Oft at his strains, all natural though rude,
The Highland lass forgot her want of food,
And, whilst she scratch'd her lover into rest,
Sunk pleased, though hungry, on her Sawney's

breast.

Far as the eye could reach, no tree was seen, Earth, clad in russet, scorn'd the lively green. The plague of locusts they secure defy, For in three hours a grasshopper must die. No living thing, whate'er its food, feasts there, But the cameleon, who can feast on air. No birds, except as birds of passage, flew, No bee was known to hum, no dove to coo. No streams as amber smooth, as amber clear, Were seen to glide, or heard to warble here*. Rebellion's spring, which through the country ran, Furnish'd, with bitter draughts, the steady clan. No flow'rs embalm'd the air, but one white rose, Which on the tenth of June† by instinct blows, By instinct blows at morn, and, when the shades Of drizzly eve prevail, by instinct fades.

One, and but one poor solitary cave, Too sparing of her favours, nature gave; That one alone (hard tax on Scottish pride!) Shelter at once for man and beast supplied. Their snares without entangling briers spread, And thistles, arm'd against th' invader's head, Stood in close ranks all entrance to oppose, Thistles now held more precious than the rose. All creatures which, on nature's earliest plan, Were form'd to loathe, and to be loathed by man, Which owed their birth to nastiness and spite, Deadly to touch, and hateful to the sight, Creatures, which when admitted in the ark, Their saviour shunn'd, and rankled in the dark, Found place within: marking her noisome road With poison's trail, here crawl'd the bloated toad; There webs were spread of more than common size, And half-starved spiders prey'd on half-starved flies;

In quest of food, efts strove in vain to crawl;
Slugs, pinch'd with hunger, smear'd the slimy wall;
The cave around with hissing serpents rung;
On the damp roof unhealthy vapour hung;
And Famine, by her children always known,
As proud as poor, here fix'd her native throne.
Here, for the sullen sky was overcast,
And summer shrunk beneath a wint'ry blast,
A native blast, which arm'd with hail and rain,
Beat unrelenting on the naked swain,—
The boys for shelter made; behind, the sheep,
Of which those shepherds every day take keep,
Sickly crept on, and with complainings rude,
On nature seem'd to call, and bleat for food.
Jock. Sith to this cave, by tempest, we're confined,
And within ken our flocks, under the wind,
Safe from the pelting of this perilous storm,
Are laid among yon thistles, dry and warm,

[* The severity of Satire is in its truth; and however treeless her clime may be, or cold her hills, or naked her inhabitants-her streams are as clear as crystal, and dance, and bicker to a music all their own.]

[t The Pretender's birth-day.]

What, Sawney, if by shepherd's art we try
To mock the rigour of this cruel sky?
What if we tune some merry roundelay ?
Well dost thou sing, nor ill doth Jockey play.

Saw. Ah, Jockey, ill advisest thou, I wis, To think of songs at such a time as this. Sooner shall herbage crown these barren rocks, Sooner shall fleeces clothe these ragged flocks, Sooner shall want seize shepherds of the south, And we forget to live from hand to mouth, Than Sawney, out of season, shall impart The songs of gladness with an aching heart.

Jock. Still have I known thee for a silly swain: Of things past help, what boots it to complain? Nothing but mirth can conquer fortune's spite; No sky is heavy, if the heart be light : Patience is sorrow's salve; what can't be cured, So Donald right areeds, must be endured.

Saw. Full silly swain, I wot, is Jockey now; How didst thou bear thy Maggy's falsehood? how, When with a foreign loon she stole away, Didst thou forswear thy pipe and shepherd's lay? Where was thy boasted wisdom then, when I Applied those proverbs, which you now apply?

Jock. O she was bonny! All the Highlands round Was there a rival to my Maggy found? More precious (though that precious is to all) Than the rare med'cine which we brimstone call, Or that choice plant, so grateful to the nose, Which in I know not what far country grows, Was Maggy unto me; dear do I rue,

A lass so fair should ever prove untrue.

Saw. Whether with pipe or song to charm the ear, Through all the land did Jamie find a peer? Cursed be that year by ev'ry honest Scot, And in the shepherd's calendar forgot, That fatal year, when Jamie, hapless swain, In evil hour forsook the peaceful plain. Jamie, when our young laird discreetly fled, Was seized, and hang'd till he was dead, dead, dead.

