TO THE TRON-KIRK BELL.

WANWORDY, crazy, dinsome thing,
As e'er was fram'd to jow or ring,
What gar'd them sic in steeple hing
They ken themsel',

But weel wat I they cou'dna bring
Waur sounds frae hell.

What deil are ye? that I shou'd bann,
Your neither kin to pat nor pan,

Nor ulzie pig, nor maister cann,

But weel may gie

Mair pleasure to the ear o' man

Than stroke o' thee.

Fleece merchants may look bauld, I trow, Sin' a' Auld Reikie's childer now

Maun stap their lugs wi' teats o' woo,

Thy sound to bang,

And keep it frae gaun thro' and thro'

Wi' jarrin twang.

P p

Your noisy tongue, there's nae abidin't,
Like scaulding wife's, there is nae guidin't:
Whan I'm 'bout ony bis'ness eident,
Its sair to thole:

To deave me, then, ye tak a pride in't
Wi' senseless knoll.

O! were I provost o' the town,
I swear by a' the pow'rs aboon!
I'd bring ye wi' a reesle down ;

Nor shou'd you think (Sae sair I'd crack and clour your crown) Again to clink.

For whan I've toom'd the meikle cap,
And fain wad fa' owre in a nap,

Troth I cou'd dose as soun's a tap,

Wer't na for thee,

That gies the tither weary chap

To waken me.

I dreamt ae night I saw Auld Nick Quo' he, "This bell o' mine's a trick, "A wylie piece o' politic,

“A cunnin snare

"To trap fouk in a cloven stick,

"Ere they're aware.

"As lang's my dautit bell hings there, "A' body at the kirk will skair;

"Quo' they, gif he that preaches there "Like it can wound,

“We dinna care a single hair

"For joyfu' sound."

If magistrates wi' me wad gree,
For ay tongue-tackit shou'd you
Nor fleg wi' anti-melody

Sic honest fouk,

be;

Whase lugs were never made to dree
Thy dolefu' shock.

But, far frae thee the bailies dwell,
Or they wad scunner at thy knell ;
Gie the Foul Thief his riven bell,

And then, I trow,

The by-word hauds, "The deil himsel "Has got his due."

2

MUTUAL COMPLAINT OF

PLAINSTANES AND CAUSEY,

In their Mother Tongue.

SIN' Merlin laid Auld Reikie's causey,
And made her o' his wark right saucy,
The spacious street and gude plainstanes
Were never kend to crack but anes,
Which happen'd on the hinder night,
Whan Fraser's* ulzie tint its light;
O' Highland sentries nane were waukin,
To hear their cronies glibly taukin ;
For them this wonder might hae rotten,
And, like night robb'ry, been forgotten,
Hadna a cadie, wi' his lanthorn,
Been gleg enough to hear them bant'rin,
Wha cam to me neist mornin early,
To gie me tidings o' this ferly.

*The Contractor for the lamps.

Ye tauntin lowns, trow this nae joke,
For anes the ass o' Balaam spoke,
Better than lawyers do, forsooth,
For it spak naething but the truth!
Whether they follow its example,

You'll ken best whan you hear the sample.

PLAINSTANES.

My friend, thir hunder years and mair We've been forfoughen late and ear', In sunshine, and in weety weather, Our thrawart lot we bure thegither. I never growl'd, but was content Whan ilk ane had an equal stent, But now to flyte I'se een be bauld, When I'm wi' sic a grievance thrall'd : How haps it, say, that mealy bakers, Hair-kaimers, creeshy gizy-makers, Shou'd a' get leave to waste their powders Upo' my beaux and ladies shoulders? My travellers are fley'd to deid

Wi' creels wanchancy, heap'd wi' bread,
Frae whilk hing down uncanny nicksticks,
That aften gie the maidens sic licks,

As mak them blithe to skreen their faces
Wi' hats and muckle maun bon-graces,
And cheat the lads that fain wad see
The glances o' a pauky ee,