Pastoral P O E M betwixt Samuel and Cuddie, con-
cerning the Loss sustain'd by the Death of their
WHat News, Friend Cuddie, how's your bonny Flock ?
Death, fatal Death's giv'n mine a heavy Strock !
Now frae the bieldy Glens, and Velvet Lees,
Where I've been glad, a Pleasure quickly flees.
The vacant Fald wi' Tath is now o'er spread,
Where my blyth fleecy Vassals had their Bed,
Ranter and Ringie now may bark in vain,
Wha kept my Strayers on the bonny Plain,
And scar'd Tod Lourie, when he had them slain;
Besides tho' Pleasures heavy is my Loss;
That Man's no born, but born to bear a Cross.
Samuel, tho' Crosses are not yours alone,
My Reason is na' less to make a Mane.
When the sweet Dawn blink't best the bonny Sky;
I'd trap my Plaid, and on my Colie cry :
We scour'd the Road, and merrily did gae
To hear the Ews and their sweet Lammies bae;
Then wad jop the Fald wi' tentie Care,
And./ill/ them out to seek their Grassie fare;
Then a' the Day thro' sweetest Fields we'd scour,
And the fast Cairn did scug us frae the Shour.
That little Structure rais'd by Rural Art,
Did keep us frae the Wind and Wether's smart.
But now, ilk Nook wi Nettles is o'er grow'n,
A' Pleasures frae the Plain are quickly flow'n.
To eat the Grass, I've scarce a Bleater left,
O! Pan, you gloom o'er fair of a' wer'e Rest !
S. Unto the Cairn the Lasses came at Noon,
Where after Dinner, we did take our Tune,
Most sweet their Voices and our Reeds did ring
Will ye go to the Ew Boughts, was our Spring.
Each on the Bosom of his Lass did lean,
Whil'st we employed our Plaids our Love to skreen;
And ay's we talk't, the Kiss did interveen.
C. And then at E'en, when to the Bought they came.
When I saw Peg, my Heart raise in a Flame,
I drove my Flock wi' Pleasure to the Bought,
There lean'd me o'er, and spake to'er what I thought.
O! When her genty Fingers tug'd the Pap,
I cou'd na' thole, but o'er the Bought I lap,
I'd press her to my Breast, whil'st fastest Words,
And Kisses sweet exchang'd for fresh Ew Curds.
Tho' sweets are gane, and Losses came o'er thrang ;
This Storm may last a While, but canno' lang
Six Score of Dinmonds frae a Foreign fell,
Last Whitsunday I thought, they pleas'd me well,
Which now, the Plagug Rot has swep't awa'
I never endur'd sic Loss frae deepest Sna,
Bald Lowrie's Wiles cou'd never sic Hearship bring;
O'er every Plain this waesa' Scourge doth ring.
Of silken steec'd Flocks I anes cou"d boast;
Of largest Brood brought frae the Eastern Coast;
The Income of their Woe, great Gain did yield;
But that sad Traik has cut them off the Field,
There's scarce Ten left, I'm twin'd of a the rest;
Yet hopes, that they'll revive, 'tis good to hope the best,
Sa'wad I hope, dear Cuddie, but I fear,
The Badness of the Season, and Leep Year,
Will cleange the Forrest of our bobtail'd Gear.
Then, then, we may sing by our Crook and Kent:
And bear wi' Patience, what the Gods ha'e sent;
'Tis no for nothing, that their Hand we feel,
As we deserve, e'en sa' they turn the Wheel.
But Sam. Let us aboon send our Address,
They soon can give us mair, we ne'er had less.
Ay let us seek Contentment, and we'll find,
That warldly Joys are just like fleeting Wind
Or like a drunken Man, ga'n up a Brae,
who sprauls and clim's, nor can be stap't to gae.
But his scarce up, until his dizie Brain
Gi'es twa three Tumbles, and he's down again;
Sa' Fortune's Smile or Frown gi'es Joy or Pain.
Then I'm content, to yield to higher Pow'rs;
Since nathing in the Earth, we can call ours.
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Probable date published:
1750- shelfmark: RB.I.106(102)
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