say, From blood spilt on it in that fatal day: By the road side, near Ilumbledon(U), does slani A piilar, made by some ingenious hand; This upright stone is full six feet in height, And verifies the truth of what 1 write. (11) A Village new Wool*. OF T. DONALDSON. N RTIUMBR1A: OR THE ILLUSI RIOCS FEHTIES. The second Earl the son of Hotspur was, And boldly did defend his country's cause ; A friend to learning and the lib'ral arts, Himself endow'd with rarest mental parts. 'Twas heencompass'd Alnwick with a wall, In which he built four gates and towers tall j Embattl'd the castle 'gainst the Scotish band. That he the town and castle might defend. This noble Earl was as St. Albans slain, Fell when his sovreigu's cause he did sustain, Thomas, the seventh Earl, near Cheviot hill, Did beat the Scots in spite of martial skill ; Being well acquainted with the art of war, He took their daring leader Andrew Kerr. His brother Henry, fam'd for valour too, At Swinton{\2), the next year, o'ercame the foe. The brothers onward push'd with force united, At Grindon(\3) they the Scots and French defeated So that ihe foe did fly with rapid speed, Many were drown'd in the limp d Tweed: (12) A small ViUage in Berwickshire. (13) A Village West of Wooler. C 3 THE POETICAL WORKS NOaiitUHBKlA : OR I1IE ILLUSTRIOUS I'LHClEt Foar upright pillars still do mark the place, Where fo;ight the chiefUins of this noble race. The present Earl enroll'd in warlike fame, To distant years our warmest thanks shall clairt. In Britain's cause did many trophies bring, Lov'd by his country, loyal to his king. The friend of liberty we roust him style, And fae to boidage in this favour'd Is!e. Bondage, the curse decreed by Pharaoh 's hand On Israel's sons, when in that distant land; Did reach our coasts and we have felt the smart, Till now His Grace with sympathizing heart, The fetter's broke, and s?t the labourer free, From men who patronised slavery. Bis Son and Heir, like his ancestors grand, The helmet bears and legions does command , His warlike train with bugles he brings f^rth Like valiant Hotspur, chieftain of the North ; Both horse and foot has train'd for our defence, And clothes and arms them at his own expence. While Sun and Moon shall measure nights and days, ATerlhumb rim's sons shall sound great Ptrej/'s praise ' . AM EPISTLE TO DAVIE, 3H0E-MAKER, IN ALNWICK^ JJaVIE, you've put me sair about, To answer your request ; To pl*ae a frien* >e needna doubt, I'll try to do my best: Ay ony day. Ye souter lads are fa' o' cracks, When seated by the ingle, Ye speak o' leather, hemp, an' wax 8 An' tauk about your lingle: A simmer's day, SS THE POETICAL WORKS EP1STLK III DAVIE. Like you, an 1 Ralph, an' souter Jack, An' ane that ye ca' Crutnbie's % Whilst Stitch an' 1 ne'er join'd the crack; Bat sat like ony dummies ; Wi' nought to say. Had ye but tauk'd about the yarn, The needle, or the clout, Then Stitch an' I had try'd to learn, To gien ye word about : Like stoure that day. Through sole, an' heel, ye drive the steel, Wi* quickest penetration ; Nae trade can flourish half sae weel, Thro' a' the British nation : As your's this day. Ye club thegither, an* agree In black association, An' tell the country fools, like me, That there's a new taxation; On hides this day. OF T. DONALDSON. * EPISTLE TO DAVIE. Ye rax your conscience to the Latt, Same as je do the Leather ; I fearauld Nick will glamor cast, An' net you a' thegither ; Some doruie day ! Dear Davie, tak a thought an' men', Au' diuna wrang your conscience ; Altho' my lines may you offeo', You'll find them far frae nonsense} I dare to say. Vour comrades, Davie, when you're dead, May raise an 1 unco' splutter; Inscribe these lines aboon your head, " Here lies a gallant soutcr ; " Araang the clay Y* Dcvic, I hope a line or twa, You quickly Trill be grantin; Which vi ill ('flight mc, best o' a', Your servant, Tarn o' G (anion : Ay ev'r) day. davie's answer. iVly honest neebor Tarn o' Glanton, A verse frae me shall na be wantin, Giff I a rhyme can splatter; Aiblins it winna gie ye pleasure, For I'm but lame i' chiming measure An' raise an unco clatter. A verse I never wrote before, Nor did I e'er pretend to lore, Au' sae can lose nae credit : For giffthc work the woid excels, Yc needna' look for muckle else Frae hell, or clootie in it. But tent me, Tarn, ye may be sure, We town-bred lads are unco queer. We are a' fire an' tow ; Our latent sparks but want a kindiin', Thae twa ingredients need but minglin', To raise a bleezin' Io we. OF T. DONALDSON. 3* DAVIE S ANSWER. Tis just the case ; baith rhyme, an' passion, We blether out wi' unco slashin', At ony time o' anger, When we sit down to tope wi' Bacchus, Wi' our lang tongues we raise a fracas, A loud an' dreadfu' clangor You'll please to gie your tongue a tether, An' dinna say, that like the leather Our consciences we rax; For much fallacious blame we get, Are charg'd wi' sins we ne'er commit ; Wi' thieving fo'ks us tax. But mind ye, Tam, that when you're weavin', Ye leave aff ay that trick o' thievin' The little bits o' claith ; We're like the Cat an' Fox i' story. Or like the ancient Whig an' Tory, There's blame atlach'd to baith. SECOND EPISTLE TO DAVIE. JLIeAR Davie, ane o' Crispin's clan., I'm quite mistaken i' my plan, I thought I'd written 'till a man, Baith smoothe an' civil, But strange, the matter, for to scan You're turn'd a Deiil I <3iff you're enlisted wi' that crew, I d keep my foot out o' your shoe, To think o' this wad mak' ane spew, Wi* perfect sconner ; Tak thought i' time ; repent an' rue, Ye unco sinr.tr ! OF T. DONALDSON. 37 SECOND EflsTLB TO DAVIS. Ye town-bred lads are fire an' tow * An' deal amang the brimstone lowe, Wi' Homie i' yon distant howe, That some ca's Hell $ Where harpie, imp, an' warricoe, An' goblins dwell. Assemble a' your ghaistly apes, Wi* Mr. P wha sells the tapes, Wi' ev'ry gowk that girns an' gapes, An' tugs the linglt; In a* their black infernal shapes, To raise a jingle. Be quick, an' write ye souter bitch t But gif it gets ayont your reach, Gar Ralph your brither gied a stitch, He weel can dae it ; -An' lap it up wi' sudden hitch, An' let me see tt. D 400267 >m THE POETICAL WORKS SECOND EPI8TI.F. TO D1VIE. ' " - " Now, tud jour legion no' combine, Intent to raak your mutes shine, An' ten' me up aoither line, At I expect; May Satan drown y,like the twine, For your neglect THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE HEN. Y E wive* lament thro' a' the Ian', Let tears rin like the Keppin (14) stran*. O'er pow'r'd wi' grief I canna stan\ Come haud my had Ne'er sic a Hen was seen by man, But Muffle's dead. My Muffle was a Hen o' Hens, This er'ry honest neebor kens ; Wi' her ten claws, lang wi' her friens, She'd seek her bread j Now I may gang an' get my men's, Sin' Muffle's dead. (14) ABltiaff UitiUii ClaotM 40 THE POETICAL WORKS J rTH OF A FAVOURITE HEN. She laid ait egr,av ev'ry day, She never watider'd far away Like ither Hens, that gang 1 astray Amang the weeds; like her, alake i I hae nae mae, Now tHhtjpea dead. She bought me Sugar, Tea, an' Bread, JTtedtes, Thimbles. Twist an* Thread, An' mony ither things indeed, To mak mc braw a Bnt now, alake I poor Mufftc's dead, 'Tis warst ' a'. I brought her frae Langhoughton Tow, I've had her twentv seasons roun', My Hen she was a shining Brown, Wi' Muffi'd head ; She was weclkeud, ay a' will own. But now she's dead. OF T. DONALDSON. 41 ON THI I'KAIU f A FAV- UHITE BBN. ' "i " """ ~ - ' * She hurt an e'e ance in a ght, . t^jsi t, "Which for a Iang time spoilt her sight, Yet after she gat hale an' tight, She'd gie them battle ; An' ne'er a Hen o' Muffle's weight Could stan' her brattle. That donsie laddie, Bilh'eBrourt, I wadna' car'd to'Tecrack'd his crown; Wi' his twa' clogs he ran her down, That idle scholar; I swear I'd rather gi'en the loun . leiH CREATION AND PROVIDENCE, As I the dtwy field* survey'd, One morning in the spring, I taw the pow'r of God display '4, In ev'ry Hying thing. Whil'st musing on yon flow'ry "bank, Hard by a shady grove, The feather'd Tribes of ev'ry rank, Were telling of their love. There ev'ry Bird with pleasant noise, Did sing its different lays; Tet join'd in one harmonious voice, To cbaunt their Maker's praise. I heard them dedicate the lay, To thee the God of bliss ; To thee, who feeds them ev'ry day, They all their songs address. -*0 THE POETICAL WORK* OS CREATION AMD FROYIOEW<:F. The Brute Creation every where, Unite with one accord ; Yea all, that breathe the vivid air, Owe praises to the Lord. Then Man, who is the Creature's King, How can he silent be ; When Birds, and Beasts, yea ev'r v thing', Do praises give to thee 1 Thy mercy over all thy works, Most graciously extends ; In wonder all my thoughts are lost, Thy goodness never ends. CK SEEING TEE SITUATION OF DEBDON MILL. TO MU- J. A- p4 OW Johnie, sin' l'te seen your cell, I like the situation well, By nature fenc'd wi' rising fell Right round about, Twad puzzle ay auld clootie's sel', To find you out! Yon-cozie corner which you fill, Yon gloomy glen, an' risin' hill, Yon little stream like dews distil, * Across the mead t An' helps to drire your cardin' mill, An' spin your thread. 5S THE POETICAL WORKS g5= I I " , ON SBCIlfG THE SITUATION OF DEBDON MILL. Altho' i' crafty place ye bide, Te traverie a' the water side -, To mony a distant part ye ride, To seek in matter; To theak tbecaldrif wizend hide, O' ilk poor crcaturr Yon binding Tale wi' fruitful soil, Rewards the planter for his toil, An' shoals that i' the region coil, O' Coquet water; Still maks my roving genius boil Wi' rhyrain matter. Ton lofty cliff's unfathom'd Thrum, Does bid a' pryin' strangers come ; O' wonders let them mark the sum I* God's creation t An' after a' 'tis but a hum Ilea's observatioa. Or T. DONALDSON. ON SEEING THE SITUATION Or DEBDON MILL. Wha caa by searching find out thee, Wha laid the earth, an' form'd the tea, What can sic dying worms as we Presume to scan I The task is arduous : far too high For mortal mart Yet we may view this wide creation, An' try our best investigation, An' exercise our observation ; - An' try our genius : Hope you'll mird on this occasion, What's past between us. My love to you an' Mitlrets Nairn To J ohnie Howard, wife, an' bairn, An' vf ben I come across the cairn," I'll ca% an' see ye ; Lang may ye live to sort the gairn, An' God be wi' ye r B9 mole-catcher's lamentation. TO KB. ft. D IjOSH man, retell you o' a trick, About that tradesman, Moudie Lick. He'd ane day wander'd thro' the moor, And fancy brought him to my door. He gied a rap an' as't for Tom, I hard was clashing at the loom: Gaed out ; but na' being much acquainted, His grief-worn face I hardly kent it; Yet thought I knew him by the trade, He had a moudie poke an' spade. Guid morning, Sir ! dear man, how di' ye? Thank you," said Dick. " man, how's a^wi' ye? u Wi' waukin, faith," says he, " I'm dry, 1 Will ye gae wi' me over by, An* let us hae a gill thegither, * An' get a crack wi' ane anither V* OF T. DONALDSON'. 55 THE HOLE-CATCHER'S LAMENTATION. His errand here I could na' guess j At last, he tald his hale distress. To vent the passion o' the man, An' tell his tale, he thus began : *' Jffan! do ye ken yon Duncan chiel, " Wha maks a noble spinning wheel? * I spak him tv?a years back an' mair, " Ye may be sure he promis'd fair t " To mak twa dozen braw new traps; " Wi' bits o' sticks that stap the gaps, u When e'er we put them i' the holes, " On purpose for to catch the moles : *' Now ye may ken by that same token, " For want o' them I'm fairly broken ; " I sit an' watch ye need na' doubt, ' An' wi' my fingers claw them Out: " My thumbs are bad, my fingers warse* " I've scarce a nail to scralch my a . ' Man, write, an' tell him my condition,. " 1 ken he'll hark to your petition !'* He siez'd tlie drink, an' then the reek^ Au' for an hour he wad na' speaks, t THE POETICAL WORKS THE MOLE-CATCHER $ UMKITATIOH. What wi' the tcan, an' what the tither, Dick lost his senses a' thegither- Dear man, said I, Til surely write. An* paint him your condition right. An' send it down; I'll wad a gill, That he'll fling by the sneeshin-mill ; Tak up his tools, before he staps Will mak ye four an' twenty traps. Now Rai t hy this you'll easy guess, That he's, poor man, in great distress : Twill drive poor Dick on this occasion, To black despair, or desperation; Now 1 hae tell'd weel as I can. The situation o' the man; By reading this you will perhaps. Remember Richie Baktr'$ traps. OJV THE AUTBOR'S BEING SENT TO RIDDLE LIME whx n artiitinq at kazo*. MR. L thou art a Turk, To gie rne sic a job o' work, To riddle lime upo' the green, For faith I'm like to loss my een! Had I but stay'd about the yard, The deil a farthing I wad car'd; Or us'd me but like ither fo'k, To ty'd a rope, or carry'd broek ; But sent me here, to work mysel, .Amang this stuff; 'tis warse than hell : Whilst other men are sent to bind, JL job just sui.ed to their mind. Faith, Sir, >ou'U ha' but little mense, To break my wage, to fourteen pence; 1 wrought your wark wi' strength an' vigour, THE POETICAL WORKS OR TBI ASTBOR BEING SENT TO RIDDLE LIME. In' shear'd an 1 bound like ony neger ; 'Twas twelve lang hours we had to haft her, An' always six before we left her. Let conscience speak, gif you hae ony, Sure you've got wark for a' your money The time may come, ye dinna ken. That ye may be i' want o' men. Qie me my wages ev'ry plack, 1 know not but I may come back t To hire wi' you ait the r year, An' help to gie your corn a shear. AJf ELEGY ON A FAVOURITE STALLION. JLiAMENT dear neebor, Tamtnie Trobe, About this melancholy job, Let seckdaith be jour daily robe, An' hang your head ; An' let it echo roun' the globe, That BillieU dead! Great laidt o' grain o' eVry lort, Hc'i help't to trail to yonder port, lie ne'er was kent for to fa' short ; But made his way ; An* weel thou didst reward him for't, Wi' corn an' hayt THE POETICAL WORKS AM EI EGV ON 4 rtTOCllTE S''ALLIV. Ttiese eight lang years o'er hill an' dale, Thou's trotted after Bittie'* tail, By nane he e'er was kent to fail, For strength or (peed; Now thou maytt tit au' weep, an' wail. For BiUie"$ dead. To speak o' a' the coals an' lime, That Billie y $ carted in his time, Wad puzzle me to put i' rhyme, An' you to read; Now ye may sing a sorry chime, Sin Billit't dead. Tho' Billie was a horse o' sense, To manners he had nae pretence, To leap a dyke or break a fence, He wad na care ; T could da' tie him up to mense, Wi' bemp or hair. Of T. DONALDSON. 