Jock. Full sorely may we all lament that day; For all were losers in the deadly fray, Five brothers had I on the Scottish plains, Well dost thou know were none more hopeful swains; Five brothers there I lost, in manhood's pride, Two in the field, and three on gibbets died: Ah! silly swains, to follow war's alarms! Ah! what hath shepherds' life to do with arms! Saw. Mention it not-There saw I strangers clad In all the honours of our ravish'd plaid, Saw the ferrara too, our nation's pride, Unwilling grace the awkward victor's side. There fell our choicest youth, and from that day Mote never Sawney tune the merry lay; Bless'd those which fell! cursed those which still To mourn fifteen renew'd in forty-five. [survive,

Thus plain'd the boys, when from her throne of turf, With boils emboss'd, and overgrown with scurf, Vile humours, which, in life's corrupted well, Mix'd at the birth, not abstinence could quell,

Pale Famine rear'd the head: her eager eyes,
Where hunger ev'n to madness seem'd to rise,
Speaking aloud her throes and pangs of heart,
Strain'd to get loose, and from their orbs to start;
Her hollow cheeks were each a deep-sunk cell,
Where wretchedness and horror loved to dwell;
With double rows of useless teeth supplied,
Her mouth, from ear to ear, extended wide,
Which, when for want of food her entrails pined,
She oped, and, cursing, swallow'd nought but wind;
All shrivel'd was her skin, and here and there
Making their way by force, her bones lay bare:
Such filthy sight to hide from human view,
O'er her foul limbs a tatter'd plaid she threw.
Cease, cried the goddess, cease, despairing swains,
And from a parent hear what Jove ordains!

Pent in this barren corner of the isle,
Where partial fortune never deign'd to smile;
Like Nature's bastards, reaping for our share
What was rejected by the lawful heir;
Unknown amongst the nations of the earth,
Or only known to raise contempt and mirth;
Long free, because the race of Roman braves
Thought it not worth their while to make us slaves,
Then into bondage by that nation brought,
Whose ruin we for ages vainly sought;
Whom still with unslack'd hate we view, and still,
The pow'r of mischief lost, retain the will;
Consider'd as the refuse of mankind,

A mass till the last moment left behind,
Which frugal nature doubted, as it lay,
Whether to stamp with life, or throw away;
Which, form'd in haste, was planted in this nook,
But never enter'd in creation's book;
Branded as traitors, who for love of gold
Would sell their God, as once their king they sold;
Long have we borne this mighty weight of ill,
These vile injurious taunts, and bear them still.
But times of happier note are now at hand,
And the full promise of a better land :

There, like the sons of Israel, having trod,
For the fix'd term of years ordain'd by God,
A barren desert, we shall seize rich plains,
Where milk with honey flows, and plenty reigns.
With some few natives join'd, some pliant few,
Who worship int'rest, and our track pursue,
There shall we, though the wretched people grieve, i
Ravage at large, nor ask the owner's leave.

For us, the earth shall bring forth her increase; |
For us, the flocks shall wear a golden fleece ;
Fat beeves shall yield us dainties not our own,
And the grape bleed a nectar yet unknown;
For our advantage shall their harvests grow,
And Scotsmen reap what they disdain'd to sow;
For us, the sun shall climb the eastern hill ;
For us, the rain shall fall, the dew distil;
When to our wishes nature cannot rise,
Art shall be task'd to grant us fresh supplies.
His brawny arm shall drudging labour strain,
And for our pleasure suffer daily pain;
Trade shall for us exert her utmost pow'rs,
Hers all the toil, and all the profit ours;
For us, the oak shall from his native steep
Descend, and fearless travel through the deep;
The sail of commerce, for our use unfurl'd,
Shall waft the treasures of each distant world;
For us, sublimer heights shall science reach,
For us their statesmen plot, their churchmen preach;
Their noblest limbs of counsel we'll disjoint,
And, mocking, new ones of our own appoint ;
Devouring War, imprison'd in the north,
Shall, at our call, in horrid pomp break forth,
And when, his chariot wheels with thunder hung,
Fell Discord braying with her brazen tongue,
Death in the van, with Anger, Hate, and Fear,
And Desolation stalking in the rear,
Revenge, by Justice guided, in his train,
He drives impetuous o'er the trembling plain,
Shall, at our bidding, quit his lawful prey,
And to meek, gentle, gen'rous Peace give way.

For at a tavern he will spend
His twenty shillings with a friend.
Your rabbits fricasseed and chicken,
With curious choice of dainty picking,
Each night got ready at the Crown,
With port and punch to wash 'em down,
Would scarcely serve this belly-glutton,
Whilst we must starve on mutton, mutton.
Mrs. B. My good man, too-Lord bless us !
Are born to lead unhappy lives,
[wives
Although his profits bring him clear
Almost two hundred pounds a year,
Keeps me of cash so short and bare,
That I have not a gown to wear ;
Except my robe, and yellow sack,
And this old lutestring on my back.
-But we've no time, my dear, to waste.
Come, where's your cardinal? make haste.
The king, God bless his majesty, I say,
Goes to the house of lords to-day,
In a fine painted coach-and-eight,
And rides along in all his state.

And then the queen—

Mrs. S.
Ay, ay, you know,
Great folks can always make a show.
But tell me, do-I've never seen
Her present majesty, the queen.

Mrs. B. Lard! we've no time for talking now,
Hark! one-two-three-'tis twelve I vow.
Mrs. S. Kitty, my things,-I'll soon have done;
It's time enough, you know, at one.
-Why, girl! see how the creature stands !
Some water here to wash my hands.
-Be quick-why sure the gipsy sleeps!
-Look how the drawling dawdle creeps.
That basin there-why don't you pour?
Go on, I say-stop, stop-no more—
Lud! I could beat the hussy down,
She's pour'd it all upon my gown.
-Bring me my ruffles-canst not mind?
And pin my handkerchief behind.
Sure thou hast awkwardness enough,
Go-fetch my gloves, and fan, and muff.
-Well, heaven be praised-this work is done,
I'm ready now, my dear-let's run.
Girl,-put that bottle on the shelf,
And bring me back the key yourself.

Mrs. B. That clouded silk becomes you much, I wonder how you meet with such, But you've a charming taste in dress. What might it cost you, madam?

Mrs. S.

Guess.

Mrs. B. Oh! that's impossible-for I
Am in the world the worst to buy.

Mrs. S. I never love to bargain hard,
Five shillings, as I think, a yard.
-I was afraid it should be gone-
'Twas what I'd set my heart upon.

Mrs. B. Indeed you bargain'd with success,
For it's a most delightful dress.
Besides, it fits you to a hair,

And then 'tis sloped with such an air.

Mrs. S. I'm glad you think so,—Kitty, here,
Bring me my cardinal, my dear.
Jacky, my love, nay don't you cry,
Take you abroad! Indeed not I ;
For all the bugaboes to fright ye-
Besides, the naughty horse will bite ye;
With such a mob about the street,
Bless me, they'll tread you under feet!
Whine as you please, I'll have no blame,
You'd better blubber, than be lame.
Kitty, I say, here, take the boy,
And fetch him down the last new toy,
Make him as merry as you can,

-There, go to Kitty-there's a man.
Call in the dog, and shut the door.
Now, ma'am.

Mrs. B. Oh lard!
Mrs. S.

Pray go before.
Mrs. B. I can't indeed, now.
Mrs. S.

Madam, pray.

Mrs. B. Well then, for once, I'll lead the way. Mrs. S. Lard! what an uproar! what a throng! How shall we do to get along?

What will become of us ?-look here,
Here's all the king's horse-guards, my dear.
Let us cross over-haste, be quick,
-Pray, sir, take care-your horse will kick.
He'll kill his rider-he's so wild.
-I'm glad I did not bring the child.

Mrs. B. Don't be afraid, my dear, come on; Why don't you see the guards are gone?

Mrs. S. Well, I begin to draw my breath;
But I was almost scared to death;
For where a horse rears up and capers,
It always puts me in the vapours.
For as I live,-nay, don't you laugh,
I'd rather see a toad by half;
They kick and prance, and look so bold,
It makes my very blood run cold.
But let's go forward-come, be quick,
The crowd again grows vastly thick.

