Who am most fervent,

While I can either sing or whistle,

Your friend and servant.

THE AULD FARMER’S NEW-YEAR MORNING SALUTATION TO HIS AULD MARE, MAGGIE

A Guid New-Year I wish thee, Maggie!

Hae, there’s a ripp to thy auld baggie:

Tho thou’s howe-backit now, an knaggie,

I’ve seen the day

Thou could hae gaen like onie staggie,

Out-owre the lay.

Tho now thou’s dowie, stiff an crazy,

An thy auld hide as white’s a daisie,

I’ve seen thee dappl’t, sleek an glaizie,

A bonie gray:

He should been tight that daur’t to raize thee,

Ance in a day.

Thou ance was i’ the foremost rank,

A filly buirdly, steeve an swank:

An set weel down a shapely shank,

As e’er tread yird;

An could hae flown out-owre a stank,

Like onie bird.

It’s now some nine-an-twenty year

Sin’ thou was my guid-father’s meere;

He gied me thee, o tocher clear,

An fifty mark;

Tho it was sma’, ’twas weel-won gear,

An thou was stark.

When first I gaed to woo my Jenny,

Ye then was trottin wi your minnie:

Tho ye was trickle, slee, an funnie,

Ye ne’er was donsie;

But hamely, tawie, quiet, an cannie,

An unco sonsie.

That day, ye pranc’d wi muckle pride,

When ye bure hame my bonie bride:

An sweet an gracefu, she did ride,

Wi maiden air!

Kyle-Stewart I could bragged wide,

For sic a pair.

Tho now ye dow but hoyte and hobble,

An wintle like a saumont-coble,

That day, ye was a jinker noble,

For heels an win’!

An ran them tin they a’ did wauble,

Far, far, behin’!

When thou an I were young an skiegh,

An stable-meals at fairs were driegh,

How thou wad prance, an snore, an skriegh,

An tak the road!

Town’s-bodies ran, an stood abiegh,

An ca’t thee mad.

When thou was corn’t, an I was mellow,

We took the road ay like a swallow:

At brooses thou had ne’er a fellow,

For pith an speed;

But ev’ry tail thou pay’t them hollow,

Where’er thou gaed.

The sma’, droop-rumpl’t, hunter cattle

Might aiblins waur’t thee for a brattle;

But sax Scotch miles thou try’t their mettle,

An gar’t them whaizle:

Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle

O saugh or hazle.

Thou was a noble fittie-lan’,

As e’er in tug or tow was drawn!

Aft thee an’ I in aught hours gaun,

On guid March-weather,

Hae turn’d sax rood beside our han’,

For days thegither.

Thou never braing’t, an fetch’t, an fliskit;

But thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit,

An spread abreed thy well-fill’d brisket,

Wi pith an pow’r;

Till sprittie knowes wad rair’t an riskit

An slypet owre.

When frosts lay lang, an snaws were deep,

An threaten’d labour back to keep,

I gied thy cog a wee bit heap

Aboon the timmer:

I kend my Maggie wad na sleep,

For that, or simmer.

In cart or car thou never reestit;

The steyest brae thou wad hae fac’t it;

Thou never lap, an sten’t, an breastit,