A DREAM.

Thoughts, words, and deeds, the statute blames with reason; But surely dreams were ne'er indicted treason.

[On reading, in the public papers, the Laureat's Ode, with the other parade of June 4, 1786, the author was no sooner dropped asleep than he imagined himself transported to the birthday levee; and in his dreaming fancy made the following Address.]

GUID-MORNIN to your Majesty!
May heav'n augment your blisses,
every new birth-day ye see;
A humble poet wishes!

On

My bardship here, at your levee,
On sic a day as this is,
Is sure an uncouth sight to see;
Amang the birth-day dresses
Sae fine this day.

I see ye're complimented thrang,
By mony a lord and lady;
'God save the king!''s a cuckoo sang
That's unco easy said aye;

The poets, too, a venal gang,

Wi' rhymes weel-turn'd and ready, Wad gar you trow ye ne'er do wrang, But aye unerring steady,

On sic a day.

For me! before a monarch's face,
Ev'n there I winna flatter;

For neither pension, post, nor place,
Am I your humble debtor:

VOL. I.

H

So, nae reflection on your grace,
Your kingship to bespatter:

There's monie waur been o' the race,

And aiblins ane been better

Than you this day.

'Tis very true, my sov'reign king,
My skill may weel be doubted:
But facts are chiels that winna ding,
An' downa be disputed:

Your royal nest, beneath your wing,
Is e'en right reft an' clouted,
And now the third part of the string,
An' less, will gang about it

Than did ae day.

Far be't frae me that I aspire
To blame your legislation,
Or say, ye wisdom want, or fire,
To rule this mighty nation!
But faith! I muckle doubt, my Sire,

Ye've trusted ministration

To chaps, wha, in a barn or byre,

Wad better fill'd their station

Than courts yon day.

And now ye've gien auld Britain peace, Her broken shins to plaster;

Your sair taxation does her fleece,

Till she has scarce a tester;
For me, thank God, my life's a lease,
Nae bargain wearing faster,
Or, faith! I fear, that wi' the geese,

I shortly boost to pasture

I' the craft some day.

I'm no mistrusting Willie Pitt,
When taxes he enlarges

(An Will's a true guid fallow's get,
A name not envy spairges),
That he intends to pay your debt,
An' lessen a' your charges:
But, G-d's sake! let nae saving-fit
Abridge your bonnie barges

An' boats this day.

Adieu, my Liege! may freedom geck
Beneath your high protection;
An' may ye rax corruption's neck,
An gie her for dissection!
But since I'm here, I'll no neglect,
In loyal, true affection,

To pay your Queen, wi' due respect,

My fealty an' subjection

This great birth-day.

Hail, Majesty most Excellent!

While nobles strive to please ye,

Will ye accept a compliment

A simple poet gies ye?

Thae bonnie bairntime, Heav'n has lent,
Still higher may they heeze ye

In bliss, till fate some day is sent,
For ever to release ye

Frae care that day.

For you, young potentate o' W

I tell your Highness fairly,

Down pleasure's stream, wi' swelling sails, I'm tauld ye're driving rarely;

But some day ye may gnaw your nails,
An' curse your folly sairly,
That e'er ye brak Diana's pales,

Or rattl'd dice wi' Charlie

By night or day.

Yet aft a ragged cowte's been known

To mak a noble aiver;

So, ye may doucely fill a throne,

For a' their clishmaclaver:

There, him at Agincourt wha shone,
Few better were or braver;

And yet, wi' funny, queer Sir John2,
He was an unco shaver

For monie a day.

For you, right rev'rend Osnaburg,
Nane sets the lawn-sleeve sweeter,
Although a ribbon at your lug
Wad been a dress completer:
As ye disown yon paughty dog
That bears the keys of Peter,
Then, swith! an' get a wife to hug,
Or, trouth; ye'll stain the mitre
Some luckless day.

Young, royal Tarry Breeks, I learn,
Ye've lately come athwart her;
A glorious galley3, stem an' stern,
Weel rigg'd for Venus' barter;
But first hang out, that she'll discern
Your hymeneal charter,

Then heave aboard your grapple airn,

3

An', large upo' her quarter,

1 King Henry V.

Come full that day.

2 Sir John Falstaff: vide Shakspeare.

Alluding to the newspaper account of a certain royal sailor's amour.

Ye, lastly, bonnie blossoms a'
Ye royal lasses dainty,

Heav'n mak you guid as weel as braw,
And gie you lads a-plenty:
But sneer nae British Boys awa,
For kings are unco scant aye;
An' German gentles are but sma’,
They're better just than want aye
On onie day.

God bless you a'! consider now
Ye're unco muckle dautet;

It

may

But, ere the course o' life be thro',
be bitter sautet:
An' I hae seen their coggie fou,
That yet hae tarrow't at it;
But or the day was done, I trow,
The laggen they hae clautet

Fu' clean that day.

THE VISION.

DUAN FIRST'.

THE sun had clos'd the winter day,
The curlers quat their roaring play,
An' hunger'd maukin ta'en her way

To kail-yards green,

While faithless snaws ilk step betray

Whare she has been.

4 Duan, a term of Ossian's for the different divisions of a See bis Cath-Loda, vol. ii. of M'Pherson's

digressive poem. translation.