Download or read book The Poetical Works of Robert Ferguson, with His Life written by Robert Ferguson and published by Rarebooksclub.com. This book was released on 2012-05-16 with total page 32 pages. Available in PDF, EPUB and Kindle. Book excerpt: This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1812 Excerpt: ...head, weel pang'd wi' lear, Has seen the Alma Mater there. Regents! my winsome billy boys! 'Bout him you've made an unco noise; Nae doubt, for him your bells wad clink, To find him upon Eden's brink; And a' things nicely set in order, Wad keep him on the Fifan border. I'se warrant, now, frae France and Spain Baith cooks and scullions mony ane, Wad gar the pats and kettles tingle Around the college kitchen ingle, LINES, &C. To fleg frae a' your craigs the roup, Wi' reekin het and crieshy soup: And snails and puddocks mony hunder Wad beekin lie the hearthstane under; Wi' roast and boil'd, and a' kinkind, To heat the body, cool the mind. But hear, my lads! gin I'd been there, How I'd hae trimm'd the bill o' fare! For ne'er sic surly wight as he Had met wi' sic respect frae me. Mind ye what Sam, the lyin loun! Has in his Dictionar laid down? That aits, in England, are a feast To cow and horse, and sicken beast; While, in Scots ground, this growth was common To gust the gab o' man and woman. Tak tent, ye Regents! then, and hear My list o' gudely hamcil gear: LINES, &C. Sic as hae aften rax'd the wyme O' blyther fallows mony a time; Mair hardy, souple, steeve, and swank, Than ever stood on Samy's shank. Imprimis, then, a haggis fat, Weel tottled in a seything pat, Wi' spice and ingans weel ca'd thro', Had help'd to gust the stirrah's mou, And plac'd itsel in truncher clean Before the gilpy's glowrin e'en. Secundo, then, a gude sheep's head; Whase hide was singit, never flea'd, And four black trotters clad wi' girsle, Bedown his throat had learn'd to hirsle.. What think ye, niest o' gude fat brose, To clag his ribs, a dainty dose? And white and bluidy puddings routh, To gar the Doctor skirl, " O Drouth!" LINES, &C. Whan he could never houp to...