61 AN ELEGY ON A FAVOURITE STAiLION. He ay was rakish i' the season, He had his s a noble reason ! Yet that could ne'er be counted treason, To him indeed ; Now tak his banes to mak a bleeze on, Sin' Billie's dead. Yon turnip drill wi' canny care, He could hae led it till a hair ; At ilka end he turn'd it fair, Ba'rth foot an' head-? Now be can plow and drill nae mair, For Billie't dead. Dear Tarn; you'll recollect wi' tears, The last time ye pat on his gears, Withouten either dreal or fears Or ony skaith, Nor thinking Death was come sae near, To stap his breath's U2 THE POETICAL WORK** AN EIE8TOK A FAVOURITE STALLION. Dear Tom; we ncedna think it strange, That Billie't met wi' sic a change ! To think o' death how he can range, The warl about ; Nae man, nor beast, but hii revenge, Can find him out.! Yon greedy Collies, Help mi' Spring, They'll pull his guts to fiddle strings; They're howkin baith his wame within, To hide their heads 1 T* aHow sic wark'i a crying sin, Tho' Billie't dead ! Itear Tm; ye surely are to blame, To let sic greedy beasts as them, Tar a' his flesh, an' scoop his wante, Wi' cursed speed; aahap him up i' his lang hame, Sin' Billies dead ! OF T. DONALDSON. 83- AN ELEGY OS A FAVOURITE STALI.10H. ".;.,.' i ~ . . - . - . Tinker, the affspring o' the Greys, Tbo' he be drest i' Billie'a claes, Will ne'er be like him i' his ways, For strength or speed; He wu a teugh ane a' bis days; But now he's dead. Dear Tom ; mind thou this lesson lairni ? Tell Jack, an' Torn, an' Sandie Cairns, A v to be kind to Billies Bairns, Wi' bitf o' bread! JL' bed them weel wi' ttrae or fairns, For Billie't dead. Kow Billic't gane for a' thegiiher j A better never bang i' leather. Nor ever drew i' tow or tether, 'Tween Tyne an' Tweed-, 1'ea mak a night-cap o' his blather, Vow BiUit't dead I OH YHI CHAPEL AT ALEMOUTH. (15) BY A SCHOOLMASTER. STOP I passenger, and cast an eye, Ere this Cathedral you pass by. What desolation time has made ! See here the mansions of the dead. Time, that destroys this fabrick strong, (18) Will subdue us ere it be long ; Then let us live with watchful care. And for a better world prepare : That when our bodies down we lie, "v Our souls to Jesu's arms may flie, \ And gain a mansion in the sky. \ (16) Situated on the banks near the Sea.. (16) It was entirely demolished bj the bifh wind on December 3ith. ISM. THE ANSWER. W ATURE conveys in solemn sonnd, That man is born to die ! Come, for a moment, view the ground, Where many thousands lie. Here lies the father, and the son, The tyrant, and the slave; Distinction none, nor honour's shewn; All's levell'd in the grave ! Each flowing tide, and dashing wave, (17) Do plainly let us see, Bj those, the tenants of the grave, What we shall shortly be. (If) TiM *f the Burial gronod ii now wath4 w*j with tie tide, &M &bfj T>.id. F S. THE POETICAL WORKS THE ANSWER. Here lies the monarch, and the man Whom poverty opprest ; Presumptuous pride is laid aside, And ev'ry tongue's at rest ! But then, beyond this narrow spot, A boundless world there is ; Where happy souls have each a lot, And taste eternal bliss. ON SEEING A CLOCK ? 1HG HOCK AND MOMENT-HANDS OF TTHICHWIRS GOING IN- CONTRARY DIRECTION!, AS life's the wish of one and all, In this terrestrial clime ; It warns the sons of Adam's fall, Well to improve their time. You've seen the ups and downs of life, With many a changing scene, leave for a while your cares and strife j Behold this grand machine ! As practice makes profession shine? Come see, and understand ; >he executes the grand design, Though with contrarv hands. t THE POETICAL WORKS ON A CLOCK There, like an orator sublime. Whom eloquence adorns, She shews to all the lapse of time. And ev'ry one inform*. No falsehood cajj her beauty stain, She scorns to tell a lie ; But warns the thoughtless sons of roe*. To live as they would die. Though dumb, she tells our moments flie. Our minutes run full fast ; Our hours, tho' slower, still comply To bring us to our fast. . Each beat informs the thinking mind, With each repeated swing, That death can not be far behind, ' Since timo is on the wing." REPAIRING A CLOCK. Ah, Habby Duncan, fie for shame I Ay ye are surely far to blame, In never thinking to send hame, My braw clock wheel 5 Without it, the gangs- limping lame,. Ye ken fu' weeL Sin' she is made to measure time, An* weel I like to hear her chime, When wi' the bellshe'd rant an' rhyme At ilka hour: Now silently she points the time : But naithing mors } 7# THE rOETICAL WORKS ON RRPAUINC A CLOCK. ' ' The pcnd'lum wags, like a lamb's tail, The hammer winna' touch the bell, She whispers laigh down till herscl, Nac word shell lay t But yet, her countenance can tell The time o' day. My pickers too. I want tbetu sair. My shuttle swears she'll rin nae mair , The wives come in to rant an' rair, Ilk 'bout hersarkf Its try'd my patience unco sair, Sic wicked wark I You'll do your best to get them done, An' send them to me quick an' soon $ Your casli, when I come to the lown, Shall na' be want in j Giff jc wad ken tha' greasy loun, 'Til Tarn o* Glattion * o MAKING A WATCH CASE. t q yf, T , i i CABIKXT Villi. W^ILLIE, this workmanship o' tfcint, Commands my great attention ; It weel deserves a better line, Than e'er my dull invention, Can frame the day O' best o' -wood ye've made it good, Yeneedna' think I'm jokint A nicer fit nae roan could get, To hang a watch or clock in * I dare to*T- 71 THE POETICAL WORKS ON MAKING A WATCH CASE. At ray bed side, wi' raickle pride, Hangs this fine regulator, This grand machine attracts the een ; O* ev'ry new spectator } By night an' day. Ye've cornic'd it right round about, An' than sae nicely painted ; Ilk ane may swear wi' conscience clear, She's nicely ornamented , The truth to say, A' that come in do glowr an' grin, An' raise an' unco noiise, Baith wives an' men, are keen to ken The hour ; sae are the boys : Ay ev'ry day. I've sent you now a clash o' stuff", As hard as e'er I'm able ; My memory, man's, no' worth a snuff, I maist forgot the table ; This vFa day ' OF T. DONALDSON. 73 ON MAKING A WATCH CASE. \ guid Fir Leaf for kail an" beef, Ye'Te made it unco Strang; Wi' guid Beach Frame to bear the same : I'll pay you fort ere lang ; Inow maun say. For sifting meal it suits me weel, Or timsing fiour when wantin' Ox making bread in time o' need, It answers Tarn o' Giant on, Right weel thi* day :.. SENT AlO!ft WITH A WEB TO BLEACH. September 3d. JYly service to you, Mr. N An' ev'ry honest bodies bairn* Wha's inclination is to lairn, Some useful job : As dye, or bleach, a pickle o' yarn, Or weave a wab. I've sent my claith wi' cannie care ; There's twenty yards or little mair, For God's sake diuna knock it sair, Nor mak it thin : I like a piece substantial ware, To dead my skiu. POSTSCRIPT. To mak it ay a bonny white, Maun be your constant study ; Now Willie do it soon an' right, For faith I'm vera duddie ! THE ANSWER. MY MB. N > MORPBT*. DeAR Tarn, your wab came i' due time, An' wi' it a bit sheet o' rhyme ; It pleases me to see the chime, ' Sae weel agree : There's ne'er a Weaver i' the clime, Can write like thee '. Yet, Sir, ye needna' made sic fleechia', About the manner o' its bleachhv, Or set your Scotish muse a preacbin' To please my ear ; VH mak it white, without your teachin', Ye needna' fear 1 THE POETICAL WORKS THE ANSWER BV MR. N- Upo' the green I've laid it down, Rxpos'd it weel to rain an' sun, Nay ne'er a wab that e'er was spun, lias gut sic care 'Twill please you man gin it were done, Ay till a hair. rosTicniPT;. If it be right, as I remember, I got the wab about September : An' gin I'm weel an' can keep sober, You may look for it in October ; To please you is the whole concern, ' me, your serrant, Willie Nairn. IMS weaver's reply. iVX Y wab's come hame right weel directed, But na' sae soon as I expected ; I sent it aff third o' September, An' ye hae kept it till November. I think you dinna mind jour word, But weel 1 ken there's reason for'd For up an' down sae hard ane's skelpit. That by my trowth ane carina help it. ffillie, I think you've done your duty, It bangs them a' for strength an' beauty. The auld wives aften mak' fraise, But seldom to the bleacher's praise ; They tauk o' knock* an' Bleaching billle*, 0' scraping knives an' shaving whittles; But it is nonsense a' thegither, Our wab's as Strang as ony leather : You've lapt an' finisht it complete, I rest your Debtor 'till we meet! 6 3 0A* A HALF FIRKIN OF BUTTER to J. it- December 29th I WRITE you this to tell ray crack, An* speak about the butter ; When it I hoisted on my back, An' strutted thro' the gutter ; Sae stout that day : Wi' twa great clogs upo' my feet, Losh man, had ye bul seen mc , Gif I'd a gauger chanc'd to meet, For a smuggler he'd ay taen me, That rer day! OF T. DONALDSON. 19 Ol A HALF FIRKIN OF BUTTER. Ay but he wad hae been mistaeR, Wi' a' his wiles an' fetches ; For it was neither rum nor gin, Nor yet was it Loch leeches, Webaith can sayt But butter guid as e'er was kirn'd, To Bessie's praise be't spoken; I've o'er potatoes gap'd an' girn'd, Sometimes amaist was chockia, Ay night an' day. 4y Bessie's butter's made me up, It kitchens roots sae fine ; For want o' better gear to sup, A mug o' Adam's wine, Drinks weel this day I My hearty service to your dame, Aji' likewise to your Hctd.ie ; She'll grease the bread, to cram our warae, An* kc?p us unro paukie, T*or mcry a day. THE ANSWER. .L/EAR Tarn, you've rais'd an unco splutter,. About a kit o' stinking butter ; An' like true Whig, poor Bess to flatter, You say 'tis prime j But I can guess, ye wanted matter To help your rhyme, Trowth man, your picture you're pourtray'd Sae like the life, I've often said, Tho' you no rum nor gin convej'd, Nor leech frae Lough * Had ganger met yoi<, I'm afiaid. You'd got a gowQ*. OF T. DONALDSON. 8i THE ANSWER. BY J. ! Lang side your lug wl* his rough cane, Which wad a lamed ay your brain, An' made you lang to gruff an' grane, Like some auld mart , Wbilk silly beast fu' lang had lain, 1' fett'ring lair. Losh man, but ye say vera right, You'd surely been an' unco sight, Wi' your twa clogs upo' your feet, An' hung i' tatters j Like Jifinty Peg o' Sandgate street, Hugging the waters. I'm waefu' ye hae naught to swallow 'Lang wi' your 'tatoes, my braw fellow; Yet a pure drink ye hae to tell o' Ca'd Adam's wine ; By sucking grease ye maun be mellow, Ay as a swine. ojir READING BURNS* WORKS. BURNS could I but tempt the Muse, To warm my frozen pow'rs ; 1 all my mental strength would ute t To write such strains as yours. Thy work abounds with sentiment, There manly beauties shine; Wisdom to thee great, pow'r has lent, To decorate each line. Thy genius glows in ev'ry page, And ev'ry leaf one turns : Must make all say, in this cur age, None sirt2s like Robert Burnt! JIN ELEGY A FAVOURITE THRUSH. BZLON6IX6 TO THE ADIBOB. JlJeNEATH this stone, does lie ilk bone, Of my fine singing Dick; He's been my care, six years an' mair, Sin' he began to pick. Ilk charming note that 'scap'd his throat, It trilled i' my ,ear ; Which made me say, frae day to day, I Dickie love to hear. With drink an' bread, I did him feed, Ilk day did sand his floor ; But cruel death has stap'd his breath ; An' he will sing na' more. 84 THE POETICAL WORKS JCLEGY ON A FAVOURITE TBACSH. .By Adam's sin death did begin, An' sae has follow'd on ; An' frae the cause o' broken Laws, The hale creation groan. Baith great an' sma' obey the cu The beggar an' the king j Birds, beasts also, to silence go, An' ct'ry creeping thing : That death does reign, we a' do ken, But will he e'er dae so ; The God of love, that reigns above, Has taught us to say JVo ! Baste happy day, we a' maun say. That sets ilk pris'ner free ; Then we will give, lang as we live. The glory, Lord, to thee, SEVEN SENSES* J. HOU, who