THE RURAL MUsE: OR, A COLLECTION O F MIsCELLANY POEMs, BOTH COMICAL and sERIOUs,
Nicol, Alexander
Published 1753
An ELEGY on Auld UsE and WONT
THE EPITAPH.
Here lies Auld honest Use and Wont,
Which loss we never will surmount ;
As lang as time remains, her death
Will to all ranks be meikle skaith.
OH scotland, scotland ! hae ye not,
Tho' ye have stupidly forgot,
Ye have avow'dly cut the throat
of Use and Wont ;
And brought upo' you sic a blot #
Ye'll ne're surmount ?
Had Use and Wont been to the fore,
As she lies buried in her gore,
It had advantag'd scotland o'er
Nae little luck :
But now, unless ye her restore,
Ye're a' mere muck,
I neednae say, ' tis o'er well kend,
What Use and Wont was to her end :
she was to church and state a friend,
While in her health ;
Frae father to the son descend,
she made our wealth
Now sin' Auld Use and Wont's awa' ,
The clergy, that should people shaw
The gate to heaven, is wood wrang a',
They're sae divided ;
Religion's tost like ony ba'
And sare misguided.
A race of kings has fill'd our throne,
Twa thousand years and mair bygone,
Descended a' hale sale frae one,
Fergus the first ;
But now in scotland we have none
sin' Wont's deceast.
We had baith parliament and king
In our ain land, and ilka thing
That did fouk good, and gard us sing
Wi' merry mood ;
But now we a' may turn the spring,
sin' Wont is dead.
Our peers and gentrie were content
To bide at hame and spend their rent ;
But now to travel they are bent,
Baith ane and a' ;
And cracks their credit ere they stint,
sin' Wont's awa.
Our Landlords didnae grudge to see
Their tenants thrive, grow rich and free :
But now, gin they win ae babee,
Without remead,
Their rent is rax'd to a degree,
sin' Wont is dead."
Pride wasnae in our land fae rife,
Nor prejudice, envy and strife,
'Mang neibers near, or man and wife ;
To lead an honest moral life,
A' did their best
Till Wont deceast.
A farmer ween'd himself fu bra',
When he had plaiden hose like fna',
A good gray hodden coat, and a
Gray plaid aboon,
Warm mittens on his hands, and twą
strong pointed shoon:
But now ilk chiel that wins a fee,
Maun hae bra blues ; and wha but he?
Wi' buckles at's neck, feet and knee,
Well scour'd and clean,
As new coach harness use to be;
He looks nae mean.
Our lairds and lords, yea e'en our king,
For garb sought never ony thing
But what our ain land forth did bring ;
Ladies at a'
For foreign fegrims didnae fling
Their gou'd awa',
We sought nae foreign wines nor tea,
Nor rum nor brandy, o'er the sea ;
Good halesome Whisky ay took we
To gust our gums ;
We cardnae scantly ae babee
For o'er sea drams,
While Wont winn'd here a living wife,
Our goud and silder were as rife
As coals are in the shire of Fife;
But sin' she's dead,
There's mony leads a silly life,
Right scant o' bread,
While Use and Wont win'd in thir lands,
We had nae use for bills nor bands ;
All bargains stood by shaking hands,
Or prolling thumbs ;
But now, without them, naething stands ;
Bargains or sums.
We had baith goud and silder mines,
And poets too that cou'd mak lines,
And some as honest sound divines
As ither nations ;
But now our land its beauty tines
Wi' unca fashions.
Our brousters made good nappie ale,
And sald it cheaper a good dale,
And o' them got far better sale
Than now some twa:
But now the drinking trade maun fail,
sin' Wont's awa.
For taxes on our ale and maut,
And on our tallow, hides and saut ;
And mony wrangs, besides a' that,
I'll no discrive :
But Wont thae things wou'd regulate,
Were the alive.
Our ancient rights and liberties,
And courts of our regalities,
Our sheriffs, stewarts of a' degrees,
Great men's superiorities,
Baith ane and a',
Wi' Wont's awa,
Our land is now skier naked made ;
Not ane auld gun, nor rusty blade,
Is left us now to fave our head
When danger comes ;
Our faes of us naething may dread,
Except our bums.
Our native garb aside is laid,
The ancient tartan coat and plaid ;
Nane o' them a' dares now be had
sin' Wont's awa;
Poor scotland now maun a' be sway'd
By English law.
But Use and Wont, like mortals a'
Must unto death a victim fa' :
I leard it had been ither twa;
But what remeed ?
That honest heart is e’en awa ;
Alas, and dead !-
An ELEGY on JOHNIE GALLA'.
The Epitaph of JOHNIE GALLA',
A singular and antique fellow;
Wrought without tyring, fed we pleasure,
Despising honour, pomp and treasure.
Of all e'er wore a liv'ry coat,
He was the mirrour without spot.
Tho' here he lyes in dust, yet he
shall live in this his elegie.
INHABITANTs of Rossie, now
Doubtless your tears are not a few.
JOHN GALLA' ye nae mair can view,
Without remeed :
He's tane his last good night o' you,
Alas ! and dead.
He was a servant neat and tight,
Baith leel, and trusty, and upright:
His master's turn he cou'dnae slight ;
Nor was he sweer,
Either by day or yet by night,
This mony year.
He kept the doors baith snug and clean,
And a' things seat as a new prin :
Baith ear at morn, and late at e'en ;
He never tyr'd :
His equals scantly to be seen ;
Yet he's expir'd.
