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She fell, but fell with spirit truly Roman,
To glut the vengeance of a rival woman :
A woman-tho' the phrase may seem un-
civil-

As able and as cruel as the Devil!

One Douglas lives in Home's immortal page,
But Douglasses were heroes every age:
And tho' your fathers, prodigal of life,
A Douglas followed to the martial strife,
Perhaps if bowls row right, and Right suc-
ceeds,

Ye yet may follow where a Douglas leads!

As ye hae generous done, if a' the land Would take the muses' servants by the

hand;

Not only hear, but patronise, befriend them, And where ye justly can commend, commend

them;

And aiblins when they winna stand the test, Wink hard and say the folks hae done their best!

Would a' the land do this, then I'll be caution

Ye'll soon hae poets o' the Scottish nation, Will fame blaw until her trumpet crack, gar And warsle Time, and lay him on his back! For us and for our stage should ony spier, Wha's aught thae chiels maks a' this bustle here?"

My best leg foremost, I'll set up my brow, We have the honour to belong to you! We're your ain bairns, e'en guide us as ye like,

But like gude mithers, shore before you

strike.

And gratefu' still I hope ye'll ever find us, For a' the patronage and meikle kindness We've got frae a' professions, sets and ranks; God help us! we're but poor-ye'se get but thanks.

N

Written

TO A GENTLEMAN WHO HAD SENT THE POET 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!
This mony a day I've grain'd and gaunted,
How guessed ye, Sir, what maist I wanted?

To ken what French mischief was brewin',
Or what the drumlie Dutch were doin';
If Venus yet had got his nose off;
That vile doup-skelper, Emperor Joseph,
Or how the collieshangie works
Atween the Russians and the Turks ;
Or if the Swede, before he halt,
If Denmark, ony body spak o't;
Would play anither Charles the Twalt :

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,
Or how our merry lads at hame,
Were sayin' or takin' aught amiss;

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,
The news o' princes, dukes, and earls,
Or if bare
yet were tax'd ;
The news o' princes, dukes, and earls,
Pimps, sharpers, bawds, and opera girls;
If that daft buckie, Geordie Wales,

Was threshin' still at hizzies' tails ;
Or if he was grown oughtlins douser,
And na o' 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.

Peg Nicholson. (245)

PEG Nicholson was a good bay mare,
As ever trod on airn;
But now she's floating down the Nith,

And past the mouth o' Cairn.
Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare,

And rode thro' thick and thin; But now she's floating down the Nith, Aud wanting e'en the skin.

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To My Brd. (246)

THOU bed, in which I first began
To be that various creature-Man!
And when again the Fates decree,
The place where I must cease to be;-
When sickness comes, to whom I fly,
To soothe my pain, or close mine eye;-
When cares surround me, where I weep,
Or lose them all in balmy sleep ;-
When sore with labour, whom I court,
And to thy downy breast resort —
Where, too ecstatic joys I find,
When deigns my Delia to be kind-
And full of love, in all her charms,
Thou giv'st the fair one to my arms.
The centre thou-where grief and pain,
Disease and rest, alternate reign.
Oh, since within thy little space,
So many various scenes take place;
Lessons as useful shalt thou teach,
As sages dictate-churchmen preach;
And man, convinced by thee alone,
This great important truth shall own:
"That thin partitions do divide
The bounds where good and ill reside;
That nought is perfect here below;

But BLISS still bordering upon WOE." (247)

First Epistle to Mr. Graham

OF FINTRY.