art wonderfully made, And of God's lower works the head : Permit me, briefly as I can, To shew what feasts thy Senses, Man We feast the Ears, when music fine, Makes ev'ry note almost divine. We feast the Eyes, when we suryev, The works of God from day to dav. We feast the Taste, fulfil the wish, Whene'er we dine on lordly dish. We feast the Jiiind, when we impart. The great abundance of the heart. We feast the Smell, delight the nose, By fragrance of a summer's rose. We feast the Feelings, when we join, W-ith paper cash, or golden coin. m THE POETICAL WORK? OVTHE SEVEN SENSES. We feast the Thoughts^ whose soaring wings. Mount far above created things : And while we raise our hearts above We wonder at redeeming love ! See yonder thy inheritance ; Nor longer be a slave to Sense. Renounce the world with all its show, And bid its flatt'ring ch:irms adieu ; Thou then wilt be pronounced wise, When e'er thy heart begins to rse s And rise it must, or thou must fall, No more, frail man, to rise at all ; Perdition then must be thy lot, Nor let this lesion be forgot : Thy Senses are the gift of heav'n, And for God's Glory they were giv'n. A* ELEGY OJT A FAVOURITE BITCH. XlO er'ry Hunter, come an' mourn, Frae Coquet side to Bucklon burn ; Ay an' each sportsman i' his turn, Come hang your head* Thro' a' the town the news is curn, That Chloe's dead ! She's been a hunter fifteen years, An' always dash'd through thorns an' brearj, Or thro' the water to the ears, She wad na' care ; Thre was nae need o' otter spears, Gif she was there. SI THE POETICAL WORKS AN ELEGY ON A FAVOURITE BITCH. i ,. For hours on water's brink she's stood, To seize the otter i" the flood ; She wad na* leave him for her blood, Nor e'er wad flinch : She was a terrier stout and good, Ay ev'rj inch. Rejoice ye Hares, an' RabHls now, Rejoice ye Cats, an' Foumets too, Ye Moudiwortn an' a' your crew, Rejoice wi' them; For Ftxet she left rery few, Where e'er she came ! But after a' ye beasts sud mind, An' na be to your welfare blind ; For o' the noble Chloe's kind, I wad na' wonder ; Yea 'mang our sportsmen, I could find Aboon a hunder OF T. DONALDSON. $S AK ELERY ON A FAVOURITE BITCH. Some o' her affspring hae been seld For five pound notes, as I've been laid ; An' tho' nane o' them ever fail'd, For want o' ipced : Yet they were never half sae banld ; But now she's dead. My grief wad na been ha'f sae sair, Altho' my doggie is nae mair; Had na' that thing, o' hemp or hair, Some ca' a rape ; Sae nipt her neck, an' pinch'd her there, An' gar'd her gape! J Twad drawn a tear frae ony e'e, To>e seen her hanging i' the tree ; It was asorrj sight tome, To tell you plain j Guid faith- 1 doubt I'se never be Mvsel again, H 3 THE POETICAL WORKS A.N H u aY ON A fAVOUHTTii HITCH. Could I but t ) a higher pitch, Trace a' the actions o* the bitch ; But faith 'tis far ayont my reach, Words are a wantin ; The like o' her wad mak aae rich Wi' otter huntin'. Our gentlemen what will they do, There's nane to catch an otter now ; Your dogs may stand an' cry, bow wow % An' what s the matter Why deil a dog i' a* the crew Dares tak the water Had but my Chloe been aJ'iYe, She'd in as hard as she could drive, As bees gang banging to the hive, Wi' rapid speed : ^he gied them mony a wicked rive, But now she's dead. Or T. LONALDSOX. 91 AN ELEGY ON A FAVOCR1TE BITCH. My Chloe never mair will rin, The wale she was o' a' her kin ; You'll tak her feet to creash your ihoon, 1' time o' need : An' rnak a honnet q' her skin gin' Chloe t dead J Her master ay may grunt an' grane, Fur now alake the bitch isgane! Like her 1 fear he'll ne'er get ane, For strength an' speed: You'll mah a bodkin o' each bane, Now Chloe' s dead! AX ELEGY' ON A FAVOURITE DOG f BELONGING TO J. 5- ., , TAYLOR. He silent now ye hunters a', Assist ray pencil for to draw, An' paint to life bold Carver wba Oft chaa'd a hare O'er dike an' ditch he'd scour awa' An' never sparo- Jim got him first at Barnie's mount, On purpose, Sirs, to hae a hunt, Wlien he the table did dismount, At setting sun: Pack up his needier sharp an* blunt, An' aff wad run*. OF T. DONALDSON. 93 AN ELEGY ON A KAVOUHITE DOG. " -* Carver made wark for a' the rest," He'd pop up pussie frae her nest $ But had na' speed must be coufess'd, To fetch her hame % Yet after a' he did his best ; Nane could him blame. Sickaess at last did seize his frame, Wi' some sad trouble i' his wame ; An 1 Jamie kindly bade his dame, Gie him some meat: But 'lakaday it was a' ane, He could na' eat I When human help was like to fail, An' medicine wad nought avail, Then for to mak him stout an' hale, They took the sheers; An' did cut aff poor Carver's tail, An* bailh his ears. U THE POETICAL WORKS IN ELEGY OV A FAVOURITE DOG. This caus'd auld Carver raickle pain ; Be bang'd upo' his feet again, An' o'er to Pigdon's ran amain, But doors were fast : An' when he could ua' entrance gain, Return'd aghast. Then aff he set wi' a' his might, An* down the loan he took his flight, He instantly was out o' sight. Nor look'd behind him ; They sought him close frae morn to night : But could ua' find him. Losh, but I'm sorry for the tyke, For aff he gaed sae crazy like, Which made us a' to fidge an' fyke, V mournfu' weed*: We found him yont the baker's dike; But he was dead ! REPAIRING A LOOM, jj/lY service to you, honest Hab, Ye sure hae done a cannic job, Sae easy I can weave a wab, An' mickle quicker; That faith I mean to weet your gab, Wi' nappy liquor. My slaeboards, man, wi' ilk new sword, ons of old Adam I'd hare you draw near, A comical story you quickly shall hear; 'Tis of a braTe farmer not far from this town, To bring up some shearers his waggon sent down. The people being mounted away they did go, I suppose there might be about twenty or so: They went to the fiald and with sickles laid on, * Be sharp and get forward'" was always his toae. Their number increased most like a bee-hire, From twenty they muster'd to thirty and fire : The people ware coming from different parts, That field being don* they got into the carts. When it was nigh twelve, they sent home for the kai! And here does begin a most sorrowful tale. The dinner being ready they sat themselves dowa, But the joke of the story's, they swallow'* 1 a Spoon ' OF T. DOALN.DSOX, ' HUNT THE CUTTY. Now the Spoon it was lost, and they sought it with speed, But no one would own with old Cutty indeed : Knives, barrels, and dishes, were spread on the ground, But the devil a bit of old Cutty was found. Bold lib fell a swearing what would they do next, For old Cutty was lost, and the steward was vex'd : He cry'd, " I will give a white shilling, I swear, : To them that will make the old Cutty appear !'* Then the maid she went home with her heart full of grief, Old Cutty was lost, and no one was the thief: She fear'd her old mistress upon her would frown, When she heard of the story of losing the Spoon. Bold Tib now exclaimed" I'll do all I can " The Cutty to find, or I'll to the wise man !" They search'd ev'ry pocket with diligent care, But the devil a bit of old Cutty was there. We return to the lass that went home with the plates. With laughter the story she always relates : When washing the dishes, as I understand, The greasy old Cutty jumpt into her hand I The girl stood amaz'd, you would laugh'd to have seoa. Ske could not find owt where old Cutty had been. - 190 THE POETICAL WORKS RDNT THE CUTTY. Some thick cabbage kail being left in the skeil, Old- Cutty fell in and had div'd like an eel ; Then a lassy was sent for to publish the news That old Cutty was found, and to beg an excuse. At sight of the shearers the girl looked blate, And durst not attempt the strange news to relate. She told the brave steward; who blushed for shame. For grring the innocent shearers the blame. He said, " If I tell them this singular news,. From every one I shall get great abuse." So he never a word to the people did say About the old Cutty ; but went sneaking away t Twas time to give ovGr the sun being down, They went home with the scandal of stealing the Sp09n t ASTROLOGER. O ART IE, from placet's home can shw, Who broke and robb'd a house below ; Can tell from Venus and the Moon, Who stole a Thimble, who a Spoon ; And though they nothing will confess, Yet by their rery looks can guess ; He tells what guilty aspect bodes, Who Stole, and who Ileeeiv'd, the goods. Barf feels the pulses of the stars, To find out Jgues, Coughs, Catarrhs : And tells what crisis does divine, Th* Rot in sheep, the Mange in swine 3 I a |0S THE POETICAL WORKS THE ASTROLOGER. t. === , . . . ,, ,.,S = Id men what gives or cures the Iteh, What makes some ugly, por or rich ; What gains or losses, hangs or saves t What makes men Great, what Fools, what Knaves* He makes the infant stars confess, And speak what will the foolish please; He calculates the hidden fates Of Empires, Kingdom, and great Slates 4 Of Sea-Fights, jes, and Coek-Fights too, Of Love, Trade, Law-Suit* ; all can do* Makes Opposition, Trine, Quartile, Tell Barren wives, and who Fertile. He minds the planetary hours, And by them pulls his Herbs and Flout* n ; Can tell diseases by a look, And then prescribes frra nature's book. The secrets of the Solar Tincture, Be knows the hours men should drink her; The Lunar too, for weak females, And when its pow'r most prr\ai!. OFT. DONALDSON. 108 THE A.'TRO . O-.B';. He tells by twinkling of a star, The moment when 'tis peace or war* Whether a child at its first breath. Will fall by famine, sword, or death : And when the stars are silent, then He learns deep things from his black ken ; When she is silent, then his crow Mysterious things does let him know. The Doctor, by arithmetic, A wash can make, call'd Cosine tic; Which beautifies the face and arms, And heightens all our ladies charms : So they no longer how do fear, But they'll be married in a year. This has so rais'd the wise man's fame, That all his growing worth proclaim I ELEGY OJV A FAVOURITE THRUSH, V E feather'd Tribes with note so soft, la moor, in wood or dale; Ye morning larks, who soar aloft/ Come listen to my tale. Not midnight owls whose dreary haunt, Is forest, shaw or spring ; But warbling birds, who're wont to cbant, Assist me while I sing. My beauteous Thrush I rear'd with care, - And did to stature raise ; Melodiously he charm'd my ear, With his enchanting lajs, JF T. DONALDSON. 10* ELEGY ON A FAVOURITE THRUSH. ' - _ _ I I , I Fire seasons round I heard his song, With pleasure and delight ; He cheer'd my labours all day long ; And sooth'd my cares by night. A handsome cage his dwelling wai> His meat the best of bread ; His drink was from a fountain cast ; With sand his floor was spread. The best of fruit was his repast, Ou cherries oft he din'd ; But death has call'd him, at the last, The way of all maukind. My little songster too must share, The fate of lords and kings ; Hence vanity, we must declare, Is stamp'd on earthly things. ** . SALT AND ITS EFFECTS, O Smut I o* ye I fain wad ling, Ye iurely are a nsefu' thing ; Ye keep the E erring an' the Ling Frae mauki that creep ; in' gather siller to the king : A woud'roui hea^p. Ye're i' the Ketlop tnng an' tight, Ye keep the Cheeae an' Butter righ^ An' purify the Saument bright, Frae reciting fr%t ; Mak mony an* their wizen* weet, Wi' barley brie. OF T. DONALDSON. 107 ON SALT AMD ITS EFFECTS. Yet ye're done mony stranger things, Ye heal the Land, and cure the Springs, To yoke your talents a' i' strings, Isyont my pow'r: The brewer to ye ay always clings ; His frien' ye're sure. Giff I'm disorder'd i' the kyte, A dose o' ye can put me right ; Gin I but tak' it over night. My stomach clears : Dead bodies too ye keep them tight A thousand years. You're i' the pouther at the battle, Tis ye that make our cannons rattle ; The Frenchmen ye can lay their chattle An' heave the Iead^ Great Buonaparte ye'll lay his prattle, Amang the dead. ret THE POETICAL WORKS ON SALT AND ITS EFFECTS. When todgers will nae stand in awe, Rut basely disobey the Jaw ; The nine-tail'd cat must on them fa', Wi' horrid cracka : Then ye are call'd on after a', To mead their backs. Ye dress tbe !eathr, bides, an* hair, JBaith boots, an* shoon, ye do prepare*, .An' mak them loriug, saft an' fair, An' sae coraplete } That it is fitted for our wear, On hands an' feet. Ilk fountain, river, ditch, an* drain, Ye purify ay i' the main ; An' then return it soon gain, Baith fresh an* fine.; We drink it sweet frae ilka Teini Tii Adam's wiat. OF T. DONALDSON. i< ON SALT AND ITS EFFECTS. Ye Iang ha been auld England'* boast, Sae stoutly ye defend her Coast; Tbat Buonaparte an' a' his host, Dare na come near ; They ken their labour wad be lost, An' quake wi' fear. Ye'rfr higher than the highest hil] "Tig ye do a' our drink distil, An' a' our ponds an' fountains fill, We needna' doubt ; Yet learned men wi' a' their skill, Can't find you out. Ye lang hae been a sure defence, An' kept our foes i* sad suspense : Great Buonaparte wi' ilk pretence, An' threats to come; Yet after a' 'tis bat nonsense ; 'Tic a' ahum' X J 10 THE POETICAL WORKS ON (ALT ANU ITS EFFECTS. Ye bring our merchandise frae' far. Defend us i' the time o' war ; Bravely support each British tar, To serve his king ^ Your qualities are greater far, Than I an sing 1 The Cooks thro' a' the British nation, Do flic to ye on ilk occasion, In' ne'er a dish i' estimation, Can dae without ye : Ye are the saul o' preservation, There's nane will doubt ye. OJV* - . TOBACCO. * . J.LK Buckskin body bng your head, A' ither nations -wish ye dead ; For nursing that pernicious weed, The 'Baceo plant j O'er a' the warl* 'tis like to spread, Distress an' want. Te are a ptund'ring greedy bitch, Ye plunder baith the poor an' rich s Ay he that labours i' a ditch, Maun draw his spung 5 Sin yt get at him i' a twitch Yrii burn his tfiBgne. lit THE POBTICAL WORKS OK TOBACCO. Some men j e mak to pawn tbeir clothes, An' ither some forsake their brose, A a' save their meat : sic tales as those Sud wise men sham ; Tt ye can heat baith mouth an' nose, Ay like a draw. Tobacco, ye bewitchin snare, Ye pick our pockets unco bare* Gif we hae but a piack to spare, Without a joke*. The pipe an' Bacco's a' our care, We ay maun smoke. An' they, that dinna like to blaw, Nor canna bide the taste at a', Tak't to the mill an 1 grind it sma\ Ye may suppose^ This maks a noble feast, for a* Wi* hungry uoe. Off T. DONALDSON 113 O TOBAo< O. The price o' this Tobacco mearl, Has ruin'd mony a dainty cl.ie! ; Guid faith they'll borrow, beg, or steal, Gin they git haunted; They'll pawn their sark, an' play thedeil, Afore they'll waut it! 