His feet sae harnest on the soles,
That he cou'd tread on burning coals :
It set him well to smile at droles,
And shake his head ;
Well cou'd he purge the scuter holes :
But now he's dead.
His doublet brisk fac'd up wi' red,
And well cock'd hat upon his head ;
He by his mein might seem'd to lead
The British force ;
His aspect look'd sae fierce and dread,
On foot or horse.
When he was mounted on a beast,
Don Quixote was to him but jest :
For ilka squire wou'd have embrac'd
Him for a knight;
if he had been in harness dreft,
And armour bright.
Tho' he was fit for actions brave;
He didnae lord it o'er the lave,
Nor like ambitious fools behave
But wi' mair wit,
In sober mood, with visage gravè,
Did ay submit.
He took his lot just as it came,
Nor fate nor fortune did he blame
Untouch'd by a revengefu' flame,
Or jealousie :
This character was ay his aim,
Fair honestie.
Like him at weddings wha can dance,
sae nimbly in the ring advance ?
He gart his mettle-buttons glance,
Like fire and tow ;
And kiss'd the lasses as by chance,
They came in's row,
Well cou'd he waught at ale or beer ;
And gar fouk swelter, laugh and fneer,
When he the lasses but came near,
And mint'd to kiss a
But now he wins nae langer here,
Ah and alas !
Now, wha will manage his wheel- barrow,
sae fairly drive the plow and harrow ?
Malicious thoughts he did debar a',
And vengefu' feud :
Behind he hasnae left his marrow ;
But now he's dead.
The geese and fwine will miss him fare,
He gae them curns of pease and bear :
Of out things he took special care :
And a' he faid
Was fimple truth, and naething mare :
But now he's dead.
The churches odd debates he fhun'd,
And wasnae at state factions stun'd :
He laid nae ftrefs on monie's fund ;
But e'en jog'd on,
Judging plain dealing fureft ground
To walk upon.
sure his religion was the best,
Unftain'd wi' envy or contest :
'Mongst other things that he profest,
He was intent
To take his victuals, and his rest,
Wr free content.
He made nae whining fair profeffion,
To raise his paftor's expectation,
That he was working for falvation,
Like hypocrites :
Against him never court nor feffion
Gave out decreets.
He was nae drunkard, nor a glutton ;
Yet he could taste good ale and mutton :
The world he valued not a button,
That is well kent :
Nor had he change of fuits to put on,
Yet ay content,
He was a fubject in his station,
Loyal as any in the nation,
And well behav'd in his vocation,
And was indeed
The quite reverse of affectation :
But now he's dead.
He neither spent his time nor money
In courting laffes, black or bonny ;
He never ca'd them dear nor honey,
When in his prime :
Gude troth they were a' ane to JOHNY
At ony time.
There's nane can bann his banes when rotten,
For gear he had that was ill gotten :
He'd rather that he had been fodden,
Hale in a kettle ;
Or in some defart lyen forgotten Under a nettle.
He died in nae cholerick pet,
Nor was his ftomack overfet,
Nor age nor labour made him fret:
But death unseen
Came fliding in when it was late,
And clos'd his een.
When on his tae fide like a lamb,
Death wi' a fweat, baith cauld and clam,
soon fmoor'd out a' the ruddy flame
That life exprefs'd ;
While in a grouffing eafy dwame
He slept to rest.
Thus JOHNIE died withoutten pine;
And was well row'd in linen fine.
Ilk ane that kend him cry'd, oh whine,
Poor JOHNIE's dead!
Nane ' tween st. Johnstoun and the skrine Can fill his ftead.
Right was he in a coffin laid,
Like ane of qualitie aray'd :
In caps good ale and brandy gade,
Just like dub water;
That gard the carlins crack that flay'd,
And nonfenfe clatter.
Nae little honour was conferr'd
Upon him when he was interr'd ;
Nane o' the company defer'dTo fee it fac;
But when they came to the kirk yard,
Ilk an look't wae:
And as a fign he was refpected,
There wasnae ane call'd, that neglected
To come juft at the time expected ;
Nor did they part
'Till they his grave stone "had erected,
A' griev'd in heart.
He buried was within the night,
Wha hang out a' her torches bright;
Wow! they fhin'd dowie at the fight,
And unca blae ;
For Phoebus had withdrawn his light,
He was fae wae.
Then all, as men difcreet and wife,
Cry'd, "Poor man in his grave he lyes :
" Tho' we fhould greet out of our eyes,
" The brinifh tear ;
" Yet fate, alas ! to us denys.
" His prefence mair.
" sin' he fae honeftly is laid
Now in his grave, it may be faid
" 'Tis nature's debt that maun be paid
"66 Wi's a' as well ;
Let's try if we'll by Bacchus aid
" O'er grief prevail . "
Then back they went to Roffie green,
Where at the first they did conveen :
They drank his dregie late at e'en,
Ilk ane cap out;
Nae dool nor dolour mare was feen,
But health about,
CUPID's Birth-day : Or a Poem on the
Birth-day of Mr. WILLIAM NAIRN,
Grandchild to sir WILLIAM NAIRN
of DUNsINNAN,
N Lammas day, of late, I took my way ON
Thro' moss and mure, at noon-tide of the day :
The heather bloom'd delightful red and white,
Around a beechy grove loves favourite.
