Ye'll get the best o' moral works, 'Mang black Gentoos and Pagan Turks, Or hunters wild on Ponotaxi, Wha never heard of Orth-d-xy. That he's the poor man's friend in need, It's no thro' terror of D-mn-t--n; Morality, thou deadly bane, Thy tens o' thousands thou hast slain ! No-stretch a point to catch a plack; Ply Ply ev'ry art o' legal thieving; No matter, ftick to found believing. Learn three-mile pray'rs, an' half-mile graces, Wi' weel-fpread looves, an' lang, wry faces; And damn a' parties but your own; O ye wha leave the fprings of C-lv-n, Ye'll fome day squeel in quaking terror! When Vengeance draws the fword in wrath, And in the fire throws the sheath; When Ruin, with his sweeping befom, Just frets till Heav'n commiffion gies him: While o'er the Harp pale Mis'ry moans, Still louder fhrieks, and heavier groans Your pardon, Sir, for this digreffion, ! So, Sir, you fee 'twas nae daft vapour, I thought them fomething like yourfel. Then patronize them wi' your favour, But that's a word I need na fay: } For For prayin I hae little skill o't; I'm baith dead-fweer, an' wretched ill o't; But I'fe repeat each poor man's pray'r, May ne'er Misfortune's gowling bark, • Howl thro' the dwelling o' the Clerk! 6 May ne'er his gen'rous, honeft heart, For that fame gen'rous spirit smart ! May K******'s far-honoured name • Till H*******s, at least a dizen, Are frae their nuptial labours risen : May Health and Peace, with mutual rays, • Shine on the ev'ning o' his days; Till his wee, curlie John's ier-oe, I will not wind a lang conclufion, But whilft your wishes and endeavours, But if (which Pow'rs above prevent) By fad mistakes, and black mischances, Make you as poor a dog as I am, Your humble fervant then no more ; For who would humbly serve the Poor! But, |