Without, the cussers prance and nicker,
An' owr the ley-rig scud;

In tents the carles bend the bicker,
An' rant an' roar like wud.
Then there's sic yellowchin and din,
Wi' wives and wee-anes gablin,
That ane might true they war a-kin
To a' the tongues at Babylon,
Confus'd that day.

Whan Phoebus ligs in Thetis lap,
Auld Reikie gie's them shelter,
Whare cadgily they kiss the cap,
An' ca't round helter skelter.
Jock Bell gaed furth to play his freaks,
Great cause he had to rue it,

For frae a stark Lochaber aix

He got a clamihewit

Fu' sair that night.

"Ohon!" quo' he, "I'd rather be
"By sword or bagnet stickit,
"Than ha'e my crown or body wi'
"Sic deadly weapons nickit."
Wi' that he gat anither straik,
Mair weighty than before,
That gar'd his feckless body aik,
An' spew the reikin gore,
Fu' red that night.

He peching on the cawsey lay,
O' kicks and cuffs weel sair'd;
A Highland aith the serjeant ga'e
"She maun pe see our guard."

Out spak the weirlike corporal,
"Pring in ta drunken sot."

They trail'd him ben, an' by my saul,
He paid his drunken groat

For that neist day.

Good fock, as ye come frae the fair,
Bide yont frae this black squad;

There's nae sic canker'd pack elsewhere

Allow'd to wear cockade.

Than the strong lion's hungry maw,

Or tusk o' Russian bear,

Frae their wanruly fellin' paw

Mair cause ye ha'e to fear

Your death that day.

A wee soup drink dis unco weel2
To had the heart aboon;

Its gude as lang's a canny chiel

Can stand steeve in his shoon.

But gin a birkie's owr weel saird
It gars him aften stammer

To pleys that bring him to the guard,
An' eke the Council-chawmir,

With shame that day.

1 Var. savages.

2 A wee drap whisky's unco gude;

It cheers the heart, an' warms the bluid,

An' puts our spirits in gude mood:

But tent neist verse:

Ow're muckle o't pits fo'k red-wud

An' sometimes warse.

-DAVID SILLAR: Whisky' Poems, 1 vol. 8vo., 1789, Kilmarnock, p. 41.

D

TO THE TRON-KIRK BELL.

[The Tron Church, in the High Street of Edinburgh, was built in 1647, but not completely finished till 1663. Its bell, which cost 1,400 merks, or £82 10s. 2 d., was put up in 1673. This useful, but, if we are to believe Fergusson, unpleasant servant of the public, came to an untimely end, November 16, 1834, when, the steeple having caught fire in the midst of the wide-spread conflagration which then befell the city, the bell was melted by the flames, and fell in masses upon the floor below. Many citizens of Edinburgh [Sir Walter Scott, Lord Jeffrey, &c., &c.], from an affectionate regard for the object of Fergusson's whimsical vituperations, obtained pieces of the metal from which they formed cups, hand-bells, and other such utensils, with commemorative inscriptions. Such was the end of this "wanwordy, crazy, dinsome thing."-Robert Chambers. Edition of Fergusson in loc.]

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 coudna bring

War sounds frae hell.

What de'il are ye? that I shoud bann,

Your neither kin to pat nor pan;

Nor uly pig, nor maister-cann,

But weel may gie

Mair pleasure to the ear o' man

Than stroke o' thee.

Fleece merchants may look bald, I trow,

Since a' Auld Reikie's childer now

Maun stap their lugs wi' teats o' woo,

Thy sound to bang,

And keep it frae gawn thro' and thro'
Wi' jarrin' twang.

Your noisy tongue, there's nae abideint,
Like scaulding wife's, there is nae guideint:
Whan I'm 'bout ony bus'ness eident,
It's sair to thole;

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

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

Nor shud you think

(Sae sair I'd crack and clour your crown) Again to clink.

For whan I've toom'd the muckle cap,
An' fain wad fa' owr in a nap,

Troth I coud doze as soun's a tap,

Wer't na for thee,

That gies the tither weary chap

To waukin 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 fock 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 douna care a single hair

"For joyfu' sound."

If magistrates wi' me wud' gree,
For ay tongue-tackit shud you be,
Nor fleg wi' anti-melody

Sic honest fock,

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

But far frae thee the bailies dwell,
Or they wud scunner at your knell,
Gie the foul thief his riven bell,

And than, I trow,

The by-word hads, "the de'il himsel'

"Has got his due."

CALLER WATER.

WHAN father Adie first pat spade in

The bonny yeard of antient Eden,

His

amry had nae liquor laid in,

To fire his mou',

Nor did he thole his wife's upbraidin'

For being fou.

A caller burn o' siller sheen,

Ran cannily out o'er the green,

And whan our gutcher's drouth had been

To bide right sair,