And shook baith meikle corn and bear,
And kept the country-side in fear.)
Her cutty sark,' o' Paisley harn,
That, while a lassie, she had worn,
In longitude though sorely scanty,
It was her best, and she was vauntie."

Ah! little kenn'd thy reverend grannie,
That surk she coft3 for her wee Nannie,
Wi' twa pund Scots, ('twas a' her riches,)
Wad ever graced a dance o' witches!

But here my Muse her wing maun cour,
Sic flights are far beyond her power;
To sing how Nannie lap aud flang,5
(A souple jade she was, and strang,)
And how Tam stood, like ane bewitch'd,
And thought his very een enrich'd;
Even Satan glower'd, and fidged fu' fain,
And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main
Till first ae caper, syn6 eanither,
Tam tint his reason a' thegither,
And roars out, "Weel done, Cutty-sark!"
And in an instant a' was dark:

And scarcely had he Maggie rallied,
When out the hellish legion sallied;
As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke, 8

When plundering herds assail their byke,'
As open pussie's mortal foes,

When, pop! she starts before their nose;
As eager runs the market crowd,

When "Catch the thief!" resounds aloud;

So Maggie runs, the witches follow,

Wi' mony an eldritch' screech and hollow.

Ah, Tam! ah, Tam! thou'lt get thy fairin'!'
In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin'!
In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin'!
Kate soon will be a woefu' woman!
Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg,
And win the keystane* of the brig;
There at them thou thy tail may toss,
A running stream they darena cross;
But ere the keystane she could make,
The fient a tail she had to shake!
For Nannie, far before the rest,
Hard upon noble Maggie prest,
And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle;+
But little wist she Maggie's mettle-
Ae spring brought off her master hale,
But left behind her ain gray tail:
The Carlin caught her by the rump,
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.

Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read,
Ilk man and mother's son, take heed:
Whane'er to drink you are inclined,
Or cutty sarks run in your mind,
Think! ye may buy the joys owre dear-
Remember Tam o' Shanter's mare.

3 Ne'er.

4 Design.

1 Unearthly. 2 Deserts. *It is a well-known fact that witches, or any evil spirits, have no power to follow a poor wight any farther than the middle of the next running stream. It may be proper likewise to mention to the benighted traveler that, when he falls in with bogles, whatever danger may be in his going forward, there is much more hazard in turning back.-B.

TO A MOUSE.

ON TURNING UP HER NEST WITH THE PLOUGH, NOVEMBER, 1785.

WEE, sleekit, cowrin', tim'rous beastie,

Oh, what a panic's in thy breastie!
Thou needna start awa' sae hasty,

Wi' bickering brattle!'

I wad be latih to rin and chase thee,
Wi' murd'ring pattle!

I'm truly sorry man's dominion
Has broken nature's social union,
And justifies that ill opinion

Which makes thee startle

At me, thy poor earth-born companion,
And fellow-mortal!

3

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen icker in a thrave*

'S a sma request:

I'll get a blessin' wi' the lave,
And never miss't!

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin!
Its silly wa's the win's are stewin'!
And naething now to big a new ane
O' foggage green!

And bleak December's winds ensuin',
Baith snell1 and keen!

Hurrying run.

3 Sometimes.

2 Pattle or pettle, the plough spade 4 Sharp.

* An ear of corn in a thrave-that is, twenty-four sheaves.

Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste,
And weary winter comin' fast,

And cozie1 here, beneath the blast,

Thou thought to dwell,

'Till, crash! the cruel coulter past
Out through thy cell.

That wee bit heap o' leaves and stibble
Has cost thee many a weary nibble!
Now thou's turn'd out for a' thy trouble,
But house or hauld,

To thole2 the winter's sleety dribble,
And cranreuch3 cauld!

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best-laid schemes o' mice and men
Gang aft a-gley,

And lea'e us nought but grief and pain
For promised joy.

Still thou art blest, compared wi' me!
The present only toucheth thee:

But, och! I backward cast my ce
On prospects drear!

And forward, though I canna see,
I guess and fear.

1 Comfortable.

2 Endure.

3 Hoar-frost.

ADDRESS TO THE TOOTHACHE.

WRITTEN WHEN THE AUTHOR WAS GRIEVOUSLY TORMENTED BY
THAT DISORDER.

My curse upon thy venom'd stang,
That shoots my tortured gums alang;
And through my lugs gies mony a twang,
Wi' gnawing vengeance;

Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang,

Like racking engines!

When fevers burn, or ague freezes,
Rheumatics knaw, or cholic squeezes;
Our neighbor's sympathy may ease us,
Wi' pitying moan;

But thee-thou hell o' a' diseases,

Aye mocks our groan!

Adown my beard the slavers trickle!
I kick the wee stools o'er the mickle,
As round the fire the giglets kickle,'
To see me loup ;2
While, raving mad, I wish a heckle*
Were in their doup.

Of a' the numerous human dools, s

4

Ill hairsts, daft bargains, cutty-stools,
Or worthy friends raked i' the mools,
Sad sight to see!

5

4 Harvests.

5 Grave-earth.

Flax used to be cleaned and straightened by drawing it many times through a mass of sharp steel spikes fixed in a bench, points uppermost. This was called a heckle.