But what d'ye think, my trusty fier,
I'm turn'd a gauger-Peace be here!
Parnassian
queens, I fear, I fear
Ye'll now disdain me,
And then my fifty pounds a year
Will little gain me.
Ye glaiket, gleesome, dainty damies,
Wha by Castalia's wimplin streamies,
Lowp, sing, and lave your pretty limbies,
Ye ken, ye ken,
That strang necessity supreme is
’Mang sons o men.
I hae a wife and twa wee laddies,
They maun hae brose and brats o' duddies;
Ye ken yoursels my heart right proud is,
I needna vaunt,
But I'll sned besoms-thraw saugh woodies,
Before they want.
Lord help me thro' this warld o' care!
I'm weary sick o't late and air!
Not but I hae a richer share
Than mony ithers;
But why should ae man better fare,
And a' men brithers?
Come, Firm Resolve, tak thou the van,
Thou stalk o' carl-hemp in man!
And let us mind, faint heart ne'er wan
Wha does the utmost that he can,
But to conclude my silly rhyme,
(I'm scant o' verse, and scant o' time),
To mak a happy fire-side clime
To weans and wife,
That's the true pathos and sublime
Of human life.
My compliments to sister Beckie;
And eke the same to honest Lucky,
I wat she is a dainty chuckie
As e'er tread clay !
And gratefully, my guid auld cockie,
SPOKEN AT THE THEATRE, ELLISLAND, ON NEWYEAR'S-DAY EVENING.
No song nor dance I bring from yon great city
That queens it o'er our taste-the more's the pity;
Tho', by the bye, abroad why will you roam?
Good sense and taste are natives here at home:
But not for panegyric I appear,
I come to wish you all a good new-year!
Old Father Time deputes me here before ye,
Not for to preach, but tell his simple story:
The sage grave ancient cough'd, and bade me say,
"You're one year older this important day,"
If wiser too-he hinted some suggestion,
But'twould be rude, you know, to ask the question;
And with a would-be roguish leer and wink,
He bade me on you press this one word—" think!'
Ye sprightly youths, quite flush with hope and
spirit,
Who think to storm the world by dint of merit,
To you the dotard has a deal to say,
In his sly, dry, sententious, proverb way!
He bids you mind, amid your thoughtless rattle,
That the first blow is ever half the battle;
That tho' some by the skirt may try to snatch him;
Yet by the forelock is the hold to catch him;
That whether doing, suffering, or forbearing,
You may do miracles by persevering.
Last, tho' not least in love, ye youthful fair, Angelic forms, high Heaven's peculiar care! To you old Bald-pate smooths his wrinkled brow, And humbly begs you'll mind the important—now! To crown your happiness he asks your leave, And offers bliss to give and to receive.
For our sincere, tho' haply weak endeavours, With grateful pride we own your many favours; And howsoe'er our tongues may ill reveal it, Believe our glowing bosoms truly feel it.
ELEGY ON THE LATE MISS BURNET,
LIFE ne'er exulted in so rich a prize
As Burnet, lovely from her native skies;
Nor envious death so triumph'd in a blow,
As that which laid the accomplish'd Burnet low.
Thy form and mind, sweet maid, can I forget? In richest ore the brightest jewel set!
In thee, high Heaven above was truest shown,
As by his noblest work the Godhead best is known.
In vain flaunt in summer's pride, ye groves;
Thou crystal streamlet with thy flowery shore,
Ye woodland choir that chant your idle loves,
Ye cease to charm-Eliza is no more!
Ye heathy wastes, immix'd with reedy fens;
Ye mossy streams, with sedge and rushes stor❜d;
Ye rugged cliffs, o'erhanging dreary glens,
To you I fly, ye with my soul accord.
Princes, whose cumbrous pride was all their worth,
Shall venal lays their pompous exit hail?
And thou, sweet excellence! forsake our earth,
And not a Muse in honest grief bewail?
We saw thee shine in youth and beauty's pride,
And virtue's light, that beams beyond the spheres:
But like the sun eclips'd at morning tide,
Thou left'st us darkling in a world of tears. The parent's heart that nestled fond in thee, That heart how sunk, a prey to grief and care! So deckt the woodbine sweet yon aged tree, So from it ravish'd, leaves it bleak and bare.
A GENTLEMAN WHO HAD SENT HIM A NEWSPAPER, AND
OFFERED TO CONTINUE IT FREE OF EXPENSE.
KIND Sir, I've read your paper through,
And faith, to me, 'twas really new!
How guess'd ye, Sir, what maist I wanted?
This mony a day I've grain'd and gaunted,
To ken what French mischief was brewin;
Or what the drumlie Dutch were doin;
That vile doup-skelper, Emperor Joseph,
If Venus yet had got his nose off;
Or how the collieshangie works
Atween the Russians and the Turks;
Or if the Swede, before he halt,
Would play anither Charles the twalt:
If Denmark, ony body spak o't;
Or Poland, wha had now the tack o't;
How cut-throat Prussian blades were hingin,
How libbet Italy was singin;
If Spaniard, Portuguese, or Swiss,
Were sayin or takin aught amiss:
Or how our merry lads at hame,
In Britain's court, kept up the
game:
How royal George, the Lord leuk o'er him!
Was managing St. Stephen's quorum ;
If sleekit Chatham Will was livin,
Or glaikit Charlie got his nieve in;
How daddie Burke the plea was cookin,
If Warren Hastings' neck was yeukin;
How cesses, stents, and fees were rax'd,
Or if bare a-s yet were tax'd;
The news o' princes, dukes, and earls,
Pimps, sharpers, bawds, and opera-girls;
If that daft buckie, Geordie W *** S,
Was threshin still at hizzies' tails,
Or if he was grown oughtlins douser,
And no a perfect kintra cooser.
A' this and mair I never heard of;
And but for you I might despair'd of.
So gratefu', back your news I send you,
And pray a' guid things may attend you!
Ellisland, Monday Morning, 1790.
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