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Yet ne'er with Wits prophane to ragen,
Be complaisance extended;
Religion may be blinded;
be litile minded ;
A conscience but a canker-
Your heart can ne'er be wanting! May Prudence, Fortitude, and Truth,
Ereet your brow undaunting!
Still daily to grow wiser ;
Than e'er did th' Adviser!
GONE TO THE WEST INDIES.,
YE wha live by fowpso' drink,,
Comė, mourn wi'me!! Our Billie's gien us a'a jink,
An' owre the Sea!.
Lament him a'
core, Wha dearly like a random splore ; Nae mair he'll join the merry roar,
In focial key; For now he's ta'en another shore,
An owre the Sea!
The bonie laffes weel may wiss him,.. And in their dear petitions place him : The widows, wives, an'a' may bless him
Wi' tearfu' e'e ; For weell I wat they'll fairly miss him
That's owre the Sea!
O Fortune, they hae room to grumble ! Hadft thou taen aff fome drowsy bummle, Wha can do nought but fyke an' fumble,
'Twad been nae. plea ;But he was gleg as cnie wumble,
That's owre the. Sea..
Auld, cantie Kyle may weepers wear, An' stain them wi' the saut, faut tear :: 'Twill make her poor, auld heart, I fear,
In flinders fee. He was her Laureat monie a year,
That's owre the Seas'.
He saw Misfortune's cauld Nor-welt.
Ill may she be!
An'owre the Sea.
'To tremble under fortunes cummock, On scarce a bellyfu' o' drummock, Wi' his proud, independent ftomach,
Could ill agree ;
So, row't his hurdies in a hammock,
An'owre the Sea.
He ne'er was gien to great misguiding; Yet coin his pouches wad na-bide in ;
Wi' him it ne'er was under hiding ;
He dealt it free: The mufe was. a' that he took pride in,
That's owre the Sea.
Jamaica bodies, use him weel, An' hap him in a cozie biel: Ye'll find him ay a dainty chiel,
An' fou o'glee: He wad na wrang'd the vera Deil,
That's owre the Sea..
Fareweel, my rhyme-composing billie! Your native foil was right ill-willie ; But may ye flourish like a lily,
Tho'owre the Sea!
H A G G I S.
Fair fa' your honest, fonfie face
Great Chieftan o' the Puddin race !
Painch, tripe, or thairm : Weel are you wordy o' a grace
As lang's my arm.
In time o' need,
Like amber bead,
His knife.fee Rustic-labour dight, An' cut you up wi' ready Night, Trenching your gushing entrails bright
Like onie ditch: And then, what a glorious fight,
Warm-reekin, rich !
Then, horn for horn they stretch and Atrive, Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive,