Classic Poem

I trow my mettl'd Louthian lathie,
Auld farren birky I maun ca' thee,
For whan in gude black print I saw thee
Wi' souple gab,
I skirl'd fu' loud, " Oh, wae befa' thee
" But thou'rt a dab. "

Awa ye wylie fleetchin fallow!
The rose shall grow like gowan yallow,
Before I turn sae toom an' shallow,
And void of fusion,
As a' your butter'd words to swallow
In vain delusion.

Ye mak my Muse a dautit pet:
But gin she cou'd like Allan's met,
Or couthy cracks and hamely get
Upo' her carritch,
Eithly wad I be in your debt
A pint o' parritch.

At times whan she may lowse her pack,
I'll grant that she can find a knack
To gar auld-warld wordies clack
In hamespun rhime,
While ilk ane at his billie's back
Keeps gude Scots time.

But she maun e'en be glad to jook,
An' play teet-bo frae nook to nook,
Or blush as gin she had the yook
Upo' her skin,
Whan Ramsay or whan Pennicuik
Their lilts begin.

At morning ear', or late at e'en,
Gin ye sud hap to come and see ane,
Nor niggard wife, nor greetin wee-ane,
Within my cloyster,
Can challenge you and me frae preein
A caller oyster.

Heh, lad! it wad be news indeed,
Ware I to ride to bonny Tweed,
Wha ne'er laid gamon o'er a steed
Beyont Lysterrick;
And auld shanks-nag wad tire, I dread,
To pace to Berwick.

You crack weel o' your lasses there,
Their glancin een and bisket bare;
But tho' this town be smeekit sair,
I'll wad a farden,
Than ours there's nane mair fat an' fair;
Cravin your pardon.

Gin heaven shou'd gie the earth a drink,
And afterhend a sunny blink,
Gin ye ware here, I'm sure you'd think
It worth your notice,
To see them dubs and gutters jink
Wi' kiltit coaties.

And frae ilk corner o' the nation,
We've lasses eke o' recreation,
Wha at close-mou's tak up their station
By ten o'clock:
The Lord deliver frae temptation
A' honest fock!

Thir queans are ay upo' the catch
For pursy, pocket-book, or watch,
And can sae glib their leesins hatch,
That ye'll agree
Ye canna eithly meet their match
'Tween you and me.

For this gude sample o' your skill,
I'm restin you a pint o' yale,
By an' attour a Highland gill
O' Aquavitae;
The which to come and sock at will,
I here invite ye.

Tho' jiliet Fortune scoul an' quarrel,
And keep me frae a bein beef barrel,
As lang's I've twopence i' the warl'
I'll ay be vockie
To part a fadge or girdle farl
Wi' Louthian jockie.

Farewel, my cock! lang may ye thrive,
Weel happit in a cozy hive;
And that your saul may never dive
To Acheron,
I'll wish as lang's I can subscrive
Rob . F ERGUSSON .