Lapas attēli

I'll warrant then, ye're nae deceiver,
A steady, sturdy, staunch believer.

O ye wha leave the springs of C-lv-n,
For gumlie dubs of your ain delvin!
Ye sons of heresy and error,

Ye'll some day squeel in quaking terror!
When vengeance draws the sword in wrath,
And in the fire throws the sheath;
When Ruin, with his sweeping besom,
Just frets till Heav'n commission gies him:
While o'er the harp pale mis'ry moans,
And strikes the ever-deep'ning tones,
Still louder shrieks, and heavier groans!
Your pardon, Sir, for this digression,
I maist forgat my dedication;
But when divinity comes cross me,
My readers still are sure to lose me.
So, Sir, ye see 'twas nae daft vapour,
But I maturely thought it proper,
When a' my works I did review,
To dedicate them, Sir, to You:
Because (ye needna tak it ill)

I thought them something like yoursel.
Then patronize them wi' your favour,
And your petitioner shall ever-
I had amaist said, ever pray,
But that's a word I needna say:

For prayin I hae little skill o't;

I'm baith dead-sweer, an' wretched ill o't; But I'se repeat each poor man's pray'r, That kens or hears about you, Sir—


May ne'er misfortune's gowling bark Howl thro' the dwelling o' the Clerk! May ne'er his gen'rous, honest heart, For that same gen'rous spirit smart!

May K******'s far honour'd name
Lang beet his hymeneal flame,

Till H*******'s, at least a dizen,
Are frae their nuptial labours risen:
Five bonnie lasses round their table,
And seven braw fellows, stout an' able
To serve their king and country weel,
By word, or pen, or pointed steel!
May health and peace, with mutual rays,
Shine on the evening o' his days;
Till his wee curlie John's ier-oe,
When ebbing life nae mair shall flow,
The last, sad, mournful rites bestow!'
I will not wind a lang conclusion,
Wi' complimentary effusion:

But whilst your wishes and endeavours
Are blest with Fortune's smiles and favours,
I am, dear Sir, with zeal most fervent,
You much indebted, humble servant.
But if (which Pow'rs above prevent!)
That iron-hearted carl, Want,
Attended, in his grim advances,

By sad mistakes, and black mischances,
While hopes, and joys, and pleasures fly him,
Make you as poor a dog as I am,

Your humble servant then no more;
For who would humbly serve the poor?
But, by a poor man's hopes in Heaven!
While recollection's pow'r is given,
If, in the vale of humble life,
The victim sad of fortune's strife,
I, thro' the tender gushing tear,
Should recognise my master dear,
If friendless, low, we meet together,
Then, Sir, your hand-my friend and brother !



HA! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie!
Your impudence protects you sairly:
I canna say but ye strunt rarely,

Owre gauze and lace;

Tho' faith, I fear ye dine but sparely
On sic a place.

Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner,
Detested, shunn'd by saunt an' sinner,
How dare ye set your fit upon her,
Sae fine a lady!

Gae somewhere else, and seek your dinner
On some poor body.

Swith, in some beggar's haffet squattle;
There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle
Wi' ither kindred, jumpin cattle,

In shoals and nations;

Whare horn or bane ne'er dare unsettle
Your thick plantations.

Now haud ye there, ye're out o' sight,
Below the fatt'rils, snug an' tight;
Na, faith ye yet! ye'll no be right

Till ye've got on it,

The vera tapmost, tow'ring height

O' Miss's bonnet.

My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose out,
As plump and gray as onie grozet;
O for some rank, mercurial rozet,

Or fell, red smeddum,

I'd gie you sic a hearty doze o't,

Wad dress your droddum!

I wadna been surpris'd to spy
You on an auld wife's flainen toy;
Or aiblins some bit duddie boy,
On's wyliecoat.

But Miss's fine Lunardi! fie,

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O Jenny, dinna toss your head,
An' set your beauties a' abread!
Ye little ken what cursed speed

The blastie's makin!

Thae winks and finger-ends, I dread,
Are notice takin!

O wad some pow'r the giftie gie us
To see oursels as others see us!

It wad frae monie a blunder free us

And foolish notion:

What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us,
And ev'n Devotion!


EDINA! Scotia's darling seat!

All hail thy palaces and tow'rs, Where once beneath a monarch's feet Sat legislation's sov'reign pow'rs! From marking wildly scatter'd flow'rs, As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd, And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours, I shelter in thy honour'd shade. Here wealth still swells the golden tide, As busy trade his labours plies; There architecture's noble pride

Bids elegance and splendour rise; Here justice, from her native skies, High wields her balance and her rod; There learning, with his eagle eyes, Seeks science in her coy abode.

Thy sons, Edina! social, kind,

With open arms the stranger hail; Their views enlarg'd, their lib'ral mind, Above the narrow, rural vale; Attentive still to sorrow's wail, Or modest merit's silent claim; And never may their sources fail! And never envy blot their name! Thy daughters bright thy walks adorn! Gay as the gilded summer sky, Sweet as the dewy milk-white thorn, Dear as the raptur'd thrill of joy! Fair Burnet strikes th' adoring eye, Heav'n's beauties on my fancy shine; I see the Sire of love on high,

And own his work indeed divine!

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