Classic Poem

ON RECEIVING THE COMPLIMENT OF A BARREL OF LOCHFINE HERRINGS FROM HIM .

Your herrings, Sir, came hale and feer,
 In healsome brine a' soumin,
Fu' fat they are, and gusty gear,
 As e'er I laid my thumb on;
Bra sappy fish
As ane cou'd wish
  To clap on fadge or scon;
They relish fine
Good claret wine,
  That gars our cares stand yon.

Right mony gabs wi' them shall gang
 About Auld Reekie's ingle,
When kedgy carles think nae lang,
 When stoups and trunchers gingle:
Then my friend leal,
We toss ye'r heal,
  And with bald brag advance,
What 's hoorded in
Lochs Broom and Fin
  Might ding the stocks of France.

A jelly sum to carry on
 A fishery 's design'd,
Twa million good of sterling pounds,
 By men of money 's sign'd.
Had ye but seen
How unco keen
  And thrang they were about it,
That we are bald,
Right rich, and ald-
  farran, ye ne'er wad doubted.

Now, now, I hope, we 'll ding the Dutch,
 As fine as a round-robin,
Gin greediness to grow soon rich
 Invites not to stock-jobbing:
That poor boss shade
Of sinking trade,
  And weather-glass politic,
Which heaves and sets
As public gets
  A heezy, or a wee kick.

Fy, fy!—but yet I hope 'tis daft
 To fear that trick come hither;
Na, we 're aboon that dirty craft
 Of biting ane anither.
The subject rich
Will gi' a hitch
  T' increase the public gear,
When on our seas,
Like bisy bees,
  Ten thousand fishers steer.

Could we catch th' united shoals
 That crowd the western ocean,
The Indies would prove hungry holes,
 Compar'd to this our Goshen:
Then let 's to wark
With net and bark,
  Them fish and faithfu' cure up;
Gin-sae we join,
We 'll cleek in coin
  Frae a' the ports of Europe.

Thanks t' ye, Captain, for this swatch
 Of our store, and your favour;
Gin I be spar'd, your love to match
 Shall still be my endeavour.
Next unto you,
My service due
  Please gi'e to Matthew Cumin,
Wha with fair heart
Has play'd his part,
  And sent them true and trim in.