What needs this dinabout the town o' Lon'on, How this new play an' that new sang is comin? Why is outlandish stuff saemeikle courted? Does nonsense mend, like brandy, when imported? Is there naepoet, burning keen for fame, Will try to gieus sangs and plays at hame? For Comedy abroad he need to toil, A
This day, Time winds th' exhausted chain; To run the twelvemonth's length again: I see, the old bald-pated fellow, With ardent eyes, complexion sallow, Adjust the unimpair'd machine, To wheel the equal, dull routine. The absent lover, minor heir, In vain assail him with their prayer; Deaf as my friend, he sees them press, Nor
"Of Brownyis and of Bogillis full is this Buke." Gawin Douglas. When chapman billies leave the street, And drouthyneibors, neibors, meet; As market days are wearing late, And folk begin to takthe gate, While we sit bousing at the nappy, An' getting fou and unco happy, We think na on the lang Scots miles, The
Yestreen I had a pinto' wine, A place where bodysawna; Yestreenlay on this breast o' mine The gowden locks of Anna. The hungry Jew in wilderness, Rejoicing o'er his manna, Was naethingto my hinny bliss Upon the lips of Anna. Ye monarchs, take the East and West FraeIndus to Savannah; Gieme, within my straining grasp,