Near by the grove a landskip op'ned, where
A plenteous crop of corns rip'ning were.
Adjacent thereto nurseries of wood,
Where herbs and flow'rs in artful order stood.
The hermitage well thatch'd with oaten straw,
Whose front a fpacious fouthern profpect draw.
Methought some fage, a reclufe, liv'd within,
Abandoning the world becaufe of fin :
But to furprize, as I approached near,
I did the found of a musician hear.
But ent'ring in, the fcene appear'd to me
As if I heav'n, or part thereof, did fee
For fixing on the various objects round
Confirm'd my thought ; for there I quickly found
Hymen, for all his rambling bouts, look'd gay,
smil'd in embroid'ries as the month of May,
Next a blyth matron ; but I could not know,
Whether ' twas Venus, Pallas, or Juno.
Next Cupid, with his sifter graces were,
Devoutly fitting, pent up in their chair :
With young Alexis, little lovely boy !
Whom Cupid's art could never yet annoy.
But Cupid was the wonder of the place,
For innocence, and ev'ry lovely grace ;
Deckt in a garb that ufually was wore
By all true scotfmen in the days of yore.
But this it feems was Cupid's own birth-day ;
Who had laid by his bow and shafts, to play.
Old Hymen too, delighted with his fmile,
Relents to youth t'embrace a merry while.
A young afpiring Argulus was there,
Hebe, and Iris brifk, and debonair :
To pleasure Cupid these did all advance,
Amidst the hall, to lead a country dance.
Each afkt the tune according to their pleasure ;
An horn pipe, a minuet, or scots measure ?
Hebe and Iris fmil'd on Cupid still,
Wishing that he would take his fhafts, and kill
some lovely fwain of fortune, on condition
That one of them might be the call'd physician,
For tho' young Argulus had condefcended
To drop his fword until that day was ended,
Cupid from him must always stand aloof,
Because his warlike heart was arrow proof:
For thofe that are addicted to the wars,
They frequently do imitate their Mars
In courting Venus ; but flight Cupid's arts,
And all the efforts of his bow and darts.
But how diverting and delightsome were
The scene, to fee both masculine and fair,
The old, the young, the noble and plebeian
Dance all promifcuous in a rural train !
With jolly hearts, they paft the lightsome day;
A masquerade at last concludes the play.
I griev'd and grudg'd that day fhould be fo fhort ;
For with my heart I lov'd to see the sport.
An EPIsTLE, from Mr. DAVID
LINDsAY schoolmafter at KINNAIRD,
to ALEXANDER NICOL schoolmaster
at COLLACE, February 3d 1749 ; on
feeing my last Book, called Nature
without Art.
EAR sANDY, when I faw thy book,
DEARAnd gat a grip o't i ' my cluik,
I read it o'er into the nook
On ilka e'en ;
But in little langer than an ouk,
I tir'd my een,
Thou chief art of the poets a';
Thy verses they are unca bra,'
And in them there is not a flaw
To be difcern'd
By eyes of mine ; and I hae twa
Wi' which I learn'd :
And wi' e'm I'd be glad to fee
The man that pen'd the book for me;
But ah alas ! where can he be,
In what'na płace ?
some tell me that his dwelling's nie,
Up at Collace.
Which tho' it binnae far awa,'
Alas ! the gate I dinnae knaw,
Nae farther up than sunnie ha’ ;
Then pardon me,
Altho' I never came ava'
To visit thee.
This trash I'm fure when ye inspect,
It's filthinefs will make you yeck :
But to the dult pleafe, sir, direct,
To Kinnaird straight ;
Where he an answer will expect,
Baith right and taight.
In verfe acroftick my name I thought to fen" ;
But waes me now a hair is in my pen.
This, with my compliments to you and your spouse,
is from,
siù,
Your humble and obedient fervant,
DAVID LINDsAY, A. B.
Teacher of the school of Kinnaird.
ALEXANDER NICOL's ANsWER to
the foregoing Epistle, February 6th
1749.
sIR,
ΤΗ' HE next day after Candlemas,
I yours receiv'd in a scots drefs ?
A hantle war's gane to the prefs,
As witnefs mine' ;
On whilk ye'd little wit to stress
Your twa good een:
Anes in a day, when I was young,
If ony chiel my praise had fung,
I'd like a travel'd tailor flung,
And been right vain;
But now wi' eild, alas ! I'm dung,
And blunt's my pen.
Whereas you fay, You dinnae knaw
Nae further up than sunnie ha' ;
I think ye've a scots tongue to ca'
At towns, and fpeer;
And some good body wou'd you shaw
The hie gate here.
Befides, you fay, Your verfe is trash ;
To praise them here I fanna fash :
But I's be whipped wi' a lash,
Twice ilka day,
If ALLAN RAMsAY made nae cash
O' war' nae they.
Now, fin' my answer ye expect,
I've ventur'd on't for manner's fake.
Excufe my muse now auld and weak,
And rusty grown ;
Tho', to say truth, fhe in effect
1 Wasne'er high flown:
For Latin, logick, Greek, nor grammar,
I dinna hae : and tho' I ftammar,
Against me ye need raise nae clamour,
But e'en forbear ;
For my dull mufe wou'd need a hammer
To gar her steer.
But yet I wou'dnae for a colt,
say; or hae't faid, I were a dult :
I'd lend my mufe a hearty scult,
And gar her trot ;
Let right or wrang be the refult,
I'd valu't not.