'Tis hardly i' a body's pow'r. To buy this fine Tobacco flour ; Ae stone will cost three pounds or more O' ready cash j Yet some will hae't to sncesh like stoure, Ay ilka hash. By it our merchants gather gear, Some mair than fifty notes a year; An' sell it out baith far an' near, To country fo'k ; Aft' them lhat hae but rags to wear, A Maun hae a SMoke. 114 THE POETICAL WORKS ON TOBACCO. jBSS=SS5=SS= ' A sneesher wi' an' empty mull, You'll find him stupid, doure, an' dull} Wi' countenance like ooy bull, An' a' things wrang ; Present him wi' a box that's full, He'll sing a sang ! Tou'll likewise notice him that chaws, He's dull an' winna teil the cause ; Sae stupid like he'll stan' an' pause, An' aft be sick ; But .when the weed's laid gin hig jaws, He soon will speak, vosTscmrT. Seme like the taste, an* tome the smell, An' some they ne'er fa' till her : The man that has the weed to sell, 'Tis he maks a' the siller 1 ..,.-. EPISTLE raOM w. c J4 AIR fa' you, Tata, ye greasy loun, May your auld stumps ay ne'er gang down ; But rhyme away about the town, Or country fair $ On Chapelt, Clocks, or some auid Loom, For ever mair t But, 7a, 'tis wonderrV to mt, Yet wonderfu' that canna be ; Why may not nature smile on thee, An' deck thy sang i Waying thy wark sud never be, A' the day I&ng. . lit THE POETICAL WORKS AN EPISiLE FROM W. C Your Clock, that gaes contrary ways, A solemn lesson, man, conveys; An' wanna' gies i' this great maze O* wilderness: That when our earthly frame decays. We heav'n possess : This theme, o' yours, brings to my niiad, That we sud ever be resign'd ; An' lire as we wad wish to find Our day o' death t To a' our fellow worms be kind, To our last breath I speak o' this because I think, Jit best o' sense ; tho' warst o' jink ; Now at the ither I will blink, An' tell my mind, Tho* ye may say I only wink At what I Suit . OF T. DONALDSON. Ill AN EPISTLE FROM W. C . i ... j fggg. \ The mair I leuk jour numbers o'er, The mair I wonner at your pow'r $ How ye find words to suit your score, Sae weei they chime % The mair I read, I praise the more Tour themes sublime, ! ken na'butye think I flatter, Wi' a' this girnin, an' this clatter; But it is na for want o' matter, That raaks me do its For faith your wheels wad keep ane at her, An' ne'er come to it. 0, Tarn, I like your pend'lum wellj But hang' t what's matter wi' the belli Man, does na' conscience, its ain sell, Act just the same): An' how it does it I'll now tell, Tho' 1 be lame, 118 THE POETICAL WORKS AN EPISTLE TO W. C- When first a youth begins the road O' sin, an* leaves the ways o' God ; Conscience comes on wi' heavy rod. An' rings a peal ; But thro* continuance, it does nod i Just so the bell. But time, that lays a' Churches laigh, Is flying swift as it can gae, And bid* me now this theme forgae, Or write some faster Mean while, I am your Servant, na* Aiblin* your Master ! W. C- ., SCHOOLMASTER, v^OME len' your lngs an' tent me Willie, My rantin', ravin*, rhymin' Billie, Ye've made me cantie as a fillie, Wi' your last letter ; An' them that ca' ye dolt or sillie, May do it better. "Ye men that mak your bread o' lare, ilaun guide your pen wi' cannie care ; Au' mind an' keep your Grammar Square, Like bound'ry fences i Tcr me, 1 hnc but little share, An' sroa' pretence*. 12 THE POETICAL WORKS TO VT. C , BCHOOLMASTER. 0' learning I maiit naithing ken, An' can do little wi' the pen ; Gin I but count to nine or ten, I'm apt to stammer % Unfit to match wi 1 learned men, Or you, for Grtmmt? May he wha' leads the chain o' time $ But sympathize wi' ilka crime, An* sea' repentance quick as lime, To scour the conscience ; Altho' ye may na' like my rhyme, 'Tis far frae nonsense* The stream o' time glides fast away, For mortal man it winna stay ; It leads to everlasting day, Gin he be right ; But gif be steers contrary way, F.terua! night OF T. DONALDSOW 121 -, SCHOOLMASTER. Gie me but paper, pen, an' ink, An' just a wee bit time to think ; I like to be at crambo-jink Ay less or mair t I'll still let down anither link, An' pinch me sair. My pen's just worn ay till a nibble, Wi' point as blunt as onj dibble : G iff ye can raise, man, but a dribble 0' Brilith black ; Wcel wsd I like lo see your scribble, Or hear your crack. THE ANSWER. THOU W. C , flCKOOfcKAITZR. A.H, Taw, how joyfu* I wag, maa, When your guid lines cam to my ban' , Believe me, Tarn, I'm at a stan' To sen' anitber ; lt I will ting las* as J can, To pleage a brither. There' i naething can tic pleat are gift To thinking mind*, an' men wha live ; But at for some they're i' their grave, A' their life timer They're want than glow-worms, I believe, They never biiic. OF T. DONALDSON. l3 ^ . . i ' - ANSWER. FROM W. C . But, Turn, there's something i' year letter, That ye maun understand some better ; I wad na' wish ye to infetter, Wi' learned laref For faith ye haud an unco clatter, An' talk o't sair. Man, learning's na* my fav'rite toast, I mak my bread on't, that's the most ; But desperately ye seem to roast, Our Grammar men t Sae Tarn, r.j look at that as lost, When rhymes ye sen'. BJ t ye may say, I did begin '* That wark, an' seem to carry 't on j" An' to the latter end ye'U spin Me for the same i Bat on that point I bragged nane, I wad thought sham*. 12* THE POETICAL WORK& ANSWER. FROM W. C , What ye hae spoke about nonsense, Nae man that's -wise wad wish it hence } I hope 'tis na' at my expence, I'd sorry be ; Gin 1 hae wi' ye lost my mcnse, What maun I dae 1 But what is a' this clishmaciaver, I'll be foro-i'en my honest Weaver; 7a7/i'sna' sae easy put i' fever, 'Bout little thiugs; Gif he was sae, by Jove I'd never Mair tune mv strings I Sae fare yc weel my honest Mac, But I'll be wi' ye in a smack ; Your Cat an Hen wi' ilk nick-nack, This night I'll see $ An' itraight o' them I'll mak a clack Or its na' me ! THE REPLY. to w. c- Jt* AIR fa' ye honest neebor Clark, Without a bane ye winna' bark ; I think ye mean to tak a mark, At Cats an* Htnt ; Bow ye'H get forward wi' your vr ark, Nae body kens. Gin ye'd be caution'd by a frien', Tak time my lad ere ye begin $ For cats will claw an' break the skin, Gif they get baud * Nay, they sometimes gang deeper in, An* bite like mad. L3 H THE POETICAL WORKS REPLY. TO W. C . Gin ye sud try my Muffy'd hen, She'll aiblins pick, I dinna ken ; It's been the fate o' wisest men, Afore the day -, Perhaps je may yoursel defen', I canna say. Like Burns, we write to please ourseUj 0' Hens, an' Cats, an Clocks^ an' Bells ; An' moay an awfu' tale he tells 0' bags an' -witches; 0' faries, ghaists, an' imps o' deils, An' midnight bitches. Lang may ye clap yonr wings an* craw, Lang may ye live to ding them a' ; An' lang lang may ye live to claw An' auld man's head , Worn out at last nac doubt ye'l! fa' Amang the dead. T. DONALDSON. 121 REPLY. TO W. C- Be crouse my lad and cock your tail, An' sen' me up a merry tale, Au' may ye ne'er want flesh an' kail To stech your vrarae j I'll think ye ay o' friends the wale, Whilst Tarn's my name : ON CONTENTMENT. Vr^HAT foil j 'tis to tit an' maurn, Opprest wi' warldly care ; Gin I hae just to do my turn, I wish to hae nae mair 0' gear this day. For wardly gear is but a sight, Observe the man it catches : His sou) contracts into a mite, At last 'tis left to wretches, To spend some day. Come let us up wi' rapid speed, An' gie onr souls a burnish, That when they're frae our bodies freed, A better place may furnish Thanherethiiday i OF T. DONALDSON. "*" '. 129 ON CONTENTMENT. View nobles i' their splendid ha', Rich wi' majestic po'w'r; Wi' flunkies wha' attend their ca's : An' -wait ay at their door, Baith night an' day. But wheu disease, invades their frames, Physicians ne'er could scan, Death will convince them when he comes, T\hey : re ilk a mortal man, Like ye this day. He dies, another tikes his Ian', An' wealth be ance potest $ Compar'd wi' an Almighty han', Then what is man at best, But dust an' clay i Loth, man, could ane but tak a tour, Right far ayont the moon 5 To see the highest liilN out o'er, An' witness what wan done, Reel far away . 130 THE POETICAL WORKS ON CONTENTMENT. Then could we form a prospect wide, An' -view baith Ian' an' ocean : *Twad help us weel our pen to guide, An' kittle up our notion ; Some ither day. Whilit we traverse this earthly stage, An' tread the mossy bent; Let's view the wonders o' the age, An' learn to be content : Ay ev'ry day. T* enlarge on this, I maun declirt, It was my fu' intention But I am fast for mystic lare, To brighten my invention: The truth to lay. Now fFillie, en' a line or twa, As soon as ye hae leisure Ye may believe, gin it be braw, 'Twill gie me unco pleasure, Ay ony day, ANOTHER EPISTLE, TO W. C- DEAR Willie C , I think you're laug, I' singin me a bonnie tang ; Fa' till't av hard as ye can bang, An' dinna spare; An' whether it be right or wrang, I will na' care. Why iud we grovel like a snail, About the braes o' Allendale ; Come lei us tak a larger scale O' observation ; Lef* try t' investigate the hale Bounds o 1 crcr.tion 132 THE POETICAL WORKS ANOTHER HPISTLB, TO W. C Burns sang the Dooa, an' Ramsay Cfj/de, An' mony ithcr streams beside, Wha kens but bonnie Jllan't pride May still outvie them ; Gif ye'll stand stiffly by my side, Ay faith we'll try them. Come JFillie, set yur brains adrift, An' gie your muse a hearty lift ; Aa' try thro' secrets for to sift, Like Habbie Burn* ; Like miners, faith, we'll try a shift, An' work by turns. Losh man, it is my fu' intent, To try our luck i' guid black print, To tell what aid the muse has lent, To us twa callans ; \a' let them thro* the warld be sent Like Bums' aw' dllen'a. OF T. DONALDSON. 139 ANOTHER EPISTLE TO W. C- That generations yet to come, May read the warks o' Will an' Tom, They'll gain applause : yet may be some May ca' them trash j For that vfc'JI never care a Thrum, G if we're the cash. Be quick, an' sen' me up anither, Or gie up writing a'thegither . Then in guid Strang tow or tether I'll hae ye hung ; Instead o' rantin, rhymin blether, Ye've lost your tongue ! ax-P&M 4Li4&,, : AN EPISTLE FROM DEBDON MILL, J; RAE monstrous rocks iui' lofty fells, Dizzie cat'iacts an' gloomy dells; Where screaming owls an' dismal yells, Affright auld cloot : Tis warse than e'en the pit o' hell, Without a doubt. Wi* them wall'd roun' on ilka side, Altho' sometimes I tak a ride ; Bnt then the fights I hae to hide. An' auld wives haver ; They mak me fit to baist their hidet, To hear their clar*r. F T. DONALDSON'. 13 AN EPISTLE FROM DEBDON MILL. What can you then expect o' me, But just sic nonsense as ye see ; Expect na' cither fun or glee, Nor yet sweet chime; My hand's just like a busy bee, 1' simmer time! An' while the engine it to shift, Jock Howard's waiting wantiu' waft ; Next in comes Bettie i' a lift, My Jeannie's rang ; Then on the looms I get a drift, Wi* a' my thrang. But may be ere I get a pick, In comes young Nannie wi' a lick* How oft about the mill, be quick An' tell me soon : How many porter an' how thick, Or how far down. 136 THE POETICAL WORKS AN EPISTLE FHOM DEBOON MILL. Then blankets we maun scour sac brat?, An' mak them white as ony snaw ; But staving them's the warst o' a', All' staps my breath ; It maks me whaizle, gim, an' blaw, An' leuk like death. I show'd jour lines, or did them mention, To a' that had the least invention j Or ony signs o' comprehension, Or ony sense : They cry'd, ay without dissension, They Burnt wad mease ! Belieye me, I was fidging fain, To hear you prais'd 'gam and again ; For lofty thoughts lae soft an' plain, An' nicely rhym'd: Thy terse has a melodious strain, Its sae weel tim'd. OP T. DONALDSON, 137 AN EPISTLE FROM DKBDON HiU. So may jour pickers gae nick nack, Just like the pend'lum o' your clock; An' may ye never want a stock 0' linem wabs; An' health to work awa' like smack, Your country jobs. rOSTSCRIPT. Sync 1 saw you I're been at Leeds, An' there beheld some noble deeds; Machin'ry i' great perfection, As far exceeded my expec'tion : But now we've got a double scribble, Likewise an uncodeil to dibble. I'll say na' mair for faith I'm tir'd, An' sent ye mair than ye requir'd, Pray send me some mair o yo\ir rhyme, Ay bonnie words that sweetly chiine ; 1 beg you'll do what I desire : An' am your servant, Jack the Dyer. M 3 7JM ANSWER. JL/E A.R Johnie, I receiv'd your line, Believe me man, it pleas'd me fine ; To tee your muse sae brightly shine, An' ay sae cantie; She's gard me try anither line To compliment ye. Now Johvi* sin' ye're been sae daft, As gang to Leeds to gather craft, Nae doubt yonr spirits were aloft, To see their graith : To It am to order warp an' waft, An' mak your claith ' OF T. DONALDSON. 