1 Lord Melville was Colonel of the Mid-Lothian Yeomanry Cavalry; Sir John Hope of Pinkie, Major; and Robert Cockburn, Esq., and Lord Elcho, were captains in the same corps. 2 The Scots Greys, under General Sir James Stewart of Coltness, were on duty at Edinburgh during the King's visit. Bonaparte's exclamation at Waterloo was, Ces beaux chevaux gris, comme ils travaillent! 3 Marquis of Huntly, Colonel of the 42nd Regiment. 4 Colonel Ronaldson Macdonnell of Glengarry. 5 The Earl of Errol is hereditary Lord HighConstable of Scotland. 6 A corruption of the Gaelic Banamhorar-Chat, or the Great Lady (literally Female Lord of the Chatte); the Celtic title of the Countess of Sutherland. Knight Mareschal, see ye clear the gate Carle, now the King's come! 'Kind cummer, Leith, ye've been mis-set, But dinna be upon the fret- 'My daughters, come with een sae blue, Your garlands weave, your blossoms strew; He ne'er saw fairer flowers than you Carle, now the King's come! 'What shall we do for the propineWe used to offer something fine, But ne'er a groat's in pouch of mine Carle, now the King's come! 'Deil care-for that l'se never start, We'll welcome him with Highland heart; Whate'er we have he's get a part Carle, now the King's come! 'I'll show him mason-work this dayNane of your bricks of Babel clay, But towers shall stand till Time's away- Carle, now the King's come! 'I'll show him wit, I'll show him lair, And gallant lads and lasses fair, And what wad kind heart wish for mair? Carle, now the King's come! 'Step out, Sir John', of projects rife, Come win the thanks of an auld wife, And bring him health and length of life Carle, now the King's come !' [1 Sr John Sinclair,' patron and projector of national an patriotic plans,' says Lockhart.] ONE VOLUME MORE. (1823.) (Written for the Bannatyne Club.) ASSIST me, ye friends of Old Books and Old Wine, To sing in the praises of sage Bannatyne, Who left such a treasure of old Scottish lore As enables each age to print one volume more. One volume more, my friends, one volume more, We'll ransack old Banny for one volume more. And first, Allan Ramsay was eager to glean From Bannatyne's Hortus his bright Evergreen; Two light little volumes (intended for four) Still leave us the task to print one volume more. One volume more, &c. His ways were not ours, for he cared not a pin How much he left out, or how much he put in ; One volume more, my friends, one volume more; We'll restore Banny's manhood in one volume more. John Pinkerton next, and I'm truly concern'd I can't call that worthy so candid as learn'd; He rail'd at the plaid and blasphemed the claymore, And set Scots by the ears in his one volume more. One volume more, my friends, one volume more, Celt and Goth shall be pleased with one volume more. Asbitter as gall, and as sharp as a razor, And feeding on herbs as a Nebuchadnezzar, His diet too acid, his temper too sour, Little Ritson came out with his two volumes more. But one volume, my friends, one volume more, We'll dine on roast-beef and print one volume more. The stout Gothic yeditur1, next on the roll, With his beard like a brush and as black as a coal, And honest Greysteel' that was true to the core, The truth of the reading he thought Lent their hearts and their hands each Ancient libels and contraband books, By a rowt in the papers-fine place for such matters. I assure ye, We'll print as secure from Exchequer I have, therefore, to make it for once or Jury; Then hear your Committee and let them count o'er The Chiels they intend in their three volumes more. Three volumes more, &c. my command, sir, That my gudeson shall leave the And by no means accomplish what They'll produce your King Jamie, the I have various reasons of weight, sapient and Sext, And the Bob of Dumblane and her One tome miscellaneous they'll add to Resolving next year to print four volumes more. on my word, sir, For pronouncing a step of this sort were absurd, sir. Firstly, erudite sir, 'twas against your advising I adopted the lines this monstrosity lies in ; Four volumes more, my friends, For you modestly hinted my English four volumes more; Pay down your subscriptions for four volumes more. translation Would become better far such a dignified station. Second-how, in God's name, would my bacon be saved, By not having writ what I clearly engraved? On the contrary, I, on the whole, think it better To be whipped as the thief, than his Thirdly-don't you perceive that I For my back is as broad and as hard And I treat as I please both the At a kick on their drum from the To remain the sole source of that 1 Blackwood's Magazine. 2 Lockhart's novel. So stet pro ratione voluntas – be tractile, Invade not, I say, my own dear little dactyl; If you do, you'll occasion a breach in our intercourse. To-morrow will see me in town for the winter-course, But not at your door, at the usual hour, sir, My own pye-house (pious!) daughter's good prog to devour, sir. Ergo-peace!-on your duty, your squeamishness throttle, And we'll soothe Priscian's spleen with a canny third bottle. A fig for all dactyls, a fig for all spondees, A fig for all dunces and dominie Grundys; Stand forth, arch deceiver, and tell us in truth, Are you handsome or ugly, in age or in youth? Man, woman, or child-a dog or a mouse? Or are you, at once, each live thing in the house? Each live thing, did I ask ?—each dead implement, too, A workshop in your person,—saw, chisel, and screw! Above all, are you one individual? I know You must be at least Alexandre and Co. But I think you're a troop-an assemblage-a mob, And that I, as the Sheriff, should take up the job; A fig for dry thrapples, south, north, | And instead of rehearsing your wonders I've seen the day they would been Wi' the Tolbooth, or wi' the Guard, The Water-hole was right weel wared But whar's the gude Tolbooth gane now? Whar's the auld Claught1, wi' red and blue? Whar's Jamie Laing?? and whar's house? And whar's the Weigh-I came a piece frae west o' Currie "; Deil hae 't I see but what is new, Yoursells are changed frae head to heel, There's some that gar the causeway reel With clashing hufe and rattling wheel, Wha's fathers daunder'd hame as Wi' lass and lantern. Mysell being in the public line, I look for howfs I kenn'd lang syne, But deil a soul gangs there to dine, Of saints or sinners! Fortune's1 and Hunter's gane, alace! Or crack a bottle, They gang to a new fangled place As speak a word for ane Will Murray", Plays are auld-fashion'd things,in truth, Yet actors shouldna suffer drouth, Not with their stamock. But ye tak care of a' folk's pantry; For a lone sister, Weel, sirs, gude'en, and have a care As sure as ever ye sit there, She'll tell the Bailie. The Town Guard, or city police; the Clutchers.] 2 An influential police official.] [3 One of the Town Guard.} 14 All noted taverns.] [5 Village near Edinburgh] [6 Lessee of the Theatre.] |