Classic Poem

THE CITY OF EDIBURGH'S SALUTATION TO THE MARQUIS OF CARNARVON

Welcome , my Lord: Heav'n be your guide,
And further your intention,
To whate'er place you sail or ride;
To brighten your invention.
The book of mankind lang and wide
Is well worth your attention;
Wherefore please some time here abide,
And measure the dimension
Of minds right stout.

O that ilk worthy British peer
Wad follow your example,
My auld grey head I yet wad rear,
And spread my skirts mair ample.
Should London poutch up a' the gear?
She might spare me a sample:
In troth his Highness should live here,
For without oil our lamp will
Gang blinkan out.

Lang syne, my Lord, I had a court,
And nobles fill'd my cawsy;
But, since I have been fortune's sport,
I look nae hawff sae gawsy.
Yet here brave gentlemen resort,
And mony a handsome lassy:
Now that you 're lodg'd within my port,
How well I wat they 'll a' say,
Welcome, my Lord.

For you my best cheer I 'll produce,
I 'll no mak muckle vaunting;
But routh for pleasure and for use,
Whate'er you may be wanting,
You 's hae at will to chap and chuse,
For few things am I scant in;
The wale of well-set ruby juice,
When you like to be rantin,
I can afford.

Than I, nor Paris, nor Madrid,
Nor Rome, I trow 's mair able,
To busk you up a better bed,
Or trim a tighter table.
My sons are honourably bred,
To truth and friendship stable:
What my detracting faes have said,
You'll find a feigned fable,
At the first sight.

May classic lear and letters belle,
And travelling conspire,
Ilk unjust notion to repel,
And godlike thoughts inspire;
That in ilk action, wise and snell,
You may shaw manly sire;
Sae the fair picture of himsel
Will give his Grace, your Sire,
Immense delight.