WHEN Nature her great masterpiece designed, And fram'd her last best work, the human mind,

Her eye intent on all the mazy plan,
She formed of various parts the various man.
Then first she calls the useful many forth;
Plain plodding industry, and sober worth:
Thence peasants, farmers, native sons of
earth,
[birth:
And merchandise' whole genus take their
Each prudent cit a warm existence finds,
And all mechanics' many-apron'd kinds.
Some other rarer sorts are wanted yet,
The lead and buoy are needful to the net;
The caput mortuum of gross desires [squires;
Makes a material for mere knights and

The martial phosphorus is taught to flow,
She kneads the lumpish philosophic dough,
Then marks th' unyielding mass with grave
designs,

Law, physic, politics, and deep divines:
Last, she sublimes th' Aurora of the poles,
The flashing elements of female souls.
The order'd system fair before her stood,
Nature, well-pleas'd, pronounc'd it very good;
But ere she gave creating labour o’er,
Half-jest, she cried one curious labour more.
Some spumy, fiery, ignis fatuus matter,
Such as the slightest breath of air might
scatter;

With arch alacrity and conscious glee
(Nature may have her whim as well as we,
Her Hogarth-art perhaps she meant to show it)
She forms the thing, and christens it--a poet,
Creature, tho' oft the of care and sorrow,
When blest to-day, unmindful of to-morrow,
A being form'd t'amuse his graver friends,
Admir'd and prais'd-and there the homage
ends:

prey

A mortal quite unfit for fortune's strife,
Yet oft the sport of all the ills of life;
Prone to enjoy each pleasure riches give,
Yet haply wanting wherewithal to live;
Longing to wipe each tear, to heal each groan,
Yet frequently unheeded in his own.

But honest Nature is not quite a Turk,
She laugh'd at first, then felt for her poor work.
Pitying the propless climber of mankind,
She cast about a standard tree to find;
And, to support his helpless woodbine state,
Attach'd him to the generous truly great,
A title, and the only one I claim,

To lay strong hold for help on bounteous
Graham.

Pity the tuneful muses' hapless train,
Weak, timid laudsmen on life's stormy main!
Their hearts no selfish stern absorbent stuff,
That never gives-tho' humbly takes enough;
The little fate allows, they share as soon,
Unlike sage proverb'd wisdom's hard-wrung

boon.

The world were blest did bliss on them depend, Ah, that "the friendly e'er should want a friend!"

Let prudence number o'er each sturdy son,
Who life and wisdom at one race begun,
Who feel by reason and who give by rule,
(Instinct's a brute, and sentiment a fool!)
Who make poor will do wait upon I should-
We own they're prudent, but who feels
they're good!

Ye wise ones, hence! ye hurt the social eye!
God's image rudely etch'd on base alloy!
But, come, ye who the godlike pleasure know,
Heaven's attribute distinguished-to bestow!

race:

Whose arms of love would grasp the human
[grace;
Come thou who giv'st with all a courtier's
Friend of my life, true patron of my rhymes!
Prop of my dearest hopes for future times.
Why shrinks my soul half blushing, half afraid,
Backward, abash'd, to ask thy friendly aid?
I know my need, I know thy giving hand,
I crave thy friendship at thy kind command;
But there are such who court the tunefulnine-
Heavens! should the branded character be
mine!
[flows,
Whose verse in manhood's pride sublimely
Yet vilest reptiles in their begging prose.
Mark, how their lofty independent spirit
Soars on the spurning wing of injur'd merit!
Seek not the proofs in private life to find;
Pity the best of words should be but wind!
So to heaven's gates the lark's shrill song
ascends,

But grovelling on the earth the carol ends.
In all the clam'rous cry of starving want,
They dun benevolence with shameless front;
Oblige them, patronise their tinsel lays,
They persecute you all your future days!
Ere my poor soul such deep damnation stain!
My horny fist assume the plough again;
The pie-bald jacket let me patch once more;
On eighteen-pence a-week I've liv'd before.
Tho', thanks to Heaven, I dare even that
last shift!

I trust, meantime, my boon is in thy gift:
That, plac'd by thee upon the wish'd-for

height,

Where, man and nature fairer in her sight, My muse may imp her wing for some sublimer flight.

The Five Carlines. (248)

THERE were five carlines in the south,
They fell upon a scheme,
To send a lad to Lon'on town,

To bring them tidings hame.

Nor only bring them tidings hame,
But do their errands there,
And aiblins gowd and honour baith
Might be that laddie's share.

There was Maggy by the binks o' Nith,
A dame with pride eneugh,
And Marjory o' the Monylochs,
A carline auld and teugh.