As cuftom is my compliment,
I fend to you tho' unacquent ;
Wi' you I wou'd be well content
To spend a gill,
When I come shortly, after Lent,
Down the Bought-hill.
In verfe acroftick ye intendit
To write your name, and to me fend it :
May be I might had quite miskend it,
And fmoor'd your wit ;
Our correfpondence then had endit,
E're it took foot.
Now take the hair out of your pen,
And anes mair try the rhyming strain ;
For I right fickle was and fain,
To be fae rous'd,
By ane wha never did me ken,
Your fecond effay I expect ;
For if I had it to infpect,
It would revive my intellect,
sae feldom us❜d.
And that wou'd gar me hae respect
That's dull and heavy;
For dainty Deavy,
While ALEX. NICOL.
An EPIsTLE to Mr. ROBERT sMITH
school-master at KINNAIRD, upon his
faying he would not stay in the Place.
Kirk of COLLACE, April 30th 1750.
sIR,
IF you were not over nice,
I'd humbly offer my advice ;
And it is fhortly this,
stay at Kinnaird, for I do think
You want not company and drink,
And all things at your wish.
Upon a bank, afore the fun
Your house is situate ;
A purling stream that round it run Commodious I wat :
With refpect to prospect,
You have the Carse all o'er,
By Tay-fide, where ay tide
Flows twice in twenty four.
You live hard by the orchard wall,
Where mellow fruit unfhaken fall,
Just at your very feet ;
An able house well thatch'd aboon,
A garden near to rest at noon :
What should move you to flit ?
Flocks feeding on the mountains round,
Where lambs do skip and play ;
The feather'd kinds their mufick found
To waken up the day ;
You view, then the plowmen
All whistling pleasantlie ;
There's naething, but ae thing,
You want to happy be,
And that's a wife as I fuppofe,
That puts an end to lovers woes,
And calms the tide of life ;
Which if you had, I dare well fay,
You would not mint to go away ;
Look out then for a wife :
And fettle with your ftate content,
And tempt not providence :
If you remove, you may repent,
Void both of peace and pence :
Neglect, then, t'affect then Pride and inconftancie ,
Engage in religion ,
If you would happy be.
Your youthhood makes you fickle yet,
And makes you your affections fet
On vanity and gain :
But be advised to mortify
Your youthfu' laits by piety ;
Ambitious to obtain
Eternal happiness at laft,
When this frail body dies ;
For pleafures here will foon be paft;
All are but vanities.
Be plain then, remain then
still in that hearty place ;
Difcerning youth's learning,
And your own growth in grace.
Your father's counfel keep in mind ;
Let not thy brain be stuff'd with wind
To drive you here and there ;
Like empty clouds that foar aloft,
With ev'ry tempeft toffed oft,
With violence, thro' the air.
Confider, that a rolling stone
Contracts but little fog ;
There is a dubb at ev'ry town,
At some afinking bog:
Look out, then, about then,
And feek a pious maid,
Both homely and comely;
Then will your mind be stay’d.
This, with my hearty compliment,
I with the bearer have you fent,
That you may think upon it.
But yet ' tis fcantly worth your pains ;
'Tis the extract of weather'd brains,
A poor imperfect fonnet ;
But you may truft ' tis from my heart
Whate'er I wish or fay :
With you I have no will to part,
Therefore I wish your stay.
Admit, sir, my wit, sir,
Was never very meikle ;
What then? I remain ay
Your fervant
sANDY NICOL.
Mr. sMITH's ANsWER.
sIR,
OUR letter I receiv'd of late :
YOUR But, wow ! it was lang after date,
Nae lefs than fe’enteen days :
But when it came, I it perus'd,
And with attention thereon mus'd,
And ponder'd ev'ry phrase ;
But yet I still am at a lofs
An answer how to fend,
since to my mufe ' tis fic a cross
To pen fix lines on end ;
she halts ay, with faults ay,
And canna' get ' em mended ;
Ayskipping and hipping
The words I most intended.
so that I cannot be so kind,
As freely tell you all my mind,
In this my ruftick strain.
But only for good manners fake,
I've sent you here for to inspect
The product of my brain:
The which, no doubt, when ye perufe,
You will not much admire ;
But if you would lend me your muse,
My genius to inspire,
I then, sir, would pen, sir,
An answer that were better :
But fulness of dulnefs
My fenfes all do fetter.
Whereas in yours ye counfel me
In flitting not too rash to be,
But even to stay still
In this fweet place, as ye defcribe it,
Where all things are for me provided
According to my will :
But will with me's of more extent
Than ever I'll attain ;
For which caufe I must reft content
And think here to remain,
Ay grudging, and drudging
At my poor flavish trade,
Designing declining't,
If better might be had,
You fay, a Wife's the only thing
That I want here to make me fing,
And live most happilie ;
Which if it be, I'll look about,
And fee if I can find ane out,
That will be fit for me,
In facred wedlock for to join,
And give to me her heart ;
Then I'll be her's, and she'll be mine,
Ay until death us part.
If the then, fhall be then
According to my mind,
I'll blefs her, and kifs her,
And fill to her be kind.
My refolutions now you've got ;
But, whether they be right or not,
I can't tell for my life :
But be's they will, if I be fpar'd
But a fhort while into Kinnaird,
I'll look out for a wife ;
Which if my fancy happen right,
And fhe do not despise me,
I will them bless both day and night
Who did at first advise me.