1st THE ANSWER. Nae doubt ye've ta'ea their hale dimension, Wi' great mechanical inventions' An' try'd your quickest comprehension, An' slee inspection ; To set ane was your hale intention, In right direction. Now sin' ye've got a braw new scribble, Likewise a deil for to dribble ; Ye're fit to tear up hay an' stibble, As weel as woo', I doubt you'll never leave a nibble, For horse or cow. Ye've seen them a' without exception, An' wonner'd at their great perfection ; An' wi' a keen an' slee inspection Seen a' their movements ; Mind, set your ane i' right direction Wi' great improvemen'*. U6 THE POETICAL WORK! 1BE ANSWER. Ah Johnie, ye do blame me sair ; But stap my lad an' say nae mair ; Forgif I had but half your share 0' mystic knowledge; The deil a farthing I wad care For school or college ! We'll clash awa' an' never fear, Nor freet about this laigh warl's gear ; But wish the poor folks health to wear Their bits o' claes; An' welcome back to gar ui steer Our gears an' slaes. Au' may yu weavers gather riches, But chiefly they that wear the breeches, Tho' they're a set o' greasy wretches, Ye ken fu' weel ; ut a' bad fpinners aff for bitches Wi' hemp or steel: OF T. DONALDSON. 141 THE ANSWER. Guid luck to you wi' this new trapping An' may misfortunes never happen j But may your dcil e'er be gapin' For some mair woo'; May you an' Pat his gab be stappin' To keep him fou. An' may your scribbles gang right clever, An' carder gang like ', fail me never" j An' Jcannies gang to keep the weaver What he can clash) An' goods wkate'er ye can deliver Wi' heaps o' cash ! You'll gie my love to baith the Lottons, An' Beltie fVhitwortK'a na' forgotten ; Likewise yon chiel that's sitting plotin' Amang the thrums 5 An' may his pickers ay be knockin' Like sodgers drums! THIS LAIGH WARLD A HIS warld's a Stage, I will engage, An' a' the folks are players ; For t'ane the ither e'er enrage, The maist are ay betrayers. This warld's a Sea, maist do agree, An' on its beach lie mony ; Ay, gowd, 'tis a' for want o' thee; For frieuds they hae na' ony. This warld's a Wood, an' bodes na good ; For a' hae lost their way; Had our first parents upright stood, Nane e'er had gane astray. This warld's a Witch, an' unco bitch, A jade that will beguile, An' gif ye dinna mind, she'll twitch, While at ye she does smile. OF T. DONALDSON. 143 THIS LAIG'l WARLD. This warld's a Snare, I maun declare, An' sae are mony ia it ; An' gif ye dinna iak great care, She'll trap ye in a minute. This warld's a State, for sma' an' great, For people high an' low; But then we sooner maun or late, Be hirs of joy or wot. This warld's a Maze, ay ilk man says ; Nane throu't their way can find ; But when the light o' heav'n does blaze, A' see't that are inclin'd. Auld natrre's Path, rast crooks it hath. While we are walking through it ; But nane is like the road o' faith, This is the way ; see to it ! SECOND EPISTLE FROM DEBDON MILL, \e windy, rkymin', blcthYui hah, Ye'll tak in woo' to Card for trash ; Little bauds my hands ay frae a stick, To beat your head sae Ycra thick. Ye rhyme 'bout thrums an' wabs thegiiher A hotchy potchy in a llother. Your muse she is allow'd to lee ; But na' when she addresses me: Your brother, baith o' trade au' kin. To lee to me is a great sin. Gif Ralph the dyer can mak rhyme, An' Tatnmie Ttlr can keep tfce liir^- OF T. DONALDSON'. 145 SECOND EPISTLE FROM DEBDON MILL. Or hae the muses mystic words, Gie them half pay an' burn their swrds; Ay sen' them some wi' a' my heart, For it is right they sud hae part; But gif they canna mak it clink, For want o' some HeTcean drink ? Then hear the muses fatal doom " That ye sit ever on the loom ; An' tying knots ay e'er to slip, " The furies baith your cars shall clip Out o' your head ; for ever growin', '* An' them for everlasting stowin' :" For using thus your brither sae, An' being twa-fac r d unto me. Na' mair at present, I remain, Jut as >e use me, J**n A*k*n. f^lr: THE ANSWER, JOCK, what's the matter wi' ye now, Ye rantin', rhymin', erazie sow ? What maks ye thus to rant an* rair, Yt sent hame Ttmmie like a bear ? He says that Pal wad break my head, An' ye'd na' care to see me dead : For takin' in poor Ralphie's woo', But Ralph maun live as weei as you ! Tho' he's no up to rhymin' rifts, Aiblins he has superior gifts; Wad bother ye an' a' your shifts. I care na' for your rhymin' art, Tho' brither Whitfield tak a part ; 1 dinna care a pin for that, I'll sen' ye answers tit for tat; Gif I can dae a neebor guid, I think't a duty for to did : OF T. DONALDSON. 147 THE ANSWER. 1 think 'tis only vera fair, That ev'ry ane sud hae a share. What woo' comes here to ye directed, Your orders shall na' be neglected ; Like usage I to Ralph will give, i wish ay ev'ry ane to live. Ye could na' guide your cardin' wheel, \ 'Till first ye had the craft to steal, > For that vc gaed to Gallashiel: j Ay an' afore ye learnt the creeds, Ye had to rin awa' to Leeds ; To gather craft to keep ye gauu, Sae ye may haud your tongue my man, It shows a selfish, savage, spirit, Much like a wessel, or a ferret: That sucks the biuid, an' granes for mair, An's ne'er contented wi' its share. We'll work to ane anither's hand, An' form a Strang commercial band ; An' gin ye uinna join the rest, Do oay way that ye think best. 148 THE POETICAL WORKS ON WEE JOHN! E JUKF.S. = Ye're just like a' the foolish men, That's o'er weel an' dinna ken. Qif ony mair o' this ye're wantin, I'm at your service, Tarn o' Glanlon ! WEE JOHNIE JUKES. FROM SEEING BURNS WEE JOHNIE, iJOHJVIE, i' early life was short, But there he did na' stop ; I heard him ance exclaim i' sport, M He shot up like a hop !'* Now death has nippet Johnie's root, An' stopt his further growth : But Johnie ne'er reacht four foot, An' tuit is a j a trowth I JOURJVEr TO GALASHIELS. loir, s . IT was i' Christmas holidays, When Wattie gaed awa', Wi' siller watch ay i' his pouch, An' oh but he was braw On sic a day ) He started i' the morning soon, Went aff just like a hare ; An' he, afore the sun was down, Gaed forty mile an' mair, Fu' stout that day ! Next day he went to Galathiel, To see his neebor Hab ; An' there, gif I remember weel, They bad a cannie job, Wi' drink that day, N3 15 THE POETICAL WORKS JOURNEY TO BALA8HIEIS. Thir cantie lads kickt up a stoure, An' oh, but they gat friskie ! They drank till some lay on the floor, Knock' d down by Mr. Whiskie, Wi' ease that day. But cantie Wattie stuid his lane, An' stepping cross the riYer j He sat down stridelegs on a stane, Crj'd Galashiel for e^er ; Feu' crouse that day. There cantie Wattie sang an' rair'd, Wi' water to the ballap ; Whilst fifty Scots a' round him star'd An' some had him to haul up ; That was a day t They took them up wi' muckle care, For baith were very fou' ; An' laid them down aboon the stair, Amang some creeshie woo', To sleep till day ! OF T. DONALDSON. 151 JOURXEY TO GALASHIELS. Bold Wallie he cam last o' a', The whisky gar'd him stumble ; They flang him ay aboon them twa, But L d how they did grumble, An' grumph that day ! How waefu' 'twas at this great feast, To see thir caddies tipsie ; They made themsels ilk like a beast, An' freeteu'd ay ilk gipsie That vera day ! i*. ': ;; ::^ ojt MONEY. O MOJVEV, o' Mtnejf I sing, That powerfu', comical thing ; It pleases baith beggar an' king, Ay ev'ry day ; Maist men to it do iacensc bring, An' for it pray. Mtney is ay the common scale, 0' things by measure, weight or tale, O' a' things Money is the wale, 'Mang warldly men; They after it will daily Irail, Nor quit it them. OF T. DONALDSON. 1M OS MONEY. Money , 'tis strange can a' things do, Can raak black, white ; an' false things true? Can raak fools, wise ; an' auld things new, Sae great's its pow'r ; But what will't dae for me or you, T death's dark hour. Money, in a' the affairs of state, Is baith the balance an' the weight ; It's influence ev'ry where's sae great, 'Mang high an' low; That nae man thinks himsel complete That has it no'. Money rnaks ships to pleugh the main. It maks our fortune hunters fain ; Ay ev'ry man's bent on his gain \YT anxious breast ; Baith day an' night ilk nerve will strain, An" scarce lak rest, 154 THE POETICAL WORKS ON MONEY. What tho' love be the warlds pretence, Money's the mythologic sense : Yet nae man e'er did carry't hence, We it maun leave: Why then sae greedy 'bout few pence, Thatnanc we'll give. Money is ay the rich man's God, He bows befor't wi' idle nod ; But when death strikes him wi' his rod, He fa's to dust, The wise maun count ay a' men mad That in it trust! Now what's the worth ' ony thing, But sae much Money as 'twill bring? Ask ony man or ony king, He'll say 'tis true; Yet like a bow without a string, 'Twill prove to you. OF T. DONALDSON. 15* ON HONEY. 1 i i i i w The better part o' warldly men, Is ay their Money a' folk ken ; An' gif ye ask them some to len', Ye'Il hear wi' sorrow; * Why, Sir, gif ye will call again, M I'll see to-morrow /" Mtney is but the coin o' kings. It bears the head an' tail o' things; But them it is a nation's springs, Its vera saul : Yet in the end it sorrow brings Ay till us all < Fareweel then Gowd, wi* tempting face ; Ye're but a creature mean aa' base : A' wha on ye their hearts do place, Arefa'u indeed: Afc'hae forget the God of grace, Our frien' in need I JJV EPISTLE TO DELIVER TO A TAYLOR. FROM MB. J. N- JL/EARbrither, 7am, gif je hae ony Distant regard for your frien' Joknie, Ga cross the gaet to my auld cronie, Tell him frae me ; His word's na' worth, tho' fair an' mony, A bad bawbe. Wi' surly brow an' pithy clack, Ask hira gif e'er he's coming back To stitch, an' tell him ; little Jack Hauds a sad racket For faith the ither's gaen to wreck, Ay the auld jacket. OF T. DONALDSON. 147 AN EPISTLE TO DELIVER IO A TAILOR. My breeks are torn ancnt the culls, An' naething better's little Wills $ Then had I Snip but by the gills, I'd gar him squeak 5 Learn him by dint o' domini's quills, The truth to speak. Before the fair, he maun needs come, Or else the bairns will yelp me dumb ; My wife leuks sour as ony plumb, Mind what I say? For gif he don't, by my Bare Bum, There!ll be a fray. : Tis hard to pray au' liae to fee? 'Tis harder still 'tween ye an' me : For him to tell a wilfu' lie, His saul to soot j Sy this is seen conspicuously The cloTcn foot, O 158 THE POETICAL WORKS AN KI'I-ILE TO DELIVER TO A TAlLOlU My compliments unto your dame, Frae my auld wife present the same ; Assure the Snip I dae him blame For his neglect; A' gif he's lang, I'll sen' him hamc, He may expect. Ay tell him frankly frae the Clerk, Wha croons his notes like morning lark ; Before the man i' Holy Sark An' gaping folk ; He rins the risk to lose my wark, An' that's nae joke. ANSWER. 1 KEN nae how to start ray sang, Your iaylor's up to's ears i' thrang; But yet he swears ere it be lang, He'll sen' ye Hal, Tho' slaw o' foot he'U try to gang, An' dae your job, Jot kens for breeks ye're na sae bare, He says ye hae anither pair; Keep on the duds an' tak the air, The weather's warm : An' tho' your sud gang bare, Ye'Iitak nae harm * .i 160 THE POETICAL WORKS THE ANSWER. f ae Johnie ye need say nae mair ; For Hah shall put ye i' repair, Jin' mak ye trig before the fair, As a new prin ; Wi' piece o' guid substantial ware, To dead your skin. Hub comes to-morrow without fail, He'll dae his best to mak ye hate; Set on the pot wi' flesh an' kail, To stive his wamc ; An' mak him sing an' cock his tail, A coming harae. Now Johnie, as ye are the clerk, An' croons your notes like morning lark, Ye 11 ask yon man i' Half tark, I mean the priest ; Gin ye get clear o' Sunday'* Mark, Come to our feast. REPLY. DEAR Tarn, accept my warmest thank*,, For a' your pains, an' a' your pranks ; Poor Hab's come stiltin' o' his shanks, Hugging the gandtr 5 Wi' needle to stap a' the blanks : He's a braw mender. Your invitation is at least A' civil hint ; but 'tis na' jest, I winna mak ane at your feast Tho' grac'd wi' pasty ; Yeke sic a foul mou'd vulgar beast, For talkin' nasty. 