And blinkin' Bess o' Annandale,
That dwelt near Solwayside,

And whisky Jean, that took her gill,
In Galloway sae wide.

And black Joan, frae Crichton Peel,
O' gipsy kith and kin-
Five wighter carlines warna foun'

The south countra within.

To send a lad to Lonʼon town,
They met upon a day,

And mony a knight, and mony a laird,
Their errand fain would gae.

O mony a knight and many a laird,
This errand fain would gae ;
But nae ane could their fancy please,
O ne'er a ane but twae.

The first he was a belted knight (249),
Bred o' a border clan,

And he wad gae to Lon'on town,

Might nae man him withstan'.
And he wad do their errands weel,
And meikle he wad say,
And ilka ane at Lon'on court

Would bid to him guid day.

Then next came in a sodger youth (250),
And spak wi' modest grace,
And he wad gae to Lon'on town,

If sae their pleasure was.
He wadna hecht them courtly gifts,
Nor meikle speech pretend,
But he wad hecht an honest heart,
Wad ne'er desert a friend,

Now, wham to choose, and wham refuse,
At strife their carlines fell!

For some had gentle folks to please,
And some would please themsel.

Then out spak mim-mou'd Meg o' Nith,
And she spak up wi' pride,

And she wad send the sodger youth,
Whatever might betide.

For the auld guidman o' Lon'on court (251)

She didna care a pin ;

But she wad send the sodger youth

To greet his eldest son. (252)

Then up sprang Bess o' Annandale,
And a deadly aith she's ta'en,
That she wad vote the border knight,
Though she should vote her lane.
For far-aff fowls hae feathers fair,
And fools o' change are fain;
But I hae tried the border knight,
And I'll try him yet again.

Says black Joan frae Crichton Peel,

A carline stoor and grim,

The auld guidman, and the young guidman, For me may sink or swim;

For fools will freat o' right or wrang,

While knaves laugh them to scorn;

But the sodger's friends hae blawn the best,

So he shall bear the horn.

Then whisky Jean spak owre her drink,
Ye weel ken, kimmers a',

The auld guidman o' Lon'on court,
His back's been at the wa';

And mony a friend that kiss'd his cup,

Is now a fremit wight:

But it's ne'er be said o' whisky Jean

I'll send the border knight.
Then slow raise Marjory o' the Loch,
And wrinkled was her brow,
Her ancient weed was russet grey,
Her auld Scots bluid was true;

There's some great folks set light by me-
I set as light by them;

But I will send to Lon'on town

Wham I like best at hame.

Sae how this weighty plea may end,
Nae mortal wight can tell:
God grant the king and ilka man
May look weel to himsel.

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O for a throat like huge Mons-meg (254),
To muster o'er each ardent Whig

Beneath Drumlanrig's banners;
Heroes and heroines commix
All in the field of politics,

To win immortal honours.
McMurdo and his lovely spouse,
(Th' enamour'd laurels kiss her brows,)
Led on the loves and graces ;
She won each gaping burgess' heart
While he, all conquering, play'd his part
Among their wives and lasses.
Craigdarroch led a light-arm'd corps;
Tropes, metaphors, and figures pour,
Like Hecla streaming thunder;
Glenriddel, skill'd in rusty coins,
Blew up each Tory's dark designs,
And bar'd the treason under.

In either wing two champions fought,
Redoubted Staig, who set at nought

The wildest savage Tory.

And Welsh, who ne'er yet flinch'd his ground,
High wav'd his magnum bonum round
With Cyclopean fury.

Miller brought up the artillery ranks,
The many pounders of the Banks,
Resistless desolation;

While Maxwelton, that baron bold,
Mid Lawson's port entrench'd his hold,
And threaten'd worse damnation.

To these, what Tory hosts oppos'd;
With these, what Tory warriors clos'd,
Surpasses my descriving:
Squadrons extended long and large,
With furious speed rush'd to the charge,
Like raging devils driving.

