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| GUID-MORNIN’ to our Majesty! | |
| May Heaven augment your blisses | |
| On ev’ry new birth-day ye see, | |
| A humble poet wishes. | |
| My bardship here, at your Levee | 5 |
| On sic a day as this is, | |
| Is sure an uncouth sight to see, | |
| Amang thae birth-day dresses | |
| Sae fine this day. | |
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| I see ye’re complimented thrang, | 10 |
| By mony a lord an’ lady; | |
| “God save the King” ’s a cuckoo sang | |
| That’s unco easy said aye: | |
| The poets, too, a venal gang, | |
| Wi’ rhymes weel-turn’d an’ ready, | 15 |
| Wad gar you trow ye ne’er do wrang, | |
| But aye unerring steady, | |
| On sic a day. | |
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| For me! before a monarch’s face | |
| Ev’n there I winna flatter; | 20 |
| For neither pension, post, nor place, | |
| Am I your humble debtor: | |
| So, nae reflection on your Grace, | |
| Your Kingship to bespatter; | |
| There’s mony waur been o’ the race, | 25 |
| And aiblins ane been better | |
| Than you this day. | |
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| ’Tis very true, my sovereign King, | |
| My skill may weel be doubted; | |
| But facts are chiels that winna ding, | 30 |
| An’ downa be disputed: | |
| Your royal nest, beneath your wing, | |
| Is e’en right reft and clouted, | |
| And now the third part o’ the string, | |
| An’ less, will gang aboot it | 35 |
| Than did ae day. 1 | |
| |
| Far be’t frae me that I aspire | |
| To blame your legislation, | |
| Or say, ye wisdom want, or fire, | |
| To rule this mighty nation: | 40 |
| But faith! I muckle doubt, my sire, | |
| Ye’ve trusted ministration | |
| To chaps wha in barn or byre | |
| Wad better fill’d their station | |
| Than courts yon day. | 45 |
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| And now ye’ve gien auld Britain peace, | |
| Her broken shins to plaister, | |
| Your sair taxation does her fleece, | |
| Till she has scarce a tester: | |
| For me, thank God, my life’s a lease, | 50 |
| Nae bargain wearin’ faster, | |
| Or, faith! I fear, that, wi’ the geese, | |
| I shortly boost to pasture | |
| I’ the craft some day. | |
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| I’m no mistrusting Willie Pitt, | 55 |
| When taxes he enlarges, | |
| (An’ Will’s a true guid fallow’s get, | |
| A name not envy spairges), | |
| That he intends to pay your debt, | |
| An’ lessen a’ your charges; | 60 |
| But, God-sake! let nae saving fit | |
| Abridge your bonie barges | |
| An’boats this day. | |
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| Adieu, my Liege; may freedom geck | |
| Beneath your high protection; | 65 |
| An’ may ye rax Corruption’s neck, | |
| And gie her for dissection! | |
| But since I’m here, I’ll no neglect, | |
| In loyal, true affection, | |
| To pay your Queen, wi’ due respect, | 70 |
| May fealty an’ subjection | |
| This great birth-day. | |
| |
| Hail, Majesty most Excellent! | |
| While nobles strive to please ye, | |
| Will ye accept a compliment, | 75 |
| A simple poet gies ye? | |
| Thae bonie bairntime, Heav’n has lent, | |
| Still higher may they heeze ye | |
| In bliss, till fate some day is sent | |
| For ever to release ye | 80 |
| Frae care that day. | |
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| For you, young Potentate o’Wales, | |
| I tell your highness fairly, | |
| Down Pleasure’s stream, wi’ swelling sails, | |
| I’m tauld ye’re driving rarely; | 85 |
| But some day ye may gnaw your nails, | |
| An’ curse your folly sairly, | |
| That e’er ye brak Diana’s pales, | |
| Or rattl’d dice wi’ Charlie | |
| By night or day. | 90 |
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| Yet aft a ragged cowt’s been known, | |
| To mak a noble aiver; | |
| So, ye may doucely fill the throne, | |
| For a’their clish-ma-claver: | |
| There, him 2 at Agincourt wha shone, | 95 |
| Few better were or braver: | |
| And yet, wi’ funny, queer Sir John, 3 | |
| He was an unco shaver | |
| For mony a day. | |
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| For you, right rev’rend Osnaburg, | 100 |
| Nane sets the lawn-sleeve sweeter, | |
| Altho’ a ribbon at your lug | |
| Wad been a dress completer: | |
| As ye disown yon paughty dog, | |
| That bears the keys of Peter, | 105 |
| Then swith! an’ get a wife to hug, | |
| Or trowth, ye’ll stain the mitre | |
| Some luckless day! | |
| |
| Young, royal Tarry-breeks, I learn, | |
| Ye’ve lately come athwart her— | 110 |
| A glorious galley, 4 stem and stern, | |
| Weel rigg’d for Venus’ barter; | |
| But first hang out, that she’ll discern, | |
| Your hymeneal charter; | |
| Then heave aboard your grapple airn, | 115 |
| An’ large upon her quarter, | |
| Come full that day. | |
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| Ye, lastly, bonie blossoms a’, | |
| Ye royal lasses dainty, | |
| Heav’n mak you guid as well as braw, | 120 |
| An’ gie you lads a-plenty! | |
| But sneer na British boys awa! | |
| For kings are unco scant aye, | |
| An’ German gentles are but sma’, | |
| They’re better just than want aye | 125 |
| On ony day. | |
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| Gad bless you a’! consider now, | |
| Ye’re unco muckle dautit; | |
| But ere the course o’ life be through, | |
| It may be bitter sautit: | 130 |
| An’ I hae seen their coggie fou, | |
| That yet hae tarrow’t at it. | |
| But or the day was done, I trow, | |
| The laggen they hae clautit | |
| Fu’ clean that day. | 135 |
