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Quhen all your trade is at a stand,
Quhilk will be very sune,
Faith that's nae easy dune.
To cleir your glomourit sicht;
To set hir judgment richt.
Uutil scho brak hir tether,
And teuch lyke barkit lether.
But mony a corss sall braithless ly,
Or all rin richt again;
And think the day their ain :
Of them that now oppress;
By thousands on the gress. A King then sall ring then,
Of wyse renoun and braif, Qubase puisans and sapiens,
Sall richt restoir and saif.
The view of freidomis sweit, quod I,
How neiris that happie tyme ?
Lest I commit a cryme.
Quhat eir ye plees, gae on, quod I,
I sall not fash ye moir, Say how, and quhar ye met, and quhy,
As ye did hint befoir. With air then sae fair then,
That glanst like rais of glory, Sae godlyk and oddlyk
He thus resumit his storie.
Frae the sun's rysing to his sett,
In solemn bricht array,
To sauls rowit up in clay;
Reird up with shynand beims, Quhais rufe-tries were of rain-bows all,
And paift with starrie gleims, Quhilk prinkled and twinkled
Brichtly beyont compair, Much famed and named
A CASTILL IN THE AYR.
In midst of quhilk a tabill stude,
Made of a fyre-flaucht,
Full mony a curious draucht. Inferiour beings flew in haist,
Without gyde or derectour, Millions of myles throch the wyld waist,
To bring in bowlis of nectar: Then roundly and soundly
We drank lyke Roman gods: Quhen Jove sae dois rove sae,
That Mars and Bacchus nods.
Quhen Phebus' heid turns licht as cork, And Neptune leans upon his fork,
And limpand Vulcan blethers: Quhen Pluto glowrs as he were wyld, And Cupid, luves wce wingit chyld,
Fals down and fyls his fethers. Quhen Pan forgets to tune his reid,
And flings it cairless bye, And Hermes, wing'd at heils and heid,
Can nowther stand nor lye: Quhen staggirand and swaggirand,
They stoyter hame to sleip, Quhyle centeries and enteries
Immortall watches keip.
Thus we tuke in the hich brown liquor, And bang about the nectar biquor;
But evir with this ods, We neir in drink our judgments drensch, Nor scour about to seik a wensch,
Lyk these auld baudy gods; But franklie at ilk uther ask,
Quhat's proper we suld know,
Assign'd to him below.
Is fixt upon our care,
Quhat tends to thair weilfair.
Gothus and Vandall baith lukt bluff,
Quhilk made Allmane to stare;
And of cowd crouns tak' care;
Batavius with his paddock-face
Luking asquint, cry'd, Pisch!
I had leur ficht for fisch;
Carvit out for dull debates, Decoying and destroying
Baith monarchies and states.
Iberius with a gurlie nod
Its herrings ye adore.
But varies bak and fore;
A Monarch to resist;
And passive homage jest:
Betwein the hic and hoc, Ay jieand and fleand
Round lyk a wejder-cock.
I still support my precedens
Thoch I haif layn richt lown,
To princes no thair awin;
And pursit up all thair rent,
Till riggs and schaws war spent;
Quhen thus redusit to howps, They dander and wander
About, puire lickmadowps,
But now its tyme for me to draw
And gar my lyon roir;
Europe frae schore to schore;
And stryve to wyrk my fall, Thoch numerous, yit at the length
I will owrcum them all, And raise yit and blase yit
My braitrie and repown, By gracing and placing Aright the Scottis crown.
Quhen my braif Bruce the same sall weir
The diadem will shyne;
Or leif you eir inclyne:
Ye'll neir the puirer be,
Within the Scottish se:
To honest husband's welth, Gude laws then sall cause then
A sickly state haif helth.
Quhyle thus he talkit, methocht ther came
And to our Warden say'd,
The councill wants your aid;