3 1 THE POETICAL WORKS THE REPLY. My half may come an' gel a crack Wi' Bess, their tongues will gae click clack ; Then mak a pudding like a pack, Cram'd fu' o' spice : To play her part she'll na' be slack, My dear Mice, Tho' vree\ I like to read your rattle, Ye hae sic funny chitlle chattle ; Yet still I dare na gie ye battle, I'm ay sae lliraag: Wi' hoeing neeps an' minding cattle, Which aft ;rae wran. ' Tuc REPORT, 10 MB. J. N- LlEAR Jock, I scarce can sleep a wink, Your situation maks me think. To see ye just upo' the brink To leave your spot j A wee bit paper, pen, an' ink, Might gain your Cot. Tak up your pen, an' write wi' speed, T' his Lordship at the fountain head , There at his mansion let him read. Your humble note ; Tit only fair for yc to plead 1'or jour auld Coi. )4 THB POETICAL WORKS Till. REPORT. Man, think nae shame the truth to tell. But write just to the Laird himsel; An' mak it gingle like a bell, Or auld kail pot ? Twang thro' his lugs wi' sic a knell, About your CU Par nae respect to Hawkcs nor Hiwes, Nor Black-coats wi' tkeir powder'd pows: Nae raair gin thej were toops or yovres, Or twa horn'd stot ; But mak it sound aboon the kuowes, About your Cot, Gin he has either lugs or brains, He'll surely listen to your strains ; A just reward for a' your paius, 1 doubt it not He'll on yon castles fertile plains, Build ye a Cot, OF T. DONALDSON. lg TH REPORT. The quarry's vera near ye see ; For wood ye needaa want a tree ; An 1 flags, ye ken, frae yonder Ie Are easy got : Where ye may sit frae Bondage free, Snug i' your Cet ! Tell him the trowth without deceit ; For twenty years ye've had a seat, Aneath the Reverend Pastor's feet, 1' sacred spot : An' gif his Lordship think it meet, Ye'II get your Cot. Some men's i' level wi' the horse. Profession bad, an' Practice worse i 0' Sundays lie at hame an" curse, Or watch the pot ihall ye, wha sacred laws enforce, No' hae Tour Cot! 16ft THE POETICAL WORKS THE REPORT. Guid men were a'wa3's counted great, The vera pillars o' the state; Regardless o' the reprobate, An' drunken sot . Gin T lie's aught i' his pate, Ye'll get a Cot. Losh man, gif I could write like thee, I'd sen' him letters twa or three ; An' bang them i' his Honor s e'e. Like cannon shot ; Ae single grain o' sympathy, Wad gain a Cot I An' gif he sud the same deny, An' vr\' those measures na' comply ; Then Jennie still ye're free to try Anither spot ; At May-day morning ye can flie, Ay frae hit Cot! OF T. DONALDSON. 161 THE REPORT. Some men they faae ay houses mony, An' ither some they hae na' ony ; While ithers to a bosom cronie, Will gie a lot : Yet never fear my brither Johnie, Yell ind a Cot I Now Johnie, lad, gif ye're offended, Faith it was mair than I intended ; 'Tis love an' freedom mak me send it, This piece o' rantia, Gif re wad ken yon chap that pen'd it, "Twas Tarn o' Glanlon. ANSWER. TiAM % I'll begin where je left afi\ Your hint I ain it wcel enough ; Bat I'm nae fool to tak the huff* At ilka trifle, Nor is it rhyme, tho' rude an' ruff, Sud Friendship stifle But I maun note where ye are rude ; Ye think ane poor an' mean o' bluid, Sprung frae the Swinish Multitude Wha' for a souse Wad beck an' bow, an' glowring stuid, For an auld house. OF T. DONALDSON. 16 THE ANSWER. A new rot's like a tow'r i' air, To me its but an empty blair ; 1 wish the a-,. Id ane they'd repair An' mak it cozie, For him wha's been for mony year, The friend o' Pcesie, Let them, whom poTerty's cauld gripe, For mony days has starv'd their tripe ; Or lost by war's most wicked wipe Their precious limbs Sic objects e*en may tune their pipe, An' ask an alms. 'Tis soon eneugh when I'm i' wast, To use sic cunning, cringing, cant ; Which might some seeds o' pity plant V hearts o* stone ; But I misfortune won't supplant, Nor touch its tone. P 4?0 THE POETICAL WORKS THB ANSWER. I grant that human nature's weak, That interest will mak ane speak ; An' artfully a subject seek, To please the rich But hearen whispers at my cheek, Ah, selfish bitch; He wha's possesst o' common sense, Tbo' to great wit maks nae pretence ; Will tolerate a providence, . To sen' his fare ; Content wi' little ay to mense, * Is a' nay care Wr I to beg an' be beguil'd, I'd be as tedy as a child $ Or ane ' school wi' breeks ay fyl't, Or aching gum I'd rather lit, 'mang nigers wild, Ay on my bnm. OF T. DONALDSON. 171 a. 1 ', 1 '.y i . ' ' ' ' ' . " i THE ANSWER. Thero yet may come a happy hour, When I shall hae it i' ray pow'r To creep into an' open door, Tho' Jock'sbe shut ; There'* nane e'er lies on frozen moor, Without a Cot. You canna say I'm indiscreet, Sin' wi' my rhyme I've fiil'd a sheet ; But gif ye say that I'm a cheat, I din na care; I wad na' brither hae y greet, I'll write nae raair. Hollo I Hollo ! Tarn, I'Te forgot, An' ye're a dozen'd, stupid snot; Never to say, when at my cot, Ye wanted coals j Judge ye how Bet can boil the pot, Or warm your soles 2 ITS THE POETICAL WORKS i TH E ANSiVSB. The snaw has smooth'd the moor an' bum, Ye canna see the braky fern ; How can ye think I'd trust ray bairn, Or bonie Ball j Or sen* them over crag an' cairn : No' for mv saul. E'en tak your ax, an' cut, an' carve Your posts, an' pins, an' never swerve ; To rive your beams strain ev'ry nerve, Until ye tire j What odds, whether for food ye starve, Or want o* fire ! But when the fazonian breeze, Has swept the snaw down to the seas ; Or highwaymen, like busy bees, Hae re'd the road j i y fidging faio a fr ien' to please, I'll send a load, MAC S ELEGY, I DINNA here presume to tell, How Duncan fought, or 'Crombie fell ; Nor how great Nelson bore the Belly V ilk attack ; 0' hame affairs aroang oursel, I mean to crack "Tis o' an honest Shepherd's Tgket A better never Jap a dyke ; Nor eyer clear'd a sbeugh or syke, Or had sic speed ; Th> Shepherd now may fidge an' fyke, For now she's dead, ?3 !*ft THE POETICAL WORKS mac's elegy, A uid Mac had been Lis servan' Jang, Sin* he bought her o' Ralphie Strung, She aft awa' frae him did gang, The bonny Ma* j His wife s tho' she was unco thrang, Wad fetch her back , 1* lambing time when he was thrang, Thro' a' the fields auld Mac wad bang. Ah' gin a sheep was l)ing wrarg, Be't yowc or toop ; 1 tell you trowly, by my sang, She'd help it up. 1' simmer time, when water's cool, She'd drive the gimraers to the pool ; To wash an' clean the pickle woof That's o' ilk back ; A' ither dcg were like a fool Compar'd wi' Mac. OF T. DONALDSON. 175 MAC S EI.EGY Losh, had ye seen how she could wear, Wa'd rin an' gather in the gear ; Brave Msc was.driving up the rear. Close at their back ; An' popt them i' the water clear, Ay in a crack. An' when the gimmers were to clip, Auld Mac she'd sit close b> his hip, A ruff ane she wad na let slip, But stuid aghast ; An' when she got ane i' her grip, Wad haud it fast. "When e'er he had the sheep io shed, She was acquainted wi' the trade ; An' gif a wether sud hae fled, Then in a crack : Just like a dog that's truly bred, f he'd bring him back. Ho THE POETICAL WORKS I' winter when the snaw did fa', The wind wad ay the sheep o'erblaw ; The shepherd them he could na' knaw. Ay for the drift j The doggy then to find them a' Wad mak a shift. Now Mac could find them ilk hersel j An* weel direct him by the smell ! Then he an' she to bowkin fell Ye need na' doubt ; Till he could a' his number tell, Bailh hale an' stout. 1*11 send a line to Lili/'s-Leof, To tell my mind, ay an' my grief; How that auld, ugly, gaping thief That some ca' death 5 Cam 'nealh his saddle, to be brief, An' stapt hc<" breath. OF T., DONALDSON. 17T MAC S EPITAPH. The lovely dress o' faithfu' Mac, Was ay a glossy raven black ; It a* her days, upo' her back, Was like a shag i Nor did it ance cost him a pUck, He e'er maun brag. 0* this dog'i worth I like to sing, She was o' a' her kind the king, An 1 i' her actions did nae thing To blast her fame : tiif to your name ye'd honour bring, Live free frae blame. MAC S EPITAPH. ^1 ear this dyke back, lies honest Jllac, Just by a meikle stane ; I gave her meat, much as she'd eat, For clause she needed nane, DEATH THE DOCTOR. Aft morning, ay about four, I heard a kuockiu at m v door : When opent, ane ituid vera sour. Which some ca' Death He ne'er had called here afore To stap a breath. Pray, whence come ye anld Mahler Death t Frae fceav'u ahoon, or hell aneath ! What's sent ye here f To stap a breath " Sir, I am come % << An' this I'll dae spite o' your 'ecth, An' send ye home!" OF T. DONALDSON. 179 DEATH AND THE DOCTOR. Stap, said the Doctor, ye're my brither, We work, ay ilk for ane anither $ An' tho* ye hae a message hither, I'd hae ye stop ; "While life ay i' the veins does flither, There still is hope ! " When I appear, a' hope is gone, " An' medical assistance done; * An' when the thread o' life is spun, " It ay maun end ; " A longer lease I promise none, " No not a friend 1' I see Te'll tak na' compliment, Upo' destruction )e are benH Auld clootie's-sel maun ye hae sent, Ay to devour : But when the body ye hae rent, Can dae na' more, 1R0 THE POETICAL WORK? DBATH AND THE DOCTOR. 'Tis true the body is ray prey ; " When I it touch it turns to clay ; "But there's anitlier Death they say, " Ay warse than rue: ' It wicked sauls strikes wi' dismay, " I maun tell thee." That's a disease we canna touch, We ne'er pretend to cure such ; Folks bodies we dae only butch, I' that w're bluidy : Yet to help them we ay dae much, It is our study. *' I'm ea'd the friend o' haly men, ** The door by which ;hey heav'ngain: * Or they wad e'er on earth remain, * Ay far frae hame: ** An' when I snap life's brittle chain, They bless my name 1" OF T. DONALDSOX. 181 DEATH AND THE DOCTOR. The king o' terrors I am ca'd, v< By wicked men wha dae me daud; ** But then sic inners they are mad, 4 ' An' rave awa' ? ' I never mind this foamin sqad, " Na' not ava." Death, for the present took his leave, Wi' promise o' a short reprieve ; This pleas'd me weel ye may believe, An' in I went : Rejoicing that I now may live, Till back he's sent. SUPPING A CKOWDY. A TRUE STORY, XlO ! all ye brave fellows that love a good lair I'll tell you a story 'bout Andrew and Ralph: Concerning a match that they made in this place, Of supping a Crowdy and running a Race, it was a brave Weaver that made us the fun, Two hundred and fifty full yards he would run : Ere a Scotsman could sup a pint of good brose, 'Twas a sixpenny wager as you may suppose. Tbc day being come, and the ground it was set, The spectators all freely their money did bet ; The Weaver did strip and away he did run, But before he return'd the bold Scotsman had done The people stood staring to see the brave Scot, So rapidly draining the noble pint pot : OF T. DONALDSON*. 183 ON SUPPING A CROWDY. He handJd his Rammy so terribly quick, The folks all declar'd that ' he play'd a good stick.'' The Weavers and Spinners did stand all the while, To see the diversion ; they cry'd with a smile, The Weaver has lost, and the wager is Spralt's, Huzza, my brave lads ! and we tost up our hats. So now to conclude this laughable story, Which truly relates how the Whig beat the Tory ; In supping a Crowdy whiist Ralph ran a race, And he's willing to try any man in the place ! ADVICE TO T. G- JLIeAR neebor Tarn, ye're far to blame, O man, wad ye but think; How ye your Maker's name profane, When e'er ye get a drink. An' in your sober moments too, Ye aften gie a spell ; Which course, I doubt, gin ye pursue, WilltakyeafftohelJ. The best o' men ay hae their fauts, 'Tis evidently clear, But oh, sic wicked reprobates, 'Tis dismal for to hear ! They curse, an' swear, an' hurry on, In sic unthinking ways; Ye maun observe a' wicked men, " Shall live but half their days l" OF T. DONALDSON. 185 ADVICE TO T fi- Ye'll mind tbat what I've said is true, Observe ray counsel right ; Our thoughts, an" words, an' actions to, Shall all be brought to light. Dear Tammy, man, ay be more wise* Your days flic fast away ; To be shut out o' yonder skie? Sud strike ye with dismay. Consider now, while ye dae lite, My counsel is na' rantin ; Then change your ways; 'twill pleasure give To a' your friens i' Glanton. Q 3 ODE FOR THE YEAR 1800. t A LONG adieu to number Eight, For now 'tis gone quite out of sight! No human art could e'er attain, To make past time return ag-ain. Where it is gone no mortal knows; But it has left us 'midst onr foes: The sound of war dues still g on, And makes us under taxes groan. Now JVVnr assumes her sister's place, Inspector of the human race: The rising, and the setting sun, Does testify her reign begun. Thou lamp of light whose golden rays, Prepare our comforts cheer our days ; Thy absence makes the frost invade Our dwellings, nay sometimes our bed. By nature's light what can wc see, Nothing of Immortality ! OF T. DONALDSON. 