But whilst your wishes and endeavours By sad mistakes, and black mischances, Your humble servant then no more; TO A LOUSE: ON SEEING ONE ON A LADY'S BONNET, AT CHURCH. HA! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie! ye strunt rarely, I canna say but Tho' faith, I fear ye Owre gauze and lace; On sic a place. Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner, 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 Now haud ye there, ye're out o' sight, 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, I wadna been surpris'd to spy On 's wyliecoat; But Miss's fine Lunardi! fie, droddum! O Jenny, dinna toss your head, The blastie's makin! Thae winks and finger-ends, I dread, O, wad some pow'r the giftie gie 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! ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH. EDINA! Scotia's darling seat! Here wealth still swells the golden tide, 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, Or modest merit's silent claim; Thy daughters bright thy walks adorn! And own his work indeed divine! There, watching high the least alarms, And mark'd with many a seamy scar: With awe-struck thought, and pitying tears, Fam'd heroes! had their royal home: VOL. I. Q Wild beats my heart to trace your steps, Haply my sires have left their shed, 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. EPISTLE TO J. LAPRAIK, AN OLD SCOTTISH BÁRD. April 1st, 1785. WHILE briers and woodbines budding green, An' paitricks scraichin loud at e'en, An' morning poussie whiddin seen, This freedom in an unknown frien' |