To grant a heart is fairly civil,

But to grant a maidenhead's the devil.-
An' lastly, Jamie, for yoursel,
May guardian angels tak a spell,

An' steer you seven miles south o' hell:
But first, before you see heav'n's glory,
May ye get mony a merry story,
Mony a laugh, and mony a drink,
An' aye eneugh o' needfu' clink.

Now fare ye weel, an' joy be wi' you,
For my sake this I beg it o' you,
Assist poor Simson a' ye can,
Ye'll fin' him just an honest man;
Sae I conclude and quat my chanter,
Your's, saint or sinner,

ROB THE RANTER.

LINES,

WRITTEN EXTEMPORE IN A LADY'S POCKET-BOOK,

GRANT me, indulgent Heav'n, that I may live To see the miscreants feel the pains they give; Deal Freedom's sacred treasures free as air, Till slave and despot be but things which were.

EXTEMPORE LINES,

IN ANSWER TO A CARD FROM AN INTIMATE OF BURNs, WISHING HIM TO SPEND AN HOUR AT A TAVERN.

THE King's most humble servant I,

Can scarcely spare a minute';

But I'll be wi' ye by an' bye;

Or else the Deil's be in it.

LINES,

WRITTEN AND PRESENTED TO MRS. KEMBLE, ON SEEING HER IN THE CHARACTER OF YARICO.

Dumfries Theatre, 1794.

KEMBLE, thou curest my unbelief
Of Moses and his rod;

At Yarico's sweet notes of grief,
The rock with tears had flow'd.

LINES,

WRITTEN ON WINDOWS OF THE GLOBE TAVERN,
DUMFRIES.

THE graybeard, Old Wisdom, may boast of his

treasures,

Give me with gay Folly to live;

I grant him his calm-blooded, time-settled pleaBut Folly has raptures to give.

[sures,

I MURDER hate by field or flood,
Tho' glory's name may screen us;
In wars at hame I'll spend my blood,
Life-giving war of Venus.

The deities that I adore,

Are social Peace and Plenty,
I'm better pleased to make one more,
Than be the death of twenty.

My bottle is my holy pool,

That heals the wounds o' care an' dool,
And pleasure is a wanton trout,
An' ye drink it, ye'll find him out.

IN politics if thou would'st mix,
And mean thy fortunes be;

Bear this in mind, be deaf and blind,
Let great folks hear and see.

LINES,

WRITTEN ON A WINDOW, AT THE KING'S ARMS
TAVERN, Dumfries.

YE men of wit and wealth, why all this sneering 'Gainst poor Excisemen? give the cause a hear

ing;

What are your landlords'rent-rolls; taxing ledgers: What premiers, what? even Monarchs' mighty

gaugers: [men; Nay, what are priests? those seeming godly wise What are they, pray, but spiritual Excisemen?

LINES,

WRITTEN UNDER THE PICTURE OF THE CELEBRATED
MISS BURNS.

CEASE, ye prudes, your envious railing,
Lovely Burns has charms-confess:

True it is, she had one failing,

Had a woman ever less?

SONGS.

THE LASS O' BALLOCHMYLE.

"TWAS even-the dewy fields were green,
On every blade the pearls hang;
The Zephyr wanton'd round the bean,
And bore its fragrant sweets alang:
In every glen the mavis sang,

All nature listening seem'd the while,
Except where green-wood echoes rang,
Amang the braes o' Ballochmyle.
With careless step I onward stray'd,
My heart rejoic'd in nature's joy,
When, musing in a lonely glade,

A maiden fair I chanc'd to spy;
Her look was like the morning's eye,
Her air like nature's vernal smile,
Perfection whisper'd passing by,
Behold the lass o' Ballochmyle!

Fair is the morn in flowery May,
And sweet is night in Autumn mild;
When roving thro' the garden gay,
Or wandering in a lonely wild :
But woman, nature's darling child!
There all her charms she does compile;
Ev'n there her other works are foil'd

By the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle.

O, had she been a country maid,
And I the happy country swain,
Tho' shelter'd in the lowest shed

That ever rose in Scotland's plain!
Thro' weary winter's wind and rain,
With joy, with rapture, I would toil;
And nightly to my bosom strain
The bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle.

Then pride might climb the slipp'ry steep, Where fame and honours lofty shine; And thirst of gold might tempt the deep, Or downward seek the Indian mine; Give me the cot below the pine,

To tend the flocks or till the soil, And every day have joys divine, With the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle.

NAEBODY.

I HAE a wife o' my ain,
I'll partake wi' naebody;
I'll tak cuckold frae nane,
I'll gie cuckold to naebody.

I hae a penny to spend,
There-thanks to naebody;
I hae naething to lend,
I'll borrow frae naebody.

I am naebody's lord,

I'll be slave to naebody;

I hae a guid braid sword,
I'll tak dunts frae naebody.