O FRIEND ! to smoke and din confin'd,
Which fouls your claiths and frets your mind,
And makes you rusty look and crabbed,
As if you were bep—'d or scabbed,
Or had been going thro' a dose
Of mercury to save your nose;
Let me advise you, out of pity,
To leave the chatt'ring, stinking city,
Where pride and emptiness take place
Of plain integrity and grace;
Where hideous screams wad kill a cat,
Of wha buys this? or wha buys that?
And thro' the day, frae break o' morning,
The buz of bills, protests, and horning;
Besides the everlasting squabble
Among the great and little rabble,
Wha tear their lungs, and deave your ears
With all their party hopes and fears;
While rattling o'er their silly cant,
Learn'd frae the Mercury and Courant,
About the aid that comes frae Russia,
And the neutrality of Prussia;
Of France's tyranny and slavery,
Their faithless fickleness and knavery;
Of Spain, the best beloved son
Of the old whore of Babylon,
The warden of her whips and faggots,
And all her superstitious maggots;
Of all our gambols on the green,
To aid the bauld Imperial Queen,
When the Most Christian shoars to strike,
And fasheous Frederic gars her fike;
Of Genoa, and the resistance
Of Corsica without assistance;
Of wading var-freging Savona,
And breaking fiddles at Cremona;
What jaws of blood and gore it cost,
Before a town is won or lost;
How much the allied armies have been a'
Propp'd by the monarch of Sardinia;
Of popes, statholders, faith's defenders,
Generals, marshals, and pretenders;
Of treaties, ministers, and kings,
And of a thousand other things;
Of all which their conceptions dull
Suits with the thickness of the scull.
Yet with such stuff ane man be worried,
That 's thro your city's gauntlet hurried.
But ah! (ye cry) ridotts and dances,
With lasses trig that please your fancies,
For five or six gay hours complete,
In circles of th' assembly sweet;
Wha can forsake so fair a field,
Where all to conquering beauty yield?
No doubt, while in this am'rous fit,
Your next plea 's boxes and the pit;
Where wit and humour of the age
Flow entertaining from the stage;
Where, if the drama 's right conducted,
Ane 's baith diverted and instructed.—
Well, I shall grant it 'grees wi' reason;
These have their charms in proper season,
But must not be indulg'd too much,
Lest they the saften'd saul bewitch,
And faculties in fetters bind,
That are for greater ends design'd.
Then rouze ye frae these dozing dreams,
And view with me the golden beams
Which Phœbus ilka morning pours
Upon our plains adorn'd with flow'rs;
With me thro' howms and meadows stray,
Where wimpling waters make their way;
Here, frae the aiks and elms around,
You 'll hear the saft melodious sound
Of a' the quiristers on high,
Whase notes re-echo thro' the sky,
Better than concerts in your town,
Yet do not cost you half a crown:
Here blackbirds, mavises, and linnets,
Excel your fiddles, flutes, and spinnets;
Our jetty rooks e'en far excels
Your strim-strams and your jingling bells,
As do the cloven-footed tribes,
And rustics whistling o'er the glybes.
Here we with little labour gain
Firm health, with all its joyful train;
Silent repose, the cheerful smile
Which can intruding cares beguile:
Here fragrant flow'rs of tinctures bright,
Regale the smell and please the sight,
And make the springs of life to flow
Through every vein with kindly glow,
Giving the cheek a rosy tint
Excelling all the arts of paint.
If cauld or rain keep us within,
We 've rooms neat, warm, and free from din;
Where, in the well-digested pages,
We can converse with by-past ages;
And oft, to set our dumps adrift,
We smile with Prior, Gay, and Swift;
Or with great Newton take a flight
Amongst the rolling orbs of light;
With Milton, Pope, and all the rest
Who smoothly copy nature best:
From those inspir'd, we often find
What brightens and improves the mind,
And carry men a pitch beyond
Those views of which low souls are fond.
This hinders not the jocund smile
With mirth to mix the moral stile;
In conversation this being right,
As is in painting shade and light.

This is the life poets have sung,
Wish'd for, my friend, by auld and young;
By all who would heaven's favour share:
Where least ambition, least of care
Disturbs the mind; where virtuous ease
And temperance never fail to please.