Let mirth abound; let social cheer To crown our joy: Nor Envy, wi' sarcastic sneer, Our bliss destroy. And thou, great god of Aquavitæ ! To hedge us frae that black banditti, The City Guard. THE KING'S BIRTH-DAY In Edinburgh. Oh! qualis hurly-burly fuit, si forte vidisses. POLEMO-MIDDINIA. I SING the day sae aften sung, But vow! the limmer's fairly flung; There's naething in't. I'm fain to think the joys the same Baith blind and cripple, Forgather aft, O fy for shame! To drink and tipple. O Muse, be kind, and dinna fash us Nor seek for Helicon to wash us, That heath'nish spring; Wi' Highland whisky scour our hawses, And gar us sing. Begin then, dame, ye've drunk your fill, You wadna hae the tither gill? Troth 'twould be sair against my will Sing then, how, on the fourth of June, Wi' flag-staff buskit, Frae which the soldier blades come down To cock their musket. Oh willawins! Mons Meg, for you, 'Twas firing crack'd thy muckle mou ; What black mishanter gart ye spew Baith gut and ga' ? I fear they bang'd thy belly fu' Against the law. Right seldom am I gi'en to bannin, Sax lang Scots miles ayont Clackmannan, The hills in terror wad cry out, That glowr'd wi' wonder, Haflins afraid to bide thereout To hear thy thunder. Sing likewise, Muse, how blue-gown bodies, Like scar-craws new ta'en down frae woodies, Come here to cast their clouted duddies, And get their pay: Than them what magistrate mair proud is On this great day the city-guard, In military art weel lear❜d, Wi' powder'd pow and shaven beard, Gang thro' their functions, By hostile rabble seldom spar'd Of clarty unctions. O soldiers! for your ain dear sakes, Wi' firelock or Lochaber ax, As spill their blude. Now round and round the serpents whizz, Wi' hissing wrath and angry phiz; Sometimes they catch a gentle gizz, Alake the day! And singe, wi' hair-devouring bizz, Its curls away. Shou'd th' owner patiently keek round, Which lays his honour on the ground The Muse maun also now implore I fear, I fear, She'll no lang shank upon all four This time o' year. H h |