GRUB-STREET NAE SATIRE:

AN ANSWER TO THE FOREGOING.

DEAR John, what ails ye now ?-lie ftill:
Hout man! what need ye take it ill,
That Allan buried ye in rhyme,
May be a start afore ye'r time?
He's naithing but a fhire 'daft lick,
And difna care a fiddlestick,
Altho' your tutor Curl and ye
Shou'd serve him fae in elegy.

Doup down, doild ghaift, and dinna fash us, With "carpet ground," and "nervous" clashes; Your Grub-street jargon Dryden wounds, When mixt with his poetic founds.

You pace on Pegafus! take care,

He'll "bound o'er furrow'd fields " of air,
And fling ye headlong frae the skies,
Never a fecond time to rife:

With fic a fa, alaké! ye 'll e'en a'
Dash into sherds like broken China:

* See John Cowper's Elegy, p. 221.

China

China and men the fame fate skair,
Ah me! baith bruckle earthen ware.

Lang ferv'd ye in a mettl'd station, The foremost beagle of our nation, For fcenting out the yielding creature, Wha us'd to play at whats-the-matter: But now, O fye for fhame! to trudge Mun Curle's poor hackney fcribbling drudge, "To fill his pack," while you, right fair, Gain title braw," his finging bear." But, John, wha taught ye ilka name, That shines fae bonnily in fame, Rofcommon, Stanhope, Ramfay, Dryden, Wha back of winged horfe cou'd ride on? A' them we ken; but wha the d

Bad you up

hill Parnaffus fpeel?

You Ramfay make a feckfu' man,

Ringleader of a hearty clan:

Goodfaith it fets ye well to fear him,

For gin ye etle anes to steer him,

He 'll gloom ye dead:-in "ruftic" phrafe,

He'll gar his "thiftles" rive your

"bays."

PATE BIRNIE.

1728.

REASONS FOR NOT ANSWERING

THE HACKNEY SCRIBLERS.

THESE to my blyth indulgent friends,
Dull faes nought at my hand deserve :
To pump an answer 's a' their ends
But not ae line if they should starve.

Whae'er fhall with a midding fight,
Of victory will be beguil'd;
Dealers in dirt will be to dight,

;

Fa' they aboon or 'neath they 're fil'd.

It helps my character to heez,

When I'm the butt of creeping tools; The warld, by their daft medley, fees That I've nae enemies but fools.

But fae it has been, and will be,
While real poets rife to fame,

Sic poor Macflecknos will let flee
Their venom, and still miss their aim,

Should

Should ane like Young or Somer'le write,
Some canker'd coof can fay, 'tis wrang;
On Pope fic mungrels fhaw'd their spite,
And fhot at Addison their ftang.

But well, dear Spec, the feckless affes,
To wiest infect even'd and painted,
Sic as by magnifying glaffes

Are only kend when throu' them tented.

The blundering fellows ne'er forget,
About my trade to feed their fancies,
As if, forfooth, I wad look blate,
At what my honour maist advances.

Auld Homer fang for 's daily bread;
Surprising Shakspeare fin'd the wool;
Great Virgil creels and baskets made;
And famous Ben employ'd the trowel.

Yet Dorset, Lanfdown, Lauderdale

Bucks, Stirling †, and the son of Angus ‡,

Even monarchs, and of men the wale,
Were proud to be inrow'd amang us.

Then

*The tranflator of Virgil.

William Alexander earl of Stirling, the author of many dramatic pieces.

Gawin Douglas bishop of Dunkeld, the celebrated tranflator of Virgil's Æneid. He was fon of Archibald fixth earl of Angus.

Then, hackneys, write 'till ye gae wood,
Drudge for the hawkers day and night;
Your malice cannot move my mood,
And equally your praise I flight.

I've gotten mair of fame than 's due,
Which is fecur'd amang the best;
And fhould I tent the like of you,
A little faul wad be confeft.

Nae maftiff minds a yamphing cur;
A craig defies a frothy wave;

Nor will a lion raise his fur,

Altho' a monkey misbehave;

NAM SATIS EST EQUITEM MIHI PLAUDERE.

I

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