A Tour To Scotland Poem by William Hutton

If you're a father, who retains
A larger store of wealth than brains;
A jewel hold which you prize most,
Are anxious lest it should be lost,
Read but the lines that are behind,
The way to save it you may find.
You'll clearly see, with half an eye,
How matters tend when you're not by.

If you're a fortune-hunter made,
Read, and you'll quickly learn your trade.
Nor think Fate can play you a prank;
She holds a prize without a blank.

If you're a daughter, I'll engage,
Though only fifteen years of age--
Quite charming! you'll become a wife;
And not repent--except for life.

No antique tale shall now be told
My story is but one week old;
Tea-table treasure of the day;
Fresh from the mint it shines away.
A guinea soon as dropp'd is found;
A ball caught at its first rebound.

We'll Waddle and his daughter bring
Upon the stage--their travels sing.

The man, 'tis said, who trade commands,
Profit and loss well understands:
But this, we speak without disgrace,
Was only half our hero's case;
And yet it strictly may be said,
'He perfect master was of trade:'
For trade he could whole years pursue,
Yet trading losses never knew;
Was well appriz'd, from day to day,
Where, to a doit, his profits lay;
With one superfluous grain, at least,
Would never let the scale be press'd;
And ev'ry scruple he rejects
More than just what the law directs,
Because 'twould tend, without a doubt,
'To press the measure's bottom out.'

The man who strives to get and save
May, in the end, two thousand have.
This bank will make a pretty store,
Yet not destroy the wish for more.
That sum, however, being sent,
'He'd trade decline, and live a gent.'

His dusty bags and bins kick'd o'er,
He'll open shop and shut no more;
But, with a beauty all admire,
Scarcely fifteen, he will retire,

'Now, since his house was large and fair,
And had a room or two to spare,
They might be to an inmate let
For they'd a little profit get.'
And who but misers can tell what
A pleasure's from a penny got?

Olindus, with a longing view,
Survey'd the girl--and fortune too;
Wanted apartments--saw the place--
Agreed--'they suited to an ace.'
Thus Waddle, by his saving crown,
Prepar'd a step to throw her down.
Then how to her can blame be let in,
When he was aiding and abetting?

Some said Olindus was two score;
Others presum'd a little more.
But this is darker than a riddle,
With which the Muse shall never meddle.
Whether his capital was aught
Above, or was beneath a groat,
We'll not determine nor aver;
But guess the last, though we should err.

Now things went well 'twixt him and child;
They whisper'd, glanc'd, and squeez'd, and smil'd.
The little Cupids, and the Graces,
Were there, but durst not shew their faces.
Darts, flames, and tales, her passions move;
At length comes everlasting love.
The new-made dough is pliant still,
For you may mould it to your will.
He eas'ly may his point obtain
Who leads a harmless girl in train.

Waddle began to smell a rat;
Yes, when the thief his meal has got;
And told Olindus, with grave face,
'He must provide another place.'
Receiv'd this answer on the nail--
'I'll go to-morrow without fail.'
The night creeps on--Sol's done his best;
The Muse and Waddle go to rest.

THE SECOND PART

Weak talents lead into a snare,
But never aid to get you clear.

Wad. was amaz'd when morn came on,
To find his little daughter gone.
And now black storms and tears were seen--
'O dear, they're gone to Gretna Green!
But I'll prevent them in the end;'
So took a chaise, and took a friend.

Now two post-chaises ran apace,
As if they meant to run a race.
Our pair kept foremost all the while
Till they were set down in Carlisle.
But shall I tell the tidings sad--
Not one post-chaise could there be had.
Venus, the Graces, Cupid too,
Was not this vile neglect in you?
Like will-o-wisp, lure to the snare,
Then leave unwary lovers there!

If they retreat, they meet the foe;
Debarr'd they could not onward go;
Commanding neither chaise nor coach;
Condemn'd to wait the storm's approach.
Dame Fortune prov'd an arrant jilt,
Destroy'd the fabrick nearly built.

'O la, we're ruin'd, lost, undone!
My father's frowns how shall I shun?'
Not Tommy, when he climb'd up high,
Was caught in gutting a mince-pye;
No Priest, who found himself set fast,
Nor found relief while--hem! could last;
Nor Chloe, when blew up her gown,
Shew'd half a leg with stocking down;
Nor even Madam, when her charms
Were found within the footman's arms;
Were half so shock'd as were our pair
When Waddle and his friend came there.

Our groom withdrew; his suit was cross'd;
The case was broke; the jewel lost;
The child restor'd; the swain bereft;
Like father Adam turn'd adrift;
Nay, worse than Adam, we believe,
Because he went without his Eve.

He saw the chamber-maid come down,
And gently twitch'd her by the gown--
'Will you, dear Molly, by me stand?'
Then slipt two guineas in her hand;
Which Molly thought the highest bliss--
She dropp'd a curtsy, he a kiss.
For guineas are, which fortune brings,
The most persuasive earthly things.

Waddle and friend, and daughter sat,
Sometimes in silence, sometimes chat.
He held harangue, and held his tea;
Blam'd naughty girls who disobey.
Whether his views and hers were one,
We'll not determine, but go on.

The chamber-maid, with modest air
And three-inch curtsy, enter'd there--
'Madam, a bed's made up for you;
Be pleas'd to rise and take a view;
For if you any error find
It shall be alter'd to your mind.'

'Twixt Wadd and friend the glasses run;
A current custom when we've won;
That management they amply bless,
Which had been crown'd with such success.

Some moments praise they both enjoy.
Wadd rang the bell; his pipe laid by;
Molly appear'd, with features mild--
'Where, Mistress Molly, is the child?'
'They're gone, Sir, in your chaise!'--'Oh, oh!
Why then the devil with them go.
They may be hang'd for what I heed;
Another step I'll not proceed.
No fool but I, it's my belief,
Opens his door to admit a thief.
Myself I've gull'd in all that's done;
Nay, brought a chaise to help them on!'

As fresh as mack'rel, might be seen,
Our pair set down at Gretna Green.
They made enquiries, without lack,
'Where was the gentleman in black?
Can you unite us two with ease?'
'I can--ten guineas, if you please.'

The swain, 'tis said, look'd rather queer,
But found himself not master there.
'Sir, not a soul beneath the sky
Can tie a faster knot than I.'

The blacksmith sought his tools amain,
And quickly forg'd a marriage chain;
Then link'd together, at one stroke,
The rose-bud and the bulky oak.

My tale is done, fair truth you'll find,
But one remark is left behind.
It teaches when, if you're not poor,
To open, when to shut your door.