Excuse me now, my muse now,
she has not meikle pith,
To write this, nor dite this,
Nor yet hath ROBERT sMITH.
POsTsCRIPT.
If think fit to take your pen, ye
And write me something back again,
I kindly will accept the fame
With a my pith,
And fo your fervant I remain
while ROBERT sMITH.
Another EPIsTLE to Mr. ROBERT
sMITH.
sIR,
fee you haffins do encline
February 23d 1751 .
That I fhould dig into the mine
Of my poetick brain :
But ah ' tis a' sae overgrown,
And heaps of rubbish tumbl'd down,
By time's extensive reign ;
That perfect mettle to find out
Would be an unca tawing,
'Twou'd furely coft me many rout,
Great threaping and hard thrawing,
You fee by this I'm
But, may be, ye'll fay,
While heching, and peching,
Because I haenae pith,
To get, sir, a bit, sir,
To fend to ROBERT sMITH.
out o' breath :
That's nae skaith,
By spending breath I live.
sae is the fate of folk that's auld ;
Foryoung folk's clever, ftout and bauld,
And will nae mainings give:
Therefore hae wi' ye o'er the hill,
Altho' it be wi' toil,
I'll do my best to fhaw good will If't were but for a mile.
Ken auld dogs are bauld dogs ;
They bite fair when they bite :
I'll try, then, If I then
something to you can write,
I fet my fancy on a tow'r,
And bade it round about it glowr,
some fubject to spie out,
That might be fit to send to you :
At last and lang ane came in view ;
I caught it by the fnout,
And dreft it in my liv'ry fyne,
And bade it come to you :
E'en take it, tho' it be not fine
Tho' better be your due.
Uneafie to please ye,
I would do ony thing:
But mufty and rufty
I am, and cannot fing.
But I'd fay, I'm furpris'd to fee
sae many fools of ilk degree
Among the human race :
For, when I look the warld round,
I cannot fee a man that's found,
And wife in ev'ry cafe.
For viewing man when he's a child,
He can but girn and greet ;
Or when a youth, he's very wild,
And often indiscreet ;
Or when, sir, a man, sir,
He feldom is content
With what, sir, good fate, sir,
Has freely to him lent.
If he fhall have a little more
Than what his father had before,
It puffs him up with pride :
For fet a beggar on horseback,
The very first course he will tak,
He'll to the devil ride ;
For beggars they can bear no wealth,
Nor rich to want submit ;
And fickness frets the man of health,
For few or none have wit,
To spie out, and try out,
The vanity of things,
Whilk double the trouble
On filly mortals brings.
The worldling he torments himself
With anxious cares to gather pelf,
Perhaps for framit heirs.
Th' ambitious cuts his way thro' all
Difficulties that may befal
Thro' feen and unfeen fnares,
Afpiring to more high degrees Of honour and renown :
Nor bloody wars, nor raging feas,
Can caft his courage down ;
Disdaining remaining
In any certain place ;
Till he ay fhall fee ay
The upfhot of the cafe.
The man of pleasure takes his ease ;
And all his appetites to please,
He spares no charge nor coft :
Ne'er minding he account muft make,
such is his folly and mistake,
He gratifies each luft.
Thus ev'ry mortal fhews his folly
In lefs or more degree :
some overjoy'd, some melancholly ;
some o'ers in all we fee :
Expofing fuppofing
Their folly to be wife ;
While others, e'en brothers,
such wisdom will defpife.
For my part I can easy spy
A mote into my neighbour's eye,
While in my own's a beam ;
Yet ftrength of logick never can
Convince me, that I am the man
For folly that's to blame.
As fools are wife in their conceit,
E'en fo is all mankind ;
As when we reafon make fubmit
To paffions of the mind :
'Tis common, that few men
Can their follies spy ;
Too late they regrete, ay,
When 'tis past remedy.
I have no time here to inlarge
Upon the follies that I charge
Against the human race :
But as I faid, I cannot fpy,
In no where that I caft mine eye,
One wife in ev'ry cafe :
For youths they want experience,
Their wifdom is to learn :
And men ufe little diligence
True wisdom to discern :
The aged's engaged
With great infirmitie ;
No leifure for pleasure,
Nor wisdom, they can fee.
The rich and poor, the high and low,
Respectively their follies fhow,
so that no man is wife.
The rich and great are proud and vain,
They look on poor men with disdain,
And them in heart despise :
The poor, again's not innocent
For they're fill'd with envy ;
They with their state are discontent,
And fret continually :
Ay grudging, and drudging,
To gain their daily bread :
All wholly, in folly,
Are plung'd quite o'er the head.
Yea, the religious and divines
True folid wisdom undermines,
Their follies glaring be ;
For when opinions they efpoufe,
They tie themselves thereto by vows,
And strong, ftrong bigotrie :
But some for love of worldly gain,
Would make shipwreck of all ;
As they for ever should remain
Upon this earthly ball ;
Ne'er dreading, nor heeding,
How life days slides away,
And death shall their breaths all
Cut, and in duft them lay.
your mufe
Had but free scope, which ye refuse,
I would get something more.
Farewell, my friend : and if
H
But
58
The
Rural
Mufe
.
But by this ftanza I'm confin'd ;
My mufe is alfo out of wind,
And traeckl'd very fore.
Therefore upon another pitch,
Where freedom we may find
To write what we incline to touch,
And freely tell our mind.
