man, a man,
And a tailor is a man.

Popular Heroic Song.

V.  Cursecowl,

From his red poll a redder cowl hung down;
His jacket, if through grease we guess, was brown;
A vigorous scamp, some forty summers old;
Rough Shetland stockings up his thighs were roll’d;
While at his side horn-handled steels and knives
Gleam’d from his pouch, and thirsted for sheep’s lives.

Odoherty’s Miscellanea Classica.

VI.  Pushing my Fortune,

Oh, love, love, lassie,
  Love is like a dizziness,
It winna let a puir bodie
  Gang about their business.

James Hogg.

VII.  The Forewarning,

I had a dream which was not all a dream.

Byron.

Coming events cast their shadows before.

Campbell.

VIII.  Letting Lodgings,

Then first he ate the white puddings,
  And syne he ate the black, O;
Though muckle thought the Gudewife to hersell,
  Yet ne’er a word she spak, O.
But up then started our Gudeman,
And an angry man was he, O.

Old Song.

IX.  Benjie’s Christening,

We’ll hap and row, hap and row,
  We’ll hap and row the feetie o’t.
It is a wee bit weary thing,
  I dinnie bide the greetie o’t.

Provost Creech.

An honest man, close button’d to the chin,
Broad-cloth without, and a warm heart within.

Cowper.

This great globe and all that it inherits shall dissolve,
And, like the baseless fabric of a vision,
Leave not a rack behind.

Shakespeare.

X.  The Resurrection Men,

  How then was the Devil drest!
  He was in his Sunday’s best;
  His coat was red, and his breeches were blue,
  With a hole behind where his tail came thro’.
Over the hill, and over the dale,
  And he went over the plain:
And backward and forward he switch’d his tail,
  As a gentleman switches his cane.

Coleridge.

XI.  Taffy with the Pigtail,

Song,

Song of the South,

School Recollections,

Elegiac Stanzas,

Dirge,

In the sweet shire of Cardigan,
  Not far from pleasant Ivor-hall,
An old man dwells, a little man;
  I’ve heard he once was tall.
A long blue livery-coat has he,
  That’s fair behind and fair before;
Yet, meet him where you will, you see
  At once that he is poor.

Wordsworth.

XII.  Volunteering,

Come from the hills where your hirsels are grazing,
  Come from the glen of the buck and the roe;
Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing,
  Come with the buckler, the lance, and the bow:
      Many a banner spread
      Flutters above your head,
  Many a crest that is famous in story;
      Mount and make ready then,
      Sons of the mountain glen,
Fight for the King, and our old Scottish glory.

Sir Walter Scott’s Monastery.

XIII.  The Chincough Pilgrimage,

Man hath a weary pilgrimage
  As through the world he wends:
On every stage from youth to age
  Still discontent attends.
With heaviness he casts his eye
  Upon the road before,
And still remembers with a sigh
  The days that are no more.

  Southey.

XIV.  My Lord’s Races,

Aff they a’ went galloping, galloping;
Legs and arms a’ walloping, walloping;
De’il take the hindmost, quo’ Duncan M’Calapin,
The Laird of Tillyben, Joe.

Old Song.

He went a little further,
  And turn’d his head aside,
And just by Goodman Whitfield’s gate,
  Oh there the mare he spied.
He ask’d her how she did,
  She stared him in the face,
Then down she laid her head again—
  She was in wretched case.

Old Poulter’s Mo.

XV.  The Return,

That sweet home is there delight,
And thither they repair
Communion with their own to hold!
Peaceful as, at the fall of night,
Two little lambkins gliding white
Return unto the gentle air,
That sleeps within the fold.
Or like two birds to their lonely nest,
Or wearied waves to their bay of rest,
Or fleecy clouds when their race is run,
That hang in their own beauty blest,
’Mid the calm that sanctifies the west
Around the setting sun.

Wilson.

XVI.  The Bloody Cartridge,

So stands the Thracian herdsman with his spear
Full in the gap, and hopes the hunted bear;
And hears him in the rustling wood, and sees
His course at distance by the bending trees;
And thinks—Here comes my mortal enemy,
And either he must fall in fight or I.

Dryden’s Palamon and Arcite.

Nay, never shake thy gory looks at me;
Thou canst not say I did it!

Macbeth.

XVII.  My First and Last Play,

Pla.  I’ faith
I like the audience that frequenteth there
With much applause: a man shall not be chokt
With the stench of garlick, nor be pasted firm
With the barmy jacket of a beer-brewer.

Bra.  ’Tis a good gentle audience, and I hope
The boys will come one day in great request.

Jack Drum’s Entertainment, 1601.

Out cam the gudeman, and laigh he louted;
Out cam the gudewife, and heigh she shouted;
And a the toun-neibours gather’d about it;
      And there he lay, I trow.

The Cauldrife Wooer.

XVIII.  The Barley Fever: and Rebuke,

Sages their solemn een may steek,
And raise a philosophic reek,
And, physically, causes seek,
  In clime and season:
But tell me Whisky’s name in Greek,
  I’ll tell the reason.

Burns.

XIX.  The Awful Night,

  Ha!—’twas but a dream;
But then so terrible, it shakes my soul!
Cold drops of sweat