To mak a tour an' tak a whirl,
To learn bon ton an' fee the worl".

4

There, at Vienna or Versailles, He rives his father's auld entails; Or by Madrid he takes the rout, To thrum guittars an fecht wi' nowt; Or down Italian Vifta ftartles, Wh-re-hunting among groves o' myrtles; Then boufes grumlie German water, To mak himfel look fair an' fatter, An' clear the confequential forrows Love-gifts of carnival Signioras..

For Britain's guid! for her deftruction! Wi' diffipation, feud an' faction:

LUATH.

Hech man! dear firs! is that the gateThey wafte fae mony a braw eftate! Are we fae foughten and harrafs'd For gear to gang that gate at last!

O would they stay aback frae courts. An' please themselves wi' contra fports, It wad for ev'ry ane be better,

The Laird, the Tenant, an' the Cotter!
For thae frank, rantin, ramblin billies,
Fient hate o' them's ill-hearted fellows;
Except for breaking o' their timmer,
Or fpeaking lightly o' their Limmer,

Or fhootin o' a hare or moorcock,
The ne'er a bit they're ill to poor folk.

But will you tell me, mafter Cæfar, Sure great folks life's a life o' pleasure? Nae cauld nor hunger e'er can fteer them, The vara thought o't need na fear them.

CESAR.

L-d, man, were ye but whyles whare I am, The gentles ye wad ne'er envy 'em.

It's true, they need na ftarve or fweat,
Thro' Winter's cauld, or Simmer's heat;
They've nae fair wark to craze their banes,,
An' fill auld age wi' grips an' granes ;
But human bodies are fic fools

For a' their colleges and schools,
That when nae real ills perplex them,
They mak enow themselves to vex them ;;
In like proportion, lefs will hurt them..

A country fellow at the pleugh,
His acre's till'd, he's right enough;
A country girl at her wheel,
Her dizzen's done, fhe's unco weel,
But Gentlemen, an' Ladies warft,
Wi' ev'n down want o' wark are curft.
They loiter, lounging, lank, an' lazy ;;
Tho' deil hate ails them, yet uneafy;

Their days infipid, dull and tattelefs,.
Their nights unquiet, lang, and restless.

An' ev'n their fports, their balls an' races,.
Their galloping thro' public places,
There fic parade, fic pomp an' art,
The joy can fcarcely reach the heart..

The men caft out in party matches
Then fowther a' in deep debauches..
At night, they're mad wi' drink an' wh-ring,,
Nieft day their life is paft enduring.

The Ladies arm-in-arm in clusters,
As great an' gracious a' as lifters:
But hear their abfent thoughts o' ither,
They're a' run deils an' jads thegither.
Whyles, owre the wi' bit cup an' platie,.
They fip the fcandal potion pretty ;
Or lee-lang nights, wi' crabbit leuks,
Pore owre the devil's pictur'd beuks;.
Stake on a chance a farmer's flackyard,
An' cheat like ony unhang'd blackguard.

There's fome exceptions man an' woman; But this is gentry's life in common.

By this, the fun was out o' fight,
An' darker gloamin brought the night ::

;

The bun-clock humm'd wi' lazy drone,
The kye ftood rowtin i' the loan
When up they gat an' hook their lugs,
Rejoic'd they were na men, but dogs;
An' each took aff his feveral way,
Refolv'd to meet fome ither day.

SCOTCH DRINK.

Gie him ftrong drink until he winky
That's finking in despair;
An' liquor guid to fire his bluid,

That's preft wi grief and care ::
There let him boufe an' deep carouse,
Wi bumpers flowing o'er,
Till he forgets his loves or debts,.
An' minds his griefs no more.

SOLOMON'S PROVERBS, XXXI. 6, 7s

LET other Poets raife a fracas

Bout vines an' wines, an' drunken Bacchus,
An' crabbit names an' ftories wrack us,

An' grate our lug,

I fing the juice Scotch beer can mak us,

In glafs or jug.

O thou, my Mufe! guid auld Scotch Drink!! Whether thro' wimplin worms thou jink,

Or, richly brown, ream owre the brink,

Infpire me, till I lifp an' wink

In glorious faem,

To Sing thy name!