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Oh Willie was a witty wight,
And had o' things an unco slight;
Auld Reekie aye he keepit tight,

And trig and braw:

But now they'll busk her like a fright -
Willie's awa'!

The stiffest o' them a' he bowed;
The bauldest o' them a' he cowed;
They durst nae mair than he allowed,
That was a law:

knowledge

dress

We've lost a birkie weel worth gowd- fellow-gold Willie's awa'!

1

Now gawkies, tawpies, gowks, and fools,
Frae colleges and boarding-schools,

May sprout like simmer puddock-stools toad-stool
In glen or shaw;

He wha could brush them down to

mools

Willie's awa'!

wood

the dust

The brethren o' the Commerce-Chaumer 2
May mourn their loss wi' doolfu' clamour;
He was a dictionar and grammar

Amang them a';

1 Gawky, a simpleton; tawpy, usually applied to a foolish, sluttish woman; gowk, literally, the cuckoo; secondarily, a fool.

2 The Chamber of Commerce at Edinburgh, of which Creech was secretary.

I fear they'll now mak monie a stammer-
Willie's awa'!

Nae mair we see his levee door 1
Philosophers and poets pour,
And toothy critics by the score,
In bloody raw!

The adjutant o' a' the core —
Willie's awa'!

Now worthy Gregory's Latin face,
Tytler's and Greenfield's modest grace,
Mackenzie, Stewart, sic a brace

As Rome ne'er saw;

They a' maun meet some ither place
Willie's awa'!

row

Poor Burns e'en Scotch drink canna quicken; He cheeps like some bewildered chicken, chirps

1 Creech, who, besides being a clever and well-educated man, enjoyed high reputation as a teller of quaint stories, lived on familiar terms with many of the literary men of his day. His house, in one of the elevated floors of a tenement in the High Street, accessible from a wretched alley called Craig's Close, was frequented in the mornings by company of that kind, to such an extent that the meeting used to be called Creech's Levee. Burns here enumerates as attending it, Dr. James Gregory, author of the Conspectus Medicine; Alexander Fraser Tytler, afterwards Lord Woodhouselee; Dr. William Greenfield, professor of rhetoric in the Edinburgh University; Henry Mackenzie, author of The Man of Feel ng; and Dugald Stewart, professor of moral philosophy.

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And Calvin's folk, are fit to fell him;

And self-conceited critic skellum1

His quill may draw ;

grinning

talking fellow

He wha could brawlie ward their bellum -
Willie's awa'!

Up wimpling stately Tweed I've sped,
And Eden scenes on crystal Jed,
And Ettrick banks now roaring red,
While tempests blaw;

But every joy and pleasure's fled-
Willie's awa'!

May I be Slander's common speech,
A text for infamy to preach,

And lastly, streekit out to bleach
In winter snaw,

When I forget thee, Willie Creech,
Though far awa'!

1 A term of contempt:

"She tauld thee weel, thou was a skelum."

winding

stretched

Tam o'Shanter.

May never wicked Fortune touzle him!
May never wicked men bamboozle him!
Until a pow as auld's Methusalem

He cany claw !

teaze

cheerfully scratch

'Then to the blessèd New Jerusalem Fleet wing awa'!

ON INCIVILITY SHEWN HIM AT

INVERARY.

The Duke of Argyle had an overabundance of guests in the castle, and the innkeeper at Inverary was too much occupied with the surplus to have any · attention to spare for passing travellers. Hereupon Burns penned an epigram, which it is to be supposed he left inscribed on one of the windows. We must regret this as a discourtesy towards a most respectable nobleman the more so, as the names of the Duke and Duchess of Argyle stand at the head of the subscription for his Poems.

WHOE'ER he be that sojourns here,

I pity much his case,

Unless he come to wait upon

The Lord their God - his Grace.

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There's naething here but Highland pride,
And Highland scab and hunger;
If Providence has sent me here,
'Twas surely in an anger.

COMPOSED

ON LEAVING A PLACE IN

THE HIGHLANDS WHERE HE HAD BEEN KINDLY ENTERTAINED.

WHEN Death's dark stream I ferry o'er-
A time that surely shall come
In Heaven itself I'll ask no more,
Than just a Highland welcome!

ON READING IN A NEWSPAPER

THE DEATH OF JOHN M'LEOD, Esq.,

BROTHER TO A YOUNG LADY, A PARTICULAR FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR'S.

SAD thy tale, thou idle page,

And rueful thy alarms:

Death tears the brother of her love

From Isabella's arms.

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