Adieu, then, to you then ;
My mufe is tir'd and bruckle :
Yet duty to you, too,
Obliges
sANY NICOL.
The PETITION of ALEXANDER
NICOL schoolmaster at COLLACE, to
the Honourable sir WILLIAM NAIRN
of DUNsINNAN Baronet.
HONOURABLE sIR,
' Is kend to many far and near 'T' Th'improvements I have made while here
On yard and biggings baith :
And for my land, I'm very fure
By the one half 'tis not fae poor ;
Yet ' tis not free of fkaith :
For neighbours that ly round about it
Has par'd it fare awa' ;
It is fae little that I doubt it,
That ' tis not right at a' :
If ye then, to me then,
Would tell what should be o't,
Wi' pleasure I'd measur't,
And fee if'tis right or not.
But the main thing I mostly want
Is what, sir, you can eafy grant,
And I'm no right without it ;
That's fummer pafture for my cow,
The whilk, sir, if I get frae you,
I'll pay't, you need not doubt it.
Near by me, sir, you know you have
some rigs to others fet ;
some part thereof is what I crave,
For payment I may get :
'Twould please me, and cafe me
Of much difficulty :
sir, grant it, I want it,
And beg it earnestly.
As for myhoufe, ' tis fhame to fee't,
And I am almost herried wi't,
'Tis war than a sheep-cote :
The windows give but little light,
Without a broad to shut at night,
To keep rough weather out;
The roof's fae bad, when rain dings on,
It draps thro' ev'ry place ;
And for the fpace of fix years gone,
sir, this has been my cafe :
I find, then, the wind then
And rain dings out my light ;
Believe me, it grieves me,
I'm aft a weary wight.
And I maun tell you what I think,
Tho' I had a' the meat and drink
You hae about Kirkhill,
And had nae other lodging place
Except the school-houfe of Collace,
It would be mis'ry still :
But your allowance, sir, I doubt
Has gone some other way;
What you bestow'd to make it out
Has been to knaves a prey ;
And thofe men you chofe, then,
To fee the work well done,
Made flight things for right things,
And yet the price all one.
It is dependents comfort fure,
When landlords do for them procure
Things neceffary right ;
And honours alfo doth acrue
To kind fuperiors as due
And puts all grudge to flight.
I witness can and testify,
How gen'roufly you did
Things of like nature rectify
Where you concernment had ;
By thefe
And I not deny not
But I was fatisfied ;
Which made me, to speed me,
Here in you to confide.
among whom I have been
I'm brag'd when they my house have seen ;
They tell me to my face,
We thought sir WILLIAM Would have giv'n
You something like a little heav'n
To live in at Collace :
We fee your house is ten times worse,
Than what it was before ;
'Tis neither fit for cow nor horse,
But window, roof or door.
But I then reply them
sir WILLIAM knows it not,
Elfe he would for me, would
some better things allot.
But if I had things neighbour-like,
I with a kind of airy fyke
Would brag them ane and a ;
And on the matter look right vain,
And briskly show them but and ben,
My houfe juft like an ha',
My yard, my barn, and my byre,
And little glebe of land,
And fummer pasture, tho' for hyre,
All under your own hand ;
I'd then, sir, maintain, sir,
Your generofitie,
No dominee that common be,
In better cafe than me.
My poor petition now you fee :
And if you please to grant it me,
I would be well content ;
If not, I'll feek some other place,
Tho' loth to leave you and Collace,
sae lang as life's me lent :
For many years experience
Your friendship I can boaft;
And yet in you have confidence
The fame will not be loft.
Ifyou, then, would bow then
And grant me my request ;
The favour would ever
Make me to wish you bleft.
ALEX. NICOL.
A PAsTORAL between COLIN,
WILLIE and DEAVY, upon BALEDGARNO's Marriage.
THRHREE canty fhepherds met upon the plain,
Cheerfu' as fun-fhine after show'rs of rain :
Ilk ane was blyth to see another out,
Free on the fields to laugh and loup about.
Kind WILLIE he, in hamely laughing terms,
Claught COLIN keenly in his ruftick arms ;
And furthy DEAVY, feeing them, grew bauld,
His brawny arms foon did them baith infauld.
" Dear welcome lads, (the blythsome DEAVY cry'd, )
This is the day our pipes maun a' be try'd. "
" Wi' a' my heart (quoth COLIN) fetch them out,
And let us lilt ilk ane a fpring about. "
Quoth WILLIE, " then to take awa' a' grudge,
We twa will fing, and COLIN he'll be judge :
And wha fings beft fall be the prettiest man,
And a' the flutes fall fairly be his aun.
DEAVY.
What, fall we fing of Courts, or Wars alarms ;
Or Love, the sweetest theme and fafteft charms ?
COLIN.
Naithing but Love fall be your task to fing :
Love beft befits us ; ' tis the darling thing.
Ilk ane o' you the others lafs describe,
That partial love may not your fancies bribe.
But I could wish I fhou'dna' judge, but hear
I've nae mair skill fave an impartial ear.
Now WILLIE, ye maun first begin the lay
And a' your fweets of vocal notes difplay :
If Babie's beauties can infpire your breast,
sick fentiments will by you be expreft.
DEAVY fall neist on Annie's charms advance :
And, when we've done, we'll tune our reeds and dance.
WILLIE..
O Phoebus, master of the tunefu' nine,
Exoner me, and polish my engine !
