I’ve notic’d, on our laird’s court-day,

(An monie a time my heart’s been wae),

Poor tenant bodies, scant o cash,

How they maun thole a factor’s snash:

He’ll stamp an threaten, curse an swear

He’ll apprehend them, poind their gear:

While they maun stan, wi aspect humble,

An hear it a’, an fear an tremble!

I see how folk live that hae riches:

But surely poor-folk maun be wretches!

LUATH

They’re no sae wretched’s ane wad think:

Tho constantly on poortith’s brink,

They’re sae accustom’d wi the sight,

The view o’t gies them little fright.

Then chance and fortune are sae guided,

They’re ay in less or mair provided;

An tho fatigu’d wi close employment,

A blink o rest’s a sweet enjoyment.

The dearest comfort o their lives,

Their grushie weans an faithfu wives;

The prattling things are just their pride,

That sweetens a’ their fireside.

An whyles twalpennie worth o nappy

Can mak the bodies unco happy:

They lay aside their private cares,

To mind the Kirk an State affairs:

They’ll talk o patronage an priests,

Wi kindling fury i’ their breasts,

Or tell what new taxation’s comin,

An ferlie at the folk in Lon’on.

As bleak-fac’d Hallowmass returns,

They get the jovial, ranting kirns,

When rural life, of ev’ry station,

Unite in common recreation;

Love blinks, Wit slaps, an social Mirth

Forgets there’s Care upo the earth.

That merry day the year begins,

They bar the door on frosty win’s;

The nappy reeks wi mantling ream,

An sheds a heart-inspiring steam;

The luntin pipe, an sneeshin mill,

Are handed round wi right guid will;

The cantie auld folks crackin crouse,

The young anes ranting thro the house –

My heart has been sae fain to see them,

That I for joy hae barkit wi them.

Still it’s owre true that ye hae said,

Sic game is now owre aften play’d;

There’s monie a creditable stock

O decent, honest, fawsont folk,

Are riven out baith root an branch,

Some rascal’s pridefu greed to quench,

Wha thinks to knit himsel the faster

In favor wi some gentle master,

Wha, aiblins thrang a parliamentin,

For Britain’s guid his saul indentin –

CAESAR

Haith, lad, ye little ken about it:

For Britain’s guid! guid faith! I doubt it.

Say rather, gaun as Premiers lead him:

An saying aye or no’s they bid him:

At operas an plays parading,

Mortgaging, gambling, masquerading:

Or maybe, in a frolic daft,

To Hague or Calais taks a waft,

To mak a tour an tak a whirl,

To learn bon ton an see the worl.

There, at Vienna or Versailles,

He rives his father’s auld entails;

Or by Madrid he takes the rout,

To thrum guitars an fecht wi nowt;

Or down Italian vista startles,

Whore-hunting amang groves o myrtles;

Then bowses drumlie German-water,

To mak himsel look fair an fatter,

An clear the consequential sorrows,

Love-gifts of Carnival signoras.

For Britain’s guid! for her destruction!

Wi dissipation, feud an faction.

LUATH

Hech man! dear sirs! is that the gate