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EPIGRAM ON SAID OCCASION.

O DEATH, hadst thou but spar'd his life
Whom we, this day, lament!
We freely wad exchang'd the wife,
And a' been weel content.

Ev'n as he is, cauld in his graff,
The swap we yet will do't;
Take thou the carlin's carcase aff,
Thou'se get the saul o' boot.

ANOTHER.

ONE Queen Artemisia, as old stories tell,
When depriv'd of her husband she loved so well,
In respect for the love and affection he'd show'd her,
She reduc'd him to dust and she drank up the powder.

But Queen Netherplace, of a diffrent complexion,
When call'd on to order the funeral direction,
Would have eat her dead lord, on a slender pretence,
Not to shew her respect, but-to save the expense.

EPITAPH ON HOLY WILLIE.

HERE Holy Willie's sair worn clay
Taks up its last abode;

His saul has taen some other way,
I fear the left-hand road.

Stop! there he is, as sure's a gun,
Poor silly body, see him;

Nae wonder he's as black's the grun,
Observe wha's standing wi' him.

Your brunstane devilship. I see,
Has got him there before ye;
But haud your nine-tail cat a-wee,
Till ance you've heard my story.

Your pity I will not implore,
For pity ye have nane;
Justice, alas! has gien him o'er,
And mercy's day is gane.

But near me, Sir, deil as ye are,
Look something to your credit;

A coof like him wad stain your name,
If it were kent ye did it.

A JEREMIAD.

Ан, woe is me! my mother dear;
A man of strife ye've born me;
For sair contention I maun bear,-
They hate, revile, and scorn me.

I ne'er could lend on bill or bond
That, five per cent, might blest me;
And borrowing, on the t'other hand-
The deil a ane wad trust me.

IO

20

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HERE Stuarts once in glory reign'd,
And laws for Scotland's weal ordain'd;
But now unroof'd their palace stands,
Their sceptre's sway'd by other hands;
The injured Stuart line is gone,

A race outlandish fills their throne.
An idiot race to honour lost,

Who know them best, despise them most.

LINES

ON BEING TOLD THAT THE ABOVE VERSES WOULD AFFECT

HIS PROSPECTS.

RASH mortal, and slanderous poet, thy name

Shall no longer appear in the records of fame ;
Dost not know that old Mansfield, who writes like the
Bible,

Says the more 'tis a truth, sir, the more 'tis a libel?

REPLY TO THE MINISTER OF GLADSMUIR.

LIKE Esop's lion, Burns says, sore I feel
All others scorn- but damn that ass's heel!

LINES

WRITTEN AND PRESENTED TO MRS. KEMBLE, ON SEEING HER

IN THE CHARACTER OF YARICO IN THE DUMFRIES

THEATRE, 1794.

KEMBLE, thou cur'st my unbelief
Of Moses and his rod;

At Yarico's sweet notes of grief
The rock with tears had flow'd.

LINES.

I MURDER hate by field or flood,
Tho' glory's name may screen us;
In wars at hame I'll spend my blood,
Life-giving wars of Venus.

The deities that I adore

Are social Peace and Plenty ;
I'm better pleased to make one more,
Than be the death of twenty.

LINES

WRITTEN ON A WINDOW, AT THE KING'S ARMS TAVERN,

DUMFRIES.

YE men of wit and wealth, why all this sneering
'Gainst poor Excisemen! give the cause a hearing;
What are your landlords' rent-rolls? taxing ledgers:
What premiers, what? even Monarchs' mighty gaugers:
Nay, what are priests, those seeming godly wise men?
What are they, pray, but spiritual Excisemen ?

EXTEMPORE IN THE COURT OF SESSION.

LORD ADVOCATE.

HE clench'd his pamphlets in his fist,

He quoted and he hinted,
Till in a declamation-mist,

His argument he tint it:

He gaped for't, he grapèd for't,
He fand it was awa, man;

But what his common sense came short,
He eked out wi' law, man.

MR. ERSKINE.

Collected Harry stood awee,

Then open'd out his arm, man ;

His lordship sat wi' ruefu' e'e,

And eyed the gathering storm, man:

Like wind-driv'n hail it did assail,
Or torrents owre a linn, man;

The Bench sae wise, lift up their eyes,
Half-wauken'd wi' the din, man.

A GRACE BEFORE DINNER.

O THOU, who kindly dost provide
For every creature's want!

We bless thee, God of Nature wide,
For all thy goodness lent:

And, if it please thee, Heavenly Guide,
May never worse be sent;

But whether granted, or denied,

Lord, bless us with content!

Amen!

ΙΟ

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