V.

What next to do I mused awhile,
Still hoping to succeed;
I pitch’d on books for company,
And gravely tried to read: 
I bought and borrow’d everywhere,
And studied night and day,
Nor miss’d what dean or doctor wrote
That happen’d in my way: 
Philosophy I now esteem’d
The ornament of youth,
And carefully through many a page
I hunted after truth. 
A thousand various schemes I tried,
And yet was pleased with none;
I threw them by, and tuned my pipe
To John o’ Badenyon.

VI.

And now, ye youngsters everywhere,
That wish to make a show,
Take heed in time, nor fondly hope
For happiness below;
What you may fancy pleasure here,
Is but an empty name,
And girls, and friends, and books, and so,
You ’ll find them all the same. 
Then be advised, and warning take
From such a man as me;
I ’m neither Pope nor Cardinal,
Nor one of high degree;
You ’ll meet displeasure everywhere;
Then do as I have done,
E’en tune your pipe and please yourselves
With John o’ Badenyon.

[1] This song was composed when Wilkes, Horne, and others, were exciting a commotion about liberty.

THE EWIE WI’ THE CROOKIT HORN.

I.

    Were I but able to rehearse
    My Ewie’s praise in proper verse,
    I ’d sound it forth as loud and fierce
      As ever piper’s drone could blaw;
    The Ewie wi’ the crookit horn,
    Wha had kent her might hae sworn
    Sic a Ewe was never born,
      Hereabout nor far awa’;
    Sic a Ewe was never born,
      Hereabout nor far awa’.

II.

    I never needed tar nor keil
    To mark her upo’ hip or heel,
    Her crookit horn did as weel
      To ken her by amo’ them a’;
    She never threaten’d scab nor rot,
    But keepit aye her ain jog-trot,
    Baith to the fauld and to the cot,
      Was never sweir to lead nor caw;
    Baith to the fauld and to the cot, &c.

III.

    Cauld nor hunger never dang her,
    Wind nor wet could never wrang her,
    Anes she lay an ouk and langer
      Furth aneath a wreath o’ snaw: 
    Whan ither ewies lap the dyke,
    And eat the kail, for a’ the tyke,
    My Ewie never play’d the like,
      But tyc’d about the barn wa’;
    My Ewie never play’d the like, &c.

IV.

    A better or a thriftier beast
    Nae honest man could weel hae wist,
    For, silly thing, she never mist
      To hae ilk year a lamb or twa’: 
    The first she had I gae to Jock,
    To be to him a kind o’ stock,
    And now the laddie has a flock
      O’ mair nor thirty head ava’;
    And now the laddie has a flock, &c.

V.