187 ODE FOR THE YEAR 1S09. Directed by the light of grace, We hope to find a better place ; This heav'nly light brings to our view, An object higher far than thou : And ever shines upon that road, Which leads poor mortals back to God. May number JVine our joys increase, And bless us with returning peace ; Bring tidings from yon distant shore, That the destructive war is o'er. Ere thou perform"st thy annual round, Thou'lt level thousands with the ground ; And generations yet to come, Shall read tlr inscriptions on each tomb. May kings, and men of high degree, Their persevering follies see ; Leave Buonaparte, that scourge of men, In peace and quietness to reign : May we, who hai! the reign of J\~i7te, Assisted by the aid Divir.e, Endeavour time for to redeem ; Vor life, nl bes', is but a dream ! THIRD EPISTLE TO DAVIE. iUOEMAKEI, JJeAR Davie, lad, this line I send, For ye to graith your awl an' end; Cast aff your coat an' get begun, An' knock me up a pair o' Shoon, The best Calf skin ye can afford, Lay't down upo' your cutting board j Lug out your- patterns fine an' neat, An' mak them jusl to fit my feet. Not made o' Horse or some auld Coxv, For drudging after cart or plow ; Nor bark o' some three year auld Siiri Mak them to menae me at the Kirk* OF T. DONALDSON. 18 TQ D- SIIOEMAKER. In-Soles an' fVells baith firm an' stout, Out-Soles an' Heels like ony boot; Pin them thegither wi' your tacks, An' at them wi' guid Russian flax ! Conducted by the Russian hair, Ye'll tip them aff wi' cannie care ; Mind sew them weel, an' mak them clever: Your humble servant, Tarn the Weaver. FOURTH EPISTLE TO DAVIE. ON MAKIjYG two pairs of misfit shoes. J_/EAR Davie, man, what's this ye'vc done, Ye surely hae been dozin ; To son' me twice a pair o' shoon, I canna get my toes in. Gin e'er ye play the like again , Ye "11 merit my displeasure ; Ye're surely crackit i' the brain, For twice ye've mist the measure. The Instep leather ye'd forgot, This was a i cause nae doubt; Yc'd surcU < i / p >t, Ere the la-. et .. ! OF T. DONALDSON. 191 ON TWO PAIRS OF MISFIT SHOES. My feet are much like ither fo'k, Some shorter, an' some langer ; For ye to send me twice a joke, Wad put ane ay i' anger. The Shoon indeed did leuk fu' wee], Made o' guid calfskin leather; I'll speak the truth an' shame the deil, Ye'd twitcht them weel thegither. The Shoon will tell without a doubt, That what I've said is true ; Ye'd sleepit when ye cut them out. Or else been roarinfu'. Mind when ye cut anither pair, Tak this by way o' caution ; Or faith I'll sen' a line or twa, Will put ye in a passion. ANSWER. FROM DAVIE. X LL calm my mind till wi' my tongue, I nicely i' your ears hae sung ; An' when a pretty peal I've rung, I'll raise a storm : Though ye hae a' your tauntin flung, I' rhymin' form. Why mak sic noise about the Shoon, As gif nae man the same had done} Yc'rc surely stricken vrV the moon Ye talk sae fast, An' then a Souter ye lampoon .4v 'bout his La ft OF T. DONALDSON. 19$ THE ANSWER FROM DAVIE. What though I twice hae mist my measure, An' now maun dread your hct displeasure ; It has produc'd a bit o' treasure That yeca' rhyme, Which some hraw folk will, at their leisure, Read i' due time. Did ye ne'er hear o' Jllaister Snip, Wha mist his measure, an' his clip ; An 1 Ihen fou' sair did bite his lip, For by my faith 5 ' Pie was na' able for to nip A bit o' claitb. Ye hae na' feeling for a brither j Gif he mistakes, ye raise a blether, An' tell ay first anc an' anitber, To hurt my trade But let me say for a' thegithcr, I'm na' afraid. R 191 THE POETICAL WORKS THE ANSWER FROM DAVIE. Poets but seldom hae the gout ; For they fu' aft arc put about To stap the hole, aneath the snout, Some ca' the mouth , An' then th ^y're sure * mak a rout; Ay 'tis a trow tli. To honest' folks it maun be teli'd, You, taes auld 7am, maun hae been swall'd, An' then your foot wad ay hae fill'd Goliah's shoe ; But had ye been mair teaup'rate, chiel'd, 'Twad ua' been sa. Your winter keeping's made ye fat* I freely, Turn, maun tell ye thai : The Kit o' Butler, which ye gar. Has oii'd your name; Lang on your bottom ye hae saf, Because ye're fam?. OF T. DONALDSON. iyf> THE ANSWfR KTOM DAVIE. Xae shoe, in a' Ihe country side, A gouty fellow can abide ; Unless 'tis made o' claith : nac hide He could e'er bar't; But I, for a' your fat an' pride, Don't care a fart. Ye weel can help, na' dinna smile, * A lame.dog nicely o'er a stile-.'* An' mak a verse to reach a mile Aboala shoe t Ye surely are a monster -vile, A' maun allow, Ye need na' 'bout the leather tell, That it was guid I ken fu' well : Por I, ay always, buy an' sell, The best o' stuff; But still folks tongues I canna' quell, Like yonr's they're rough. 196 THE POETICAL WORKS THE ANSWER FROM DAVIE. Gin ony mair ye want frae me About the Shoon, ye'il find rae free; To hackle a' sic folks as ye I'll do my best : Because I now dae plainly see, I'se hae na' rest. Adieu, ance mair, ye Glanlon Poet, I hope ere this I've made ye rue it; Because ye hae me sac put to it About the SJwon ; An' gif ye force me to renew it, Yc are undone. TBB REPLY, TO DJFlE'SJJVSfTER. JL/EAR Davie, lad, wi' your lang tongue^ Ye brawly i' ray lugs hae rung; Wi' spirits warmit at Ihe bung O' nappy ale ; Nae doubt ye're thinkin I'm sair dung Wi' your last tale, Tbe hale excuse is but a sham, That ye've sent up to -weaver Tarn; Ye'd surely ta'en a rousin dram, At ilka word ; I mean your belly now to cram Wi' verses for'd* R3 198 THE POETICAL WOftKS THE REPLY TO DAVIE 3 ANSWER. What did ye mean ye bleth'rin bitch, To sen' me sic a lousy hitch, An' bother me v<\' Mr. Stitch, Wha mist his clip ! That's nae excuse for ye to fetch, When Masters slip ! Dear Davie, mar., the trowth to teli, I was a Tailor ance mysel : But never frac my measure fell, Nor yet did flinch; I never cut claith wraug a nail Nor vet an inch. What maks ye say i' sic a passion, That Tarn the Weaver's i' the fashion: Fot ye about the gout to clash on I sham to hear; But ye for that sha'l hae a thrashin, Yc need na' fear. OP T. DOXALDFOX. 199 _ -. . IUE REPLY fO DAYIE'S ANSWER. 'Tis like o' ye that tak the gout; Wha' sit i' holes, an' ne'er come out The livc-!ang day, hanging your snout A I ween your legs; An' grane wi tuggm lmgles out, Aa' tlrivin pegs. Eut country fo'ks are like the lark, They rise, ay aflen, while '(is dark; Cast coat an' waistcoat io the sark, G if weather's fair; An' he that has the inside wark Can tak the air. Sac write again ye soutcr bitch, An' for the future mind your stitch ; An' gif ye miss your measure mitch While cuttin Shorn ; I'll gic ye still anither switch, Or a' be done. 200 THE POETICAL WORKS THE REPLY TO DAVIE S ANSWER. Adieu ance mair my rhymin brither, An' get an' answer knockt ihegither Soon as j c can, an' sen' it hither Wi' carrier Tarn ; Collect your Legion, men o' leather, An' gie't a cram. Ye say ye're Free ; ye've spoken fair, I ' von auld Jifoor yc hae a share ; An' at the School ye gat your lair ; But deil a plack The like o' me has ; I'll na' care, I'll wi* ye crack. Come Davie,'\&d, get into tune, Let's hac some mair about the Skoon ; I'll try to screw ray pipes an' croon, Like lav'rick chantin ; I'm at your service, laic or soon, While Tarn o' Giant en. WEAVER S GLORY. CyOME all ye jovial Weaver lads, And trades of ev'ry kind \ Who labour through the nation A living for to find : Yes ev'ry one that hears a part In country and in town ; i'il prove, of all trades in the world, The Weaver wears the crown ! You kaow that oar First Parents liv'd, Some thousand years ago ; They for some time were naked, yet The same they did not know ; But when their eyes both open'd were, Their hearts with grief home down ; From that sad hour, I'll tell ye what, The Trcauers worn the cro^n 1 202 THE POETICAL WORK* TDI WEAVER S GLORY. Our mother Eve a Weaver was, With her it first began ; And all our yarn, does to this iay. Come thro' some woman's hand : From age to age its been improv'd, To us is handed down \ Of ail the trades that's in the world, The Weaver wears the crown ! The Husbandmen are clever men, And valiant men also ; But yet without the Weaver's help, To plough they could ne'er go ; The hind must have both coat and sark, His wife must have a gown ; And of all the trades that's in the world, The Weaver wears the crown ! There is our King and Parliament, So fine they do appear $ Without this noble Weaving art, They'd have no clothes to wear i OF T. DONALDSON. 203 THE WEAVER'S OL.)RY. The King must have his superfine, The Queen her morning gown ; And of all the trades that's in the world, The Weaver wears the crown ! There's all our great nobility, Before they go to dine, Must have the Weaver's handy-work, To dress themselves so fine ; Before those nobles take their seats, The Cloth must be laid down ; And of all the trades that's in the world, The Weaver wears the crown ! The greatest lords in all our land, Have ev'ry thing complete 5 With gilded domes, ami painted rooms, And Carpels for their feet ; With painted stairs, and Silken chair?, 0.\ which they do s : t down : Yet, ne'erthekss, they all confess, The Weaver wears the crown ! 204 THE POETICAL WORKS THE WEiUH'j GLORY. There is our shining army too, Which is Ihe nation's pride ; Without our aid each man mast stand, And shew his naked hide ; No colours they would have to tiie, I'll teU the reason soon ; For of all the trailes that's in the world, The Weaver wears the crown ! Likewise our gallant shipping trade, That goes to foreign parts, It never could be carry'd on Without the Weaving arts ; To foreign shores by help of oars, Our ships could ne'er he rown ; So of all the trades that's in the world. The Weaver wears the crows ! And when a littie babe is bon.>, And laid on nurse's knee ; Then they must have some Linen tin''. its clothing for to be OF T. DONALDSON. *o& THE WFAVKR S GLORY. The Weaver's work must be sought out, Yea soft as any down t And of all the trades that's in the world, The Weaver wears the crown ! Both rich and poor, and young and old, Yes, Sir, and you and me, Must own, without the Weaving trade, Our bed had been the strae : We keep them all from catching harm, When winter sore does frown ; And of all the trades that's in the world, The Weaver wears the crowa I And when your linen is worn out, Of colour pure and white ; Ye put it in the tinder bt>x, That it may give you light ; The rags sustain the paper trade, And nations round must own ; That of al! the trades now in the wf5i!3 The Weaver wears the crown ! THE WHISTLE. A TRUE STORY. He whistled as he went for want of thought.' J. LL tell ye, Sir, a story funnie, About young Franklin an' his money ; An' how he acted like a ninnie, Wi' Billie Twissle; For wit i' them days he'd na' ony To buv a TV hi tile Hen had a gaxpencc gicn ae day. An' wi' it quickly ran away, Ay fast as e'er he could pay, To Mrs. Twissle ; But chaxm'd wi' ane her son did play He bought the Whisite OF T. DONALDSON. 20T THE WHISTLE. Ben now did blaw it roun' the house ; His mither wed his head did souse, An' aiblins crack it ay a louse That there did nessle -. Yet Ben still play'd, ay vera crouse, Upo' his Whistle, \\'\9 brithers, sisters, now agree, To mortify the pride o' B Wha' fu' four times its price didgie, To Billie Twissle ; They made him whinge ; but then said he, I've bought the Whittle ! Ben now had wisdom dearly bought : Itliv'd ay ever i' hra thought; An' aften when he wad hae sought Some useless tiisle, His former folly in him wrought About the Whistle ! 8 THE POETICAL WORKS THE WHISTLE. When Ben into the warld did*come, An' saw the actions ay o' some, lie thought them empty as a drum, Or Dolly Chissle ; (IS) They gied their pride ay too much room, To huy a Whis&le ! Whene'er he saw men heck an' ben', At courts, an 1 levees to atten' ; An' heard they wanted ay a Frien* Tho' like a brissle ; He'd then affirm, ye dinna ken, He's a dear Whitsh ' The Miser whaa' things gies up,. A' comfort here, a' future hope ; An' to his av'rice gies fu' scope, O'er Geordies nesjle ; That he his coffers may fill up, 'Tis a dear ffhtsile I (IS) A Foolish Wonu. OF T. DONALDSON. 209 THE WHISTLE. Whene'er he saw a Man o' Pleasure, Improving ill his mental treasure: By living daily out o' measure, He'd ca' him brissle ; An' a' wba Hv'd a life o' leisure, They bought their IFkitsle ' Gin' he saw ane fond o' fine claes, That ev'ry ane the bairn might praise; An' spent his money a' his days, 1' gaudy tisle ; Gif dunnic him i' limbo lays, The j 're a dear FVhissle, When at a cantin things gaed cheap, The folks o'-thir wad buy a heap ; An* aiblins after could na' sleep, He'd cry Doll Chistle ; Niest they will sell what they sud keep ; They 're a dear Whissle I S 3 210 THE POETICAL WORKS THE WfllSiLF.. Gif e'er he heard a weepin wife Tell folks she's weary o' her life; He ken'tat hame there ay was strife. Sharp as a thisslc; His knowledge made him say fu' rife, He's a dear Whissle I V short, the mis'ries o' maist men, Come by deception he did ken ; Maist things they'd over-rate ; but then They'd roun' them nessle, An' after a' wad na' refrain, But-bought the JVld$sie! RECAPITULATION. BY A BROTHER POET. X OUR most obedient, brither Tarn ; I now hae pickit up ilk crum, An' sent ye r man, the total sum, For your inspection; Your verses, which, soun' like a drum, Will bear reflection, Your Poemt, man, will be applaudit j Ye're nature's chiel a' will uphaud it : To those o' C 's aj that are dawdit, Tak up the knife ; An' scrape them wcci, for they will bide it, Upo' my life I 212 THE POETICAL WORKS THE RECAPITULATION. Some limbs o' cantie Dyer Jack, Sud be cut aff, ay wi' a smack ; For they are, man, nae worth a plack, An' swall the beuk ; Sae turn them out ay i' a crack, An' mak them smenk, That noble piece is vera funnie, About what a' desire JJonei/ ; An' gif ye happen to want ony Apply to me ; I'll lea' ye, Tarn, a Geordie bonnie, Ay twa or three. 