On Captain Grose's Peregrinations Through Scotland, Collecting The Antiquities Of That Kingdom.

Hear, Land o' Cakes and brither Scots,         Frae Maidenkirk to Johnny Groat's;         If there's a hole in a' your coats,             I rede you tent it:         A chiel's amang you taking notes,             And, faith, he'll prent it!         If in your bounds ye chance to light         Upon a fine, fat, fodgel wight,         O' stature short, but genius bright,             That's he, mark weel,         And wow! he has an unco slight             O' cauk and keel.         By some auld, houlet-haunted biggin,         Or kirk deserted by its riggin,         It's ten to one ye'll find him snug in             Some eldritch part,         Wi' deils, they say, L--d save's! colleaguin'             At some black art.         Ilk ghaist that haunts auld ha' or chaumer,         Ye gipsey-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 b----s!         It's tauld he was a sodger bred,         And ane wad rather fa'n than fled;         But now he's quat the spurtle-blade,             And dog-skin wallet,         And ta'en the, Antiquarian trade,             I think they call it.         He has a fouth o' auld nick-nackets:         Rusty airn caps and jinglin' jackets,         Wad haud the Lothians three in tackets,             A towmont guid;         And parritch-pats, and auld saut-backets,             Afore the flood.         Of Eve's first fire he has a cinder;         Auld Tubal-Cain's fire-shool and fender;         That which distinguished the gender             O' Balaam's ass;         A broom-stick o' the witch o' Endor,             Weel shod wi' brass.         Forbye, he'll shape you aff, fu' gleg,         The cut of Adam's philibeg:         The knife that nicket Abel's craig             He'll prove you fully,         It was a faulding jocteleg,             Or lang-kail gully.         But wad ye see him in his glee,         For meikle glee and fun has he,         Then set him down, and twa or three             Guid fellows 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 chiel, O Grose!         Whae'er o' thee shall ill suppose,             They sair misca' thee;         I'd take the rascal by the nose,             Wad say, Shame fa' thee!