Gi' me that verse sung in a saft sweet lay,
That's due to Daphne and the honour'd bay !
But yet in vain I crave your help, when the
In beauty is fuperior to thee :
Whi
108
The Rural
Mufe.
Whilk ye may view ; yet a' your eloquence
Can ne'er express her in a perfect sense.
'Tis vain for you to rax aboon your height ;
Your light's but single, her's is double bright.
Thy abfence is but night ; but her's is hell
In all things elfe fair Babie does excel .
Olucky DEAVY ! lucky anes and ay !
Happy in Babie's bright refulgent ray !
Reflecting on you virtue, goodness, greatness,
As in her face ten thousand beauties witness.
Babie's a ftar, ay, fhe's a lovely star ;
she's lovely fair, her cheeks fweet roses are :
Her fmiles ! her lips ! how fparkles her bright eyes !
But in her mind what nobler beauty lyes !
I'm fure your fenses canna' miss to strive,
Whilk fall outdo anither when they dive
On Babie's beauties ; when you fee her face,
Your fight to hearing furely maun gi' place,
To hear her voice : but, when you touch her lip,
'Tis as you wi' the gods did nectar fip ;
Your fight and hearing are confounded quite,
Your touch and taste all furfeit with delight ,
Pears drop to fee her ; apples fade away ;
The purple vine and olive, baith decay.
Wherewi' fall fhepherds weave their garlands now,
When myrtles, bays and rofes tyne their hue?
All natʼral beauties quickly disappear
At Babies prefence, in her bloom maist clear ;
Her well fhed hair, ev'n parted on her brow,
As by her bridegroom, at the marriage vow,
Apollo's fkill, wi' a' his tunefu' nine,
Her fimple beauty canna' right define.
Out of her breast ten thousand arrows flies,
By which ten thousand lovers wounded lies ;
But fprightly DEAVY wan the lovely prize.
Thrice happy lad ! thrice happy fhepherd's fate !
That gain'd fair Babie, Babie good and great.
I'll mint nae mair fair Babie's charms to trace ;
Her ilka virtue, beauty, charm and grace
Leads aff my thoughts into a fenfless maze,
Till like a ftatue, I maun thoughtless gaze.
Therefore dear DEAVY, as your rightful due,
I'll fairly yield the flutes and bays to you.
DEAVY.
Dear WILLIE, gin ye shall defective prove,
How can I fing the wonders of your love ?
sin ye of Babie fickan thoughts can raife,
What can I say to worthy Annie's praise ș
sin ye prefer to Phoebus Babies eyes,
I can but fay Annie's the fairer prize.
Ay Annie was, and is ! what's this I say ?
Ah ! my unguarded giddie fancies stray.
O Pan recover my tint fenfes now
When Annie's charms in recompence I fhew !
Annie's a lass well wordy o' your care :
A lafs faid I ! - --nae better o' my pray'r ;
she's now a wife : well fnappering nae mair,
Need I invoke the rural pow'rs by pray'r
If Annie's felf can oughtlins me inspire,
I may prefume again to touch the lyre :
If not, I'll fwear henceforth nae mair I'll fing,
Nor fall I ever touch the trembling string.
If fleepie poppies vie wi' lillies white,
Or western shades wi' fair aurora's light ;
If black wi' fnaw-white lambs, or night wi' day,
Or dowie cyprus wi' the cheerfu' bay ;
sae may the nymphs, and maist accomplish'd fair,
Wi' fweeter Annie mint anes to compare.
Her breaft is like a cabinet of goud
Wherein the richest jewels are beftow'd ;
Wit, virtue, prudence, constancy and love,
And a' good things we mortals can approve
Humility, difcretion, chastity,
And thoufands mae that raise her dignity.
Her ftature's comely: O! her charming voice
Wad gar a fullen dotard fot rejoice.
And you, O WILLIE, then how bleft are ye,
When to a' these you can have accefs free ?
In praifing Babie ye my mufe prevented,
Or I had Annie's character augmented.
WILLIE.
Na, DEAVY, na ; forfooth I canna' fay
For complements but ye have win the day.
DEAVY.
Na WILLIE; you your hyperboles advance
Aboon a ruftick fhepherd's eloquence.
WILLIE.
Your Babie merits a' I faid, and mair,
And has mae virtues than I can declare ;'
For, as I faid, Apollo wi' his nine
Ae charm about her canna right define.
DEAVY.
Your Annie merits mair nor I can fay ;
For, as I faid, if night can vie wi' day.
sae may her fex mint wi' her to compare,
Pan or sylvanus may her worth declare.
WILLIE.
Babie frae COLIN's ancestors defcended ;
They're much the fame, for a' we have contended.
DEAVY.
Your Annie's birth declare her worth and merit,
And in her shine our COLIN's noble spirit :
Ay, Annie bears our worthy COLIN's name,
That fhines renowned in records of fame ;
And ye your fell e'en sprang frae COLIN's race :
And twice finfyne the fam❜lies did embrace ;
By Hymen's ties, by him they friendship vow'd ;
By Annie now that friendship is renew'd.
WILLIE.
Babie partakes of COLIN's worth and fame,
And bears as well a worthy fhepherd's name ;
And ye your fell was ay to COLIN dear,
And now by Babie in a tie mair near.
DEAVY.
There's no a herd on a' the banks of Tay
Can tell fic tales as COLIN's fell can fay ;
For his forbears built twa' stately bowers,
To fcreen them frae the winter fleets and showers
On a' our banks nane may them parallel,
They caft a dafh that a' the lave excel.
