Hear, Land o’ Cakes, and britherScots,
FraeMaidenkirk to Johnie Groat’s;-
If there’s a hole in a’your coats,
I redeyou tentit:
A chield’s amangyou takin notes,
And, faith, he’ll prentit:
If in your bounds ye chance to light
Upon a fine, fat fodgelwight,
O’ stature short, but genius bright,
That’s he, markweel;
And wow! he has anuncosleight
O’ caukand keel.
By some auld, houlet-haunted biggin,
Or kirkdeserted by its riggin,
It’s ten to ane ye’ll find him snug in
Some eldritchpart,
Wi’ deils, they say, Lord save’s! colleaguin
At some black art.
Ilkghaistthat haunts auld ha’or chaumer,
Ye gipsy-gang that deal in glamour,
And you, deep-read in hell’s black grammar,
Warlocks and witches,
Ye’ll quake at his conjuring hammer,
Ye midnight bitches.
It’s tauldhe was a sodgerbred,
And anewad rather fa’nthan fled;
But now he’s quatthe spurtle-blade,
And dog-skin wallet,
And taenthe-Antiquarian trade,
I think they call it.
He has a foutho’ auld nick-nackets:
Rusty airncaps and jinglin jackets,
Wad haudthe Lothians three in tackets,
A towmontgude;
And parritch-patsand auld saut-backets,
Before the Flood.
Of Eve’s first fire he has a cinder;
AuldTubalcain’s fire-shool and fender;
That which distinguished the gender
O’ Balaam’s ass:
A broomstick o’ the witch of Endor,
Weelshod wi’ brass.
Forbye, he’ll shape you afffu’gleg
The cut of Adam’s philibeg;
The knife that nickit Abel’s craig
He’ll prove you fully,
It was a fauldingjocteleg,
Or lang-kail gullie.
Butwad ye see him in his glee,
For meikleglee and fun has he,
Then sethim down, and twaorthree
Gudefellows wi’him:
And port, O port! shine thou a wee,
And Then ye’ll see him!
Now, by the Pow’rs o’ verse and prose!
Thou art a dainty chield, O Grose!-
Whae’er o’thee shall ill suppose,
They sairmisca’thee;
I’d take the rascal bythe nose,
Wadsay, “Shame fa’thee!”