What verse can sing, what prose narrate,
The butcher deeds of bloody fate

Amid this mighty tulzie ? Grim horror grinn'd; pale terror roar'd As murther at his thrapple shor’d; And hell mixt in the brulzie ! As Highland crags, by thunder cleft, When lightnings fire the stormy lift,

Hurl down wi' crashing rattle;
As flames amang a hundred woods;
As headlong foam a hundred floods;
Such is the rage of battle.

The stubborn Tories dare to die;
As soon the rooted oaks would fly,
Before th' approaching fellers;
The Whigs come on like ocean's roar
When all his wintry billows pour

Against the Buchan Bullers. (255)

CAPTAIN GROSE'S PEREGRINATIONS.

Lo, from the shades of death's deep night, Departed Whigs enjoy the fight,

And think on former daring; The muffled murtherer of Charles (256), The Magna Charta flag unfurls,

All deadly gules its bearing.

Nor wanting ghosts of Tory fame;

If in your bounds ye chance to light
Upon a fine, fat fodgel wight,
O' stature short, but genius bright,
That's he, mark weel-
And wow! he has an unco slight
O' cauk and keel.

By some auld houlet-haunted biggin,

Bold Scrimgeour (257) follows gallant Gra- Or kirk deserted by its riggin,

hame-(258)

Auld Covenanters shiver

(Forgive, forgive, much-wrong'd Montrose! While death and hell engulf thy foes,

Thou liv'st on high for ever!)

Still o'er the field the combat burns;
The Tories, Whigs, give way by turns;

But fate the word has spoken-
For woman's wit, or strength of man,
Alas! can do but what they can-

The Tory ranks are broken!

Oh that my e'en were flowing burns!
My voice a lioness that mourns

Her darling cub's undoing!
That I might greet, that I might cry,
While Tories fall, while Tories fly,

And furious Whigs pursuing!
What Whig but wails the good Sir James;
Dear to his country by the names

Friend, Patron, Benefactor?
Not Pulteny's wealth can Pulteny save!
And Hopeton falls, the generous brave!
And Stuart bold as Hector!

Thou, Pitt, shall rue this overthrow,
And Thurlow growl a curse of woe,
And Melville melt in wailing!
Now Fox and Sheridan rejoice!
And Burke shall sing, "Oh prince, arise!
Thy power is all-prevailing!"

For your poor friend, the Bard afar,
He hears, and only hears the war,
A cool spectator purely;

So when the storm the forest rends,
The robin in the hedge descends
And sober chirps securely.

On Captain Grase's Peregrinations

THROUGH SCOTLAND, COLLECTING THE
ANTIQUITIES OF THAT KINGDOM. (259)
HEAR, land o' Cakes, and brither Scots,
Frae Maidenkirk (260) to Johnny Groats;
If there's a hole in a' your coats,
I rede you tent it:

A chield's amang you taking notes,
And, faith, he'll prent it.

It's ten to ane ye'll find him snug in Some eldritch part,

181

Wi' deils, they say, Lord save's! colleaguin'
At some black art.

Ilk ghaist that haunts auld ha' or chaumer,
Ye gipsey-gang that deal in glamour,
And you, deep-read in hell's black grammar,
Warlocks and witches
Ye'll quake at his conjuring hammer,
Ye midnight bitches.

It's tauld he was a sodger bred,
And ane wad rather fa'n than fled;
But now he's quat the spurtle blade,
And dog skin wallet,
And ta'en the-Antiquarian trade,
I think they call it.

;

He has a fouth o' auld nick-nackets, Rusty aird caps and jinglin' jackets, Wad haud the Lothians three in tackets, A towmont guid;

And parritch-pats, and auld saut-backets,
Before the Flood.

Of Eve's first fire he has a cinder;
Auld Tubalcain's fire-shool and fender:
That which distinguished the gender
O' Balaam's ass;

A broom-stick o' the witch of Endor,
Weel shod wi' brass.

Forbye, he'll shape you aff, fu' gleg,
The cut of Adam's philabeg;
The knife that nicket Abel's craig,
He'll prove you fully,

It was a faulding jocteleg,

Or lang-kail gully.

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