Classic Poem

B LYTH may he be wha o'er the haugh,
All free of care, may sing and laugh;
Whase owsen lunges o'er a plain
Of wide extent, that 's a' his ain.
No humdrum fears need break his rest,
Wha 's not with debts and duns opprest;
Wha has enough, even tho' it 's little,
If it can ward frae dangers kittle,
That chiels, fated to skelp vile dubs thro',
For living are oblig'd to rub thro',
To fend by troaking, buying, selling,
The profit 's aft no worth the telling.
When aft'er, in ane honest way,
We 've gained by them that timely pay,
In comes a customer, looks big,
Looks generous, and scorns to prig,
Buys heartily, bids mark it down,
He 'll clear before he leaves the town;
Which, tho' they say 't, they ne'er intend it;
We 're bitten sair, but canna mend it.
A year wheels round, we hing about;
He 's sleeping, or he 's just gane out:
If catch'd, he glooms like ony devil,
Swears braid, and calls us damn'd uncivil:
Or aft our doited lugs abuses,
With a ratrime of cant excuses;
And promises they stoutly ban to,
Whilk they have ne'er a mind to stand to.
As lang 's their credit hads the feet o't,
They hound it round to seek the meat o't,
Till jointly we begin to gaud them,
And Edinburgh grows o'er het to had them:
Then aff they to the country scowp,
And reave us baith of cash and hope.
Syne we, the lovers of fair dealing,
Wha deem ill payment next to stealing,
Rin wood with care how we shall pay
Our bills against the destin'd day;
For lame excuse the banker scorns,
And terrifies with caps and horns;
Nae trader stands of trader awe,
But nolens volens gars him draw.

'Tis hard to be laigh poortith's slave,
And like a man of worth behave;
Wha creeps beneath a laid of care,
When interest points he 's gleg and gare,
And will at naithing stap or stand,
That reeks him out a helping hand.

But here, dear Sir, do not mistake me,
As if grace did sae far forsake me,
As to allege that all poor fellows,
Unblest with wealth, deserv'd the gallows.
Na, God forbid that I should spell
Sae vile a fortune to mysell,
Tho' born to not ae inch of ground,
I keep my conscience white and sound;
And tho' I ne'er was a rich heaper,
To make that up I live the cheaper;
By this ae knack I 've made a shift
To drive ambitious care a-drift;
And now in years and sense grown auld,
In ease I like my limbs to fauld.
Debts I abhor, and plan to be
Frae shochling trade and danger free,
That I may, loos'd frae care and strife,
With calmness view the edge of life;
And when a full ripe age shall crave,
Slide easily into my grave.
Now seventy years are o'er my head,
And thirty mae may lay me dead;
Should dreary care then stunt my muse,
And gar me aft her jogg refuse?
Sir, I have sung, and yet may sing,
Sonnets that o'er the dales may ring,
And in gash glee couch moral saw,
Reese virtue and keep vice in awe;
Make villainy look black and blue,
And give distinguish'd worth its due;
Fix its immortal fame in verse,
That men till doomsday shall rehearse.

I have it even within my pow'r,
The very kirk itself to scow'r,
And that you 'll say 's a brag right bauld;
But did not Lindsay this of auld?
Sir David's satyres help'd our nation
To carry on the Reformation,
And gave the scarlet whore a box
Mair snell than all the pelts of Knox.

Thus far, Sir, with no mean design,
To you I 've poured out my mind,
And sketch'd you forth the toil and pain
Of them that have their bread to gain
With cares laborious, that you may,
In your blest sphere be ever gay,
Enjoying life with all that spirit
That your good sense and virtues merit.
Adieu, and ma' ye as happy be
As ever shall be wish'd by me,

Your ever obliged,

humble servant,
ALLAN RAMSAY.