3tfan, this Laigh Warld is a braw piece : I ken how she poor folks docs fleece ; An' hardly leaves a drap o' creesh, 1' ilka bane ; An' thus she dors their waes increase, While she feels nanc. OF T. DONALDSON. *1S THE RECAPITULATION. Wee Johnie, too, ha* made me laugh. Ay maist to pickiu' o' ray calf; But nouie on him we now can graff Sin" he is deadj An' ye may write his Epitaph, An' let me see'd. About your Chapels, Clock*, an' Belli, Ac' Owls, an' Deilt, an' a' that yells ; An' a' that's freeten'd o' themsels, Ye sing ay bonie ; Wi' he that lurks amang ihe fells, That ye ca' Johnic I Johnie is like a' crafty fellows, That clash the loom, or blaw the bellows ; An' then his secrets he maun tell us, An' where he's been ; I'd hae sic ?pies,hung at the gallows, To close their cen. 214 THE POETICAL WORKS THE RECAPITULATION. On Looms, an' Shuttles, an' braw Wabs, On dribbles wi' their gapin' gabs ; An' 'bout the Jlloudie-Traps an' Hubs Ye chime away : While Richie Baker's sour as crabs, An' nouse will say. Losh, man, I've maist forgot the Butter ; The Birds, an' Bees, that did sae flutter ; Wi' Dogs, an' Hens, and Cats that splutter, An' Clerk, an' JVick- 1 wish I'd seen ye cross the gutter, Ay wi' a lick. But, man, j e've made ay a great clack o', On what the Buckskins ca' Tobacco ; Yet, Tarn, 'bout it ye love to crack o\ Ay o'er a pipe : An' while yc ithers ay do smack o' Younel ye wipe ! OF T. DONALDSON. 215 THE RECAPITULATION. Ye tell us a' an' unco story, " That your's o' a trades is the glory ;" Thii ye sud let some chiel done for ye My boasting hash : For a' that dae sic things as thir be, We ca' them trash. The Cutty Spoon, an' Crowdie piggin, Wi' the twa' collies, that were diggin Sae deeply ay i' Billtt's biggin, Ca'd Help an' Spring-; O' Jackie JV '< new cot an* riggin ; Fu' crouse ye sing. The souter lads, ay twa' or three, Hae been applying unto me, To tak up arms, ay against thee, An' smash the Poet; Thy enemy I'll never be, I'd hae Ihem know it 216 THE POETICAL WORKS THE RECAPITULATION. I'll close the hale ay with your Ode, On which great labour ye've bcstow'd^ The trowth o* it maun be aliow'd By men ' ense ; It soon will be difFus'd abroad, Ay far frae hence. But ttap, I've naething said o' Davie, An' how ye've wbangit up his gravie; Ye surely, Tarn, hae gicn him cavie 'Bout his sma' shoon ; He'll mind his measure now, it may be, Or he's undone. Place this araang your frontispieces ; Believe me, Tarn, your fame increases ; May Gcordies, wi' their shining faces, Reward your labours ; An' may you never want new pieces To cheer your Neighbour*. GLOSSARY A ./\ ail aboon, above, up ae, one iff, off afore, before afl, oft yes iyontt beyond fia',' ball bad, did bid bairn, a child 6ai7A, both , bane, bone -, an effort bauld, bold 6 short hrrn spoon. c;loakv. J2H' TO T. DO.\AM>SON 3 VOfcMS. D Dae, do dales, plains, valleys daud, to ahuse dawd, a large piece ceil, the devil ding, to worst, to push dinna, do not disna, does not d/ss/e, giddy rfo//, stupid, crazy donsie, unlucky douse, wise, prudent downa, cannot drap, to drop dribble, a drop, slaver duddic, ragged dung, worsted. 'e, the eye ten, the eyes ', the end eneugh enough. F J?a\ to fall fairns, ferns .{and, did find \fash, to trouble !/flfc/, a fault ' fieechin, supplicating [flcther, to flatter 1 Jlunkie, a livery servant ;/ou\ full, drunk \frae, fro in fricn\ friend fu", full funnie, full of merriment y^/te, to soil, to dirty fyke, trifling cares. G Gab, the mouth; lo speck pertly g ce, to go p. ae>.', went g*ae, gone ag. to go gar, to make, to force gaun, going gaw'ry, foolish, half-witted gear, riches gent/es, great folks ghaist. a ghost Sie, to give 2-20 GLOSSARY. TO T. DONALDSON S POEMS. gied, gave ; gi'en, given gif, * gin, if, against gipsey or gipsie, a young girl girn, to grin gleck, sharp, ready tclen, dale, deep valley glowr, to stare goivd, gold gowk, a terra of contempt grailh, riches, furniture grane, to groan grta/, intimate, familiar gree , to agree greet, to weep grippii, catched grumph, to grunt; to mourn gru\ ground gurfe, God, good guid, good gusty, tasteful, H. Hae. to have; haen, had ftafe, whole, healthy 4a/y, holy ftam* s home Arttt' or haun, hand Aarp, to cover Aar.lr, to hearken hash, a sot, an awkward fellow haud, to hold hawkie, a cow heather, heath heart, hear it Ac/, hot hirple, to walk lamely Aj'/c/j, a loop, a knot hornie, a name of the devil feoicT, a hollow or dell /N?ttf/f, to dig. I. /', in ilk or ilka, each, every tnjrfe, fire, fire-place Vse, I shall or will- ither, other K. A'atV, hroth ken , to know kend or tenf, knew AtV, kind GLOSSARY, 22i TO T. DONALDSON'S POEMS. kirn, to churn 5 the harvest supper kitchen, any thing that serves for gravy kittle, lively, nimble knou-e, a small hillock kyte, the belly. L. Lan\ land, es'.aie laddie, a lad laigh, low lair, mire, mud long, long lap. d:d leap lare or /a/r, learning leal, true, loyal /ce, to lie leak, to look loan or loanin, a lane town, a mean fellow Joiee, a flame lug, the ear M. J/ae, more rnair, more maist, most, almost wiafr, to make 'mang, among manse, a priest's house maun, must men', to amend meme, good manners m/' mind, remember misteuk, mistook wiflwy or monie, many mow' the mouth moudiicort, a mole muck/e or micklc, great, much. N. JVa\ no, not wae, not, any naeihing or naithing, no- thing <77irc, over. P. Pang, to cram pat, did put; a pot paukie, haughty, proud phraise, to flatter pickle, a small quantity p*7, to put platk, an old Scots coin plrw or pleugh, a plow poussie, a hare or cat pouther, powder pott', head preen, a pin prent, printing. P.. Itair, to roar Rammy, a spooa, common- ly a ho<-n spoon rantin, ranting rax, to stretch reek, smoke; to smoke reel. r ight rhymin, rhyming rin, to run r0?' ark- worth Bbir Peter, Alnwick Coiam Miss, Long Frara- iisgton Bolton John, Kewham Bowmaker N. F. Tailor, A !ii wick Eriggs Robc-rt, Ilackhill Bow it A. Baraburgh 2 copies !irov n Thomis, Alnwick 22S SUBSCRIBERS' NAMES TO T. DONALDSON ! POEMS. Brown T. Blacksmith Felton Brown Wra. Craisten Bank Bulancey A. Calish Park Burn John, Alnwick Burn John, Shoe Maker, Felton Burrell John, Alnwick Bnsby T. Junr. Butcher do. Buston Thos. Eb[r. Buston C' Call Thomas, Nurseryman, Alnwick Carr Geo. Esqr. Warkworth Carr James, Felton Park Castles Major, Alnwick Chambers Roht. Draper do. China Wm. Eglingham. Cochrane Uoht. Newham Cockburn George, Black- smith, Felton Cook Revd. Mr. Newton Commin Thos. Cartwright . Whittingham Cowans Ralph, Warkwor'.h Old Barns Coxon George, Inkeeperr Alnwick Cozens David, Hairdresser, ditto. Crozier James, Nurseryman ditto. Cummins Edwd. Shawdon D Dale Capt. Northd. Militia Davison George, Gunsmith, Alnwick Davison James, Carrier, Glanton, 4 copies Davison Nichs. Esqr. Ala- wick Davison Mgt. Whittingham Dennen David, Linemouth Dixon John, Baker Alnwick Dixon Thomas, do. do. Dixon Thomas, Iukecper, ditto Dixon Willm. Slater, Lem- mington Doddj Rev. Mr. Shilbotth- DoddsWm. Draper Ainwick SUBSCRIBERS' NAMES 3 TO T. UONALDSON S POEMS. Donald John, Alnwick Donaldson Andw. Carter do. Drysdale David Shoemaker, ditto Duns Thos. Mason, ditto E Elliot Michl. Gamekeeper, Felton Elliot Richd. Painter, Aln- wick Embleton John, Merchant, Embleton Ewing A. Cooper, Alnwick F Familton Henry, Xewstead Ferguson William, Baker, Alnwick ForsterMr*. Bailiffgatc, do. Forster Dorothy, ditto French Wm. Carter, do. G Gardrer G. Slater Denwick Grey Robt. Plainfield -Greenwood Jane, Beldam Grey Chas. Esqr. Morrick Grey Wm. Bewick Nursery Guthrie John, Alnwick G Harrison Thos. Senr. Tin- smith, Alnwick Harrison Thos. Junr. ditto ditto. Hart ridge Jas. do. Hedley Anth. Surgeon, Fei- ton Henderson George, Abbey Mill Heuderson George, Cragg Mill Henderson Henry, Mercht. Warkwcrth Henderson Ralph, Butcher, Alnwick Henderson Thos. Blue Bel! lira Eelford Hewitt Roger, Eshott Hindhau^h VVillm. Carrier,. Alnwick Hindmarsh I. H. Ironmon- ger, ditto 30 SUBSCRIBERS' NAMES TO T. DONALDSON S fOEMS. Iline John, Inkeeper, Felton Howe Robert, Eglingham Cagtlc Hudson Hugh, Tailor, Fel- ton -Hudson James, F.glingham Castle ^Hudson Rerd. Mr. Wark- worth Hudson Robt. Newton "Hume John, Baker Alnwick J Jackson Peter, Joiner, Aln- wick Jackson Robert, ditto Jackson Win. N. Seatoa Jamison Win, Alnwick Jobson Robt. Mason, flo Johnson Robt Guizcn Jo'.vcey Wm. Joiner, Aln- wick K Kay W;n. Shoemaker, Aln- wick a snncdy Ed^d. Mer ' Felton Kerr Jas. Tinsmith Alnwick Knox Samuel, ditto L f.ansb Robt. Slater, Aluwick Landells Waiter, ditto Lauder Wm. ditto Lee Andw. Warkworth Lee David, Joiner, Alnwick Lee John, Inkeeper, ditto Lee Thog. Mason, Wark- worth Leithead John, Esqr. Aln- wick Leithead Wm. Joiner ditto Lendfim Wm. Glanton Liddlc Thos. Inkeeper, Fel- ton Lindsay George, Butcher, Aluwick Liudsay Wm. Grocer, do. l.ockey Jas. Shoemaker do. Lough Thomas, do. LjnnJiis. Joiner, Felton M ill Tin War;, SUBSCRIBERS' NAMES 231 TO 1. DONAMibON . POF.S5. Maule Alex. Shoemaker, Alnwick Maule James, ditto Maule Wm. Tailor, do. Maughaa M. Bamburgh Castle Meglson, Wool Stapler Middle.mas James, Alnwick Middlemas John, Chandler, Alnwick Milbourn Robt. Schoolmas- ter, Howick Miller Jas. Shilbottle Miller M. Tweerimouth Mills Jacob, Glanton 31itchell Wm. Slater, do. Moffat t, Edward Alnwick MoG'alt Jas. weaver Wark" worth Moffatt Thos. Callash Park Moore Henry, Plumber, Morpeth Moore Richard. Alnwick Motherly Thomas, do. Muer3J0b.il, InkeenerWark worth N Nairn Wm. Bleacher, Mor- peth kelson John, Broompark Nelson Wm. Mason, Felton Newton Fen wick, Shiibottic Newton Thos Alnwick Newton William. Gardener, Alnwick Nicholson Forster, Tailor, Felton Orman Dorick, Mason, Alnwick Patterson J. Mason, Gianion Patterson Robert, Draper, Alnwick Pearson Henry, Shoemaker, ditto Perry Henry, Cooper, Wark- worth Potter John,- .Stiver Moor Poits Wm. Tailow Chand- ler, Ah wick 232 SUBSCRIBERS NAMES TO T. DON ALDSOJf.S POEMS. II Ramsay Joseph. Alnwick. Rattray F. C, Baker, ditto Reay Win. Painter, do. Reed James, Gardener, Fei- ton Richardson George, Joiner. Alnwick Richardson John, Joiner do. Robertson John, Grocer do. Robinson L. Staymakcr, do. Robson Edwd. Ironmonger, Morpeth Robson Mark, Gardener, Tciton Robson Robt. Gardener, Alnwick Robson T. Draper, Morpeth Rochester Allan, Glanton Rochester Andw. Shoe- maker, Felton Kucastle John, Warkworlh llunsman Alice, Glauton Rutherford Thos. Slater, Alnwick Ryan John, Chatton Mill Saddler Wm. Sadler, Alnwick Sample Elenr. Felton Sample John, Newham Sanderson John. Loughouse Scaife John, Paper Manu- facturer, Newcastle Scott Henry, Joiner, North Charlton Scott John, Joiner, Alnwick Scott Robt. Agent, do. Scott Robert, Shilbottle acrouthers InkeepcrBelford Scrouthers Wm. Morpeth Shoiton John, Alnwick Simmons Edwd. Curtwright, Yctlington Skcliy John, Dcnwick Slight Archd. Alnwick Smart Win. Mercht. da. Smith A. Spt. Mercht. do. Smith D. W. Enqr. do. Smith James. Mardea House Smith Robert, Esqr. Low Newton, 2 Copies Smith Thos. Geo. Togston Sordy Thos. Warkworlh SUBSCRIBERS' NAMES 2S3 TO T. DONALDSON S FOFWt. Stanl yWra, Sialer, Aitiv. ick Stamp George, Mercht. do. Steel Robert, Shilbottle Stobbs Wm. Aclington Park Storey Jesper, Shoemaker, Alnwick Storey JohD, Shilbottle Storey Thos. Fawden Strafford Thos. Plasterer, Alnwick Strong Wm. do. Swan James. Cowsley Hill Swan Mark, Lesbury Swan Robt. East Chivington Swan Robert, Raff Mercht. Alemouth Swinton Geo. Shoemaker, Alnwick Tate John, News Carrier, Eetford Tate Thos. Watchmaker, ditto Tate Thes. Bank house Ta>Ior Aiidw. ChiH'mjrhr.m Taj lor Geo. Tailor, Alnwick Taylor John, Shilbottle Tennant Isabel, Warkworth Thew J. Butcher, Alnwick Thew Ralph, Denwick Thew Wm. Grocer, Alnwick Thompson Andw. do. Thompson Arthur, Joiner, Warkworth Thompson Robt. Felton Thompson Stephen, But- cher, Belford Thompson Wm. Alnwick Thorpe Mrs. Alnwick Castle Thorpe Robt. Esqr. Alnwick ThurlwellWm. bhiibottle Tinemouth John, Inkeeper, Fclfon Tindali Geo. Chathill Trobe Henry, Guizon Mill Turnbull George, Carrier, Wooler Turnbull Richard. Dyer, do. Turner Thos. Earsdon W Wal'bvMrs.MiHmer.GiaTUen 834 SUBSCRIBERS' NAMES TO T. DONALDSON S rOEMS. Wardle J. Butcher, Fcltoir Watson Elizabeth, Shilbot- tle Watsoa Wra. Esqr. Alnwick Brewery Watson Wm. Warkworth Weddell R. Tailor, Alnwick Whiteman John, Slnlbotlle Whithair., Thruuton Wiley James, Alnwick Willis Thos. Watch Maker, Felton Wilson CiiasSte.tonGrainge Wilson Geo. White Swan Inn, Alnwick Wilson Jordan, Esqr. Black- burn, near Edinburgh Wilson Miss, do. Wilson Robt. Longhorsley Wintrip Win. Brainshaugb Woodhouse John, Junr, Painter, Alnwick Wright Andw. Eglinghara Wright George, Denwick Wright Robt. Eslingtoa Ycarnshire John, Alcmouth Younger Robt. WarkwcjTtb . 77,-e Su'j> crib trs' JVamst of JS*e we utile. Shields, fyc.nat havhtg been r:c:ivvd in lime, are in consequence omitted: BODL. LlffR. DUPL1CA1 SOLD BY AUTHORITY. W. Davison, * . % UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY This book is DUE on the last date stamped below UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY A A 000 075 447 3 C