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
On sic a day as this is,
Is sure an uncouth sight to see,
Amangthae birth-day dresses
Saefine this day.
I see ye’re complimented thrang,
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,
Wad garyou trow ye ne’er do wrang,
But aye unerring steady,
On sica day.
For me! before a monarch’s face
Ev’n there I winna flatter;
For neither pension, post, nor place,
Am I your humble debtor:
So, nae reflection on your Grace,
Your Kingship to bespatter;
There’s mony waurbeen o’ the race,
And aiblinsanebeen better
Than you this day.
‘Tis very true, my sovereign King,
My skill may weel be doubted;
But facts are chiels that winnading,
An’ downabe disputed:
Your royal nest, beneath your wing,
Is e’enright reft and clouted,
And now the third part o’ the string,
An’ less, will gangaboot it
Than did aeday.^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:
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.
And now ye’ve gienauldBritain peace,
Her broken shins to plaister,
Your sairtaxation does her fleece,
Till she has scarce a tester:
For me, thank God, my life’s a lease,
Nae bargain wearin’ faster,
Or, faith! I fear, that, wi’ the geese,
I shortly boostto pasture
I’the craftsome day.
I’m no mistrusting Willie Pitt,
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;
But, God-sake! let naesaving fit
Abridge your bonie barges
An’boats this day.
Adieu, my Liege; may freedom geck
Beneath your high protection;
An’ may ye raxCorruption’s neck,
And gie her for dissection!
But since I’m here, I’ll noneglect,
In loyal, true affection,
To pay your Queen, wi’ due respect,
May fealty an’ subjection
This great birth-day.
Hail, Majesty most Excellent!
While nobles strive to please ye,
Will ye accept a compliment,
A simple poet gies ye?
Thaebonie bairntime, Heav’n has lent,
Still higher may they heezeye
In bliss, tillfate some day is sent
For ever to release ye
Fraecare that day.
For you, young Potentate o’Wales,
I tell your highness fairly,
Down Pleasure’s stream, wi’ swelling sails,
I’m tauldye’re driving rarely;
But some day ye may gnaw your nails,
An’ curse your folly sairly,
That e’erye brakDiana’s pales,
Or rattl’d dice wi’ Charlie
Bynight or day.
Yet afta 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^2at Agincourt whashone,
Few better were or braver:
And yet, wi’funny, queer Sir John,^3
He was anunco shaver
For mony a day.
For you, right rev’rend Osnaburg,
Nanesetsthe lawn-sleeve sweeter,
Altho’ a ribbon at your lug
Wadbeen a dress completer:
As ye disown yonpaughtydog,
That bears the keys of Peter,
Then swith! an’ geta 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-
A glorious galley,^4stem and stern,
Weelrigg’d for Venus’ barter;
But first hang out, that she’ll discern,
Your hymeneal charter;
Then heave aboard your grapple airn,
An’ large upon her quarter,
Come full that day.
Ye, lastly, bonieblossoms a’,
Ye royal lasses dainty,
Heav’n makyou guidas well as braw,
An’ gieyou lads a-plenty!
But sneer naBritish boys awa!
For kings are unco scant aye,
An’ German gentlesare but sma’,
They’re better just than want aye
On ony day.
Gad bless you a’! consider now,
Ye’re uncomuckledautit;
But erethe course o’life be through,
It may be bitter sautit:
An’I hae seen their coggiefou,
That yet hae tarrow’t at it.
Butorthe day was done, I trow,
The laggenthey haeclautit
Fu’clean that day.