_The Turnimspike._

[The Turnimspike has had more attention paid to it by literary antiquaries than any of Graham’s other metrical productions, excepting, of course, his History of the Rebellion. It has always been regarded as being from Graham’s pen, and Sir Walter Scott said it alone was sufficient to entitle him to immortality. Burns admired it on account of its local humour. The verses appeared in Herd’s Collection of 1769; and they have been here taken from the edition of 1776.]

THE TURNIMSPIKE.

Her sel pe Highland shentleman, Pe auld as Pothwell prig, man; And mony alterations seen Amang the Lawland whig, man. Fal lal, &c.

First when her to the Lowlands came, Nain sell was driving cows, man: There was nae laws about hims narse, About the breeks or trouse, man. Fal lal, &c.

Nain sell did wear the philapeg, The plaid prik’t on her shouder; The gude claymore hung pe her pelt, The pistol sharg’d wi’ pouder. Fal lal, &c.

But for whereas these cursed preeks, Wherewith mans narse be lockit, O hon, that ere she saw the day! For a’ her houghs pe prokit. Fal lal, &c.

Every thing in the Highlands now, Pe turn’t to alteration; The sodger dwal at our door cheek, And that’s te great vexation. Fal lal, &c.

Scotland be turn’t a Ningland now, And laws pring on the cadger: Nain sell wad durk him for hur deeds, But oh she fears the sodger. Fal lal, &c.

Another law came after that, Me never saw the like, man; They mak a lang road on the crund, And ca’ him turnimspike, man. Fal lal, &c.

And wow she pe a ponny road, Like Louden corn rigs, man; Whare twa carts may gang on her, And no break others legs, man. Fal lal, &c.

They sharge a penny for ilka hors, In troth they’l be nae sheaper, For nought but gaen upo’ the crund, And they gie me a paper. Fal lal, &c.

They tak the hors then pe the head, And there they mak them stand, man. I tell’d them that I seen the day They had na sic command, man, Fal lal, &c.

Nae doubts nain-sell maun draw his purs, And pay them what him’s like, man: I’ll see a shudgement on his store, That filthy turnimspike, man. Fal lal, &c.

But I’ll awa to the Highland hills, Where nere a ane sall turn her; And no come near your turnimspike, Unless it pe to purn her. Fal lal, &c.