Mrs. B. Come you from Palace-yard, old dame!
Old Woman. Troth, do I, my young ladies, why!
Mrs. B. Was it much crowded when you came!
Mrs. S. And is his Majesty gone by?
Mrs. B. Can we get in, old lady, pray,
To see him robe himself to-day?

Mrs. S. Can you direct us, dame ?
Old Woman.

Endeavour.

Troy could not stand a siege for ever.
By frequent trying, Troy was won,
All things, by trying, may be done.
Mrs. B. Go thy ways, Proverbs-well, she's
Shall we turn back, or venture on? [gone-
Look how the folks press on before,
And throng impatient at the door.

Mrs. S. Perdigious! I can hardly stand,
Lord bless me, Mrs. Brown, your hand;
And you, my dear, take hold of hers,
For we must stick as close as burrs,
Or in this racket, noise, and pother,
We certainly shall lose each other.

-Good God! my cardinal and sack Are almost torn from off my back. Lard, I shall faint-O lud-my breastI'm crush'd to atoms, I protest. God bless me-I have dropp'd my fan,

-Pray did you see it, honest man?
Man. I, madam, no !—indeed, I fear
You'll meet with some misfortune here.
- Stand back, I say-pray, sir, forbear-
Why, don't you see the ladies there?
Put yourselves under my direction,
Ladies, I'll be your safe protection.

Mrs. S. You're very kind, sir; truly few

Are half so complaisant as you.
We shall be glad at any day

This obligation to repay,

And you'll be always sure to meet

A welcome, sir, in-Lard! the street
Bears such a name, I can't tell how

To tell him where I live, I vow.

-Mercy! what's all this noise and stir ?
Pray is the king a coming, sir?

Man. No-don't you hear the people shout?

"Tis Mr. Pitt, just going out.

Mrs. B. So painted, gilded, and so large, Bless me! 'tis like my lord mayor's barge. And so it is-look how it reels?

'Tis nothing else—a barge on wheels.

Man. Large! it can't pass St. James's gate,
So big the coach, the arch so strait,
It might be made to rumble through
And pass as other coaches do,
Could they a body-coachman get
So most preposterously fit,

Who'd undertake (and no rare thing)
Without a head to drive the king.

Mrs. S. Lard! what are those two ugly things There with their hands upon the springs,

Filthy, as ever eyes beheld,

With naked breasts, and faces swell'd?
What could the saucy maker mean,

To put such things to fright the queen?

Man. Oh! they are gods, ma'am, which

you see,

him!

Scotchman. Which is the noble earl of Bute? Geud-faith, I'll gi him a salute.

For he's the Laird of aw our clan,

Troth, he's a bonny muckle man.

Man. Here comes the coach, so very slow As if it ne'er was made to go,

In all the gingerbread of state,
And staggering under its own weight.

Mrs. S. Upon my word, its monstrous fine!
Would half the gold upon 't were mine!
How gaudy all the gilding shows!

It puts one's eyes out as it goes.
What a rich glare of various hues,
What shining yellows, scarlets, blues!
It must have cost a heavy price;
'Tis like a mountain drawn by mice.

Pray, tell me, sir, you understand,
What do these Tritons do on land?

Mrs. B. And what are they? those hindmost things,

Men, fish, and birds, with flesh, scales, wings?
Man. Oh, they are gods too, like the others,
All of one family and brothers;

Creatures, which seldom come a-shore,
Nor seen about the king before.

For show, they wear the yellow hue,
Their proper colour is true-blue.

Mrs. S. Lord bless us ! what's this noise about, Lord, what a tumult and a rout!

How the folks hollow, hiss, and hoot!
Well-Heaven preserve the Earl of Bute!

I cannot stay, indeed, not I,

If there's a riot I shall die.

Let's make for any house we can,
Do-give us shelter, honest man.

Mrs. B. I wonder'd where you was, my dear,

I thought I should have died with fear.
This noise and racketing and hurry
Has put my nerves in such a flurry!
I could not think where you was got,
I thought I'd lost you, Mrs. Scot;
Where's Mrs. Tape, and Mr. Grin ?
Lard, I'm so glad we're all got in.