Now wand'ring sue the auldest ane possesses ;
she's left it void, and now it fair decreases :
The other now is COLIN's refidence,
For bonnienefs might lodge a king or prince.
WILLIE.
Well is he wordy o't ; and may he lang
Poffefs the fame, to judge the fhepherd's fang
COLIN.
To judge your fangs wou'd be a kittle part,
Ye hit fae near ilk ane another's art :
As in a cock-fight ye your heads have won,
Nor by the one the other is outdone ;
Ye baith deferve alike the wadger laid :
And DEAVY Now what ye of Annie said,
It might in WILLIE raise a jealoufie,
But that he errs in that as well as ye.
Keep baith your flutes and, WILLIE, I to you
Prefent a garland fitting for your brow ;
Well wrought of myrtles, bays and rofes fweet,
Emblems of conqueft, peace and love's delight ;
A virtuous cleek of filder clear tho' auld,
That keeps the tod frae louping o' the fauld ;
These fma' propines I frankly gi' to you,
And wifh you heal fangs fweetly to renew.
And, DEAVY, ye ftob bairn mauna be,
sae lang as I hae ony thing to gi',
I'll compliment you wi' a pair o' doves,
Milk white as emblems of conjugal loves,
And eik a pipe I gat frae Pan langfyne,
Whafe virtue cheers the heart as well as wine.
Now turn your notes into anither strain,
Your real judgments frae the heart explain,
Whilk o' the twa is beft ; a single life,
Or to be knit in wedlock to a wife ?
DEAVY.
In reafon COLIN ought to be obey'd,
sin for our pains baith you and me are pay'd :
How fhall we fing ? by turns, or even out ?
Lang tales I hate,
WILLIE.
let's e'n take turn about.
DEAVY.
Then, to be short, a fingle life is best,
If we cou'd live but virtuous, good and chafte.
WILLIE.
What anger ail'd you then to take a wife
If ye fae miekle prize a single life ?
If ane had tald you fae when ye was fingle,
Your judgment to believ't wou'd had a pingle
DEAVY.
But stay, dear WILLIE, I've experience,
And that ye ken gi's fouk a hantle fense :
Youthhead is wild, and ill to manage aft,
Unless their tempers are but dead and faft
syn in that cafe man canna' act his part ;
The lave befools him, fays he has nae heart.
WILLIE.
Well what o' that ? youth maun be out, and then
We turn fedate, wife and judicious men ;
Bleft wi' a wife gets children to fucceed
In our aun parts, when we are fail'd or dead.
DEAVY.
of graceless youths there's little hopes that they
Will e'er be good unto their dying day :
They may indeed get children and a wife ;
But that ne'er mends their base and vicious life :
Their ill example spills baith wife and bairns,
And ev'n does ill to a' their near concerns ;
But virtuous free men's void of houfhold care,
And meikle loft in keeping houfe can fpare.
WILLIE.
The best of a' have frolicks in their youth ;
Age and experience leads them up to truth :
A rackless youth may prove a man right wife,
And may like you the leats of youth defpife.
But, to live single purpofely to fpare
For framet blood, fure is the warft o' care,
DEAVY.
A family is no fae eafy guided,
Nor yet are they fae easily provided ;
Befides it adds ftill to our guilt the mair,
If we in virtue not exemplar are :
But to live fingle is a virtuous life,
And far mair canny than to wed a wife.
WILLIE.
Well DEAVY lad, fin' virtue you commend,
Tell me whereto a virtuous life fhou'd tend.
DEAVY.
That queftion, WILLIE, is right eafié kend,
To happiness a virtuous life will tend :
Thereby prolong we life, and please the gods,
Who take us when we die to bleft abodes .
WILLIE.
Can oughtlins better please the gods, tl an this ;
Or oughtlins mair augment our happiness,
Than wed a virtuous charming lovely wife,
Wi' her to lead an honest frugal life ;
And, as I faid, get children to fucceed
In our aun parts when we are fail'd or dead ?
DEAVY.
Ah ! witty WILLIE, I maun awn indeed
Ye've fairly hit the nail upo' the head :
That's it I meant ; a virtuous man and wife
May live a pleasant and a happy life ;
By their examples a ' their neibers may
Turn good and virtuous, ev'n as well as they.
WILLIE.
I trow fae lad ; ' twou'd be nae little strife
Wou'd gar ye now forfake a married life :
Ye wou'dna quit your Babie good and fair,
For a' the pleasures of a batcheler.
DEAVY.
Nor wou'd ye part wi' Annie's lovely eyes
For a' the wealth that in the Indies lyes .
But, WILLIE, fee the fun goes out o' fight,
And eafter shades now usher in the night :
On our young lambs the dew fa's wet and cauld ;
Let's wear them faftly to the ev'ning fauld.
Adieu dear CoLIN, WILLIE ; baith adieu ;
We'll meet the morn, and a' our fangs renew.
WILLIE.
What think ye COLIN ? DEAVy, lad, what cheer
Can we expect to hae around the year,
When the first day our flocks the fields adorn
Infenfibly we to an end have worn ?
COLLIN.
Adieu dear WILLIE, DEAVY lad adieu ;
Babie and Annie will think lang for you :
Let's part the night ; and meet again the morn,
And sing the blythsome spring and sol's return.
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