dle, Some fewer whigmeleeries in your noddle.

NEW BRIG.

Avid Vandal, ye but show your little mense, Just much about it wi' your scanty sense; Will your poor, narrow foot-path of a street, Where twa wheel-barrows tremble when they meet,

Your ruin'd, formless bulk o' stane an' lime, Compare wi' bonnie Brigs o' modern time? There's men o' taste would tak the Ducatstream,*

Tho' they should cast the very sark an swim, Ere they would grate ́their feelings wi' the

View

Of sic an ugly Gothic hulk as you.

AULD BRIG.

Conceited gowk! puff'd up wi' windy
pride!

This monie a year I've stood the flood an' tide;
And tho' wi' crazy eild I'm sair forfairn,
I'll be a Brig, when ye're a shapeless cairn!
As yet ye little ken about the matter,

But twa-three winters will inform you better,
When heavy, dark, continued, a'-day rains,
Wi' deepening deluges o'erflow the plains;

Hanging with threat'ning jut, like precipices;
O'er arching, mouldy, gloom-inspiring coves
Supporting roofs fantastic, stony groves:
Windows and doors, in nameless sculpture
drest,

With order, symmetry, or taste unblest;
Forms like some bedlam statuary's dream,
The craz'd creations of misguided whim;
Forms might be worshipp'd on the bended
knee,

And still the second dread command be free,
Their likeness is not found on earth, in air, or

sea.

Mansions that would disgrace the building taste

Of any mason, reptile, bird, or beast;
Fit only for a doited Monkish race,
Or frosty maids forsworn the dear embrace,
Or cuifs of later times, wha held the notion
That sullen gloom was sterling true devotion;
Fancies that our guid Brugh denies protection,
And soon may they expire, unblest with re-

surrection!

AULD BRIG.

O ye, my dear-remember'd, ancient yealings, Were ye but here to share my wounded feelings!

Ye worthy Proveses, an' mony a Bailie,

ing Coil,

Or stately Lugar's mossy fountains boil,

Or where the Greenock winds his moorland

Ye dainty Deacons, and ye douce Conveeners, To whom our moderns are but causey-clean

To see each melancholy alteration;
And, agonizing, curse the time and place
When ye begat the base, degen'rate race!
Nae langer Rev'rend Men, their country's
glory,

In plain braid Scots hold forth a plain braid story!

Nae langer thrifty Citizens, an' douce,
Meet owre a pint, or in the Council-house;
But staumrel, corky-headed, graceless Gentry,
The herryment and ruin of the country;
Men, three-parts made by Tailors and by Bar-
bers,

Wha waste your well-hain'd gear on d-d new
Brigs and Harbours!

NEW BRIG.

Now haud you there! for faith ye've said enough,

And muckle nair than ye can mak to through

As for your priesthood, I shall say but little,
Corbies and Clergy are a shot right kittle:
But under favour o' your langer beard,
Abuse o' Magistrates might weel be spar'd:
To liken them to your auld-warld squad,
I must needs say, comparisons are odd.
In Ayr, Wag-wits nae mair can hae a handle
To mouth a Citizen," a term o' scandal:
Nae mair the Council waddles down the
street,

In all the pomp of ignorant conceit;

Men wha grew wise priggin owre hops an' raisins,

Or gather'd lib'ral views in Bonds and Seisins.
If haply Knowledge, on a random tramp,
Had shor'd them with a glimmer of his lamp,
And would to Common-sense, for once be-
tray'd them,

Plain, dull Stupidity stept kindly in to aid them.

All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn, Led yellow Autumn wreath'd with nodding

corn;

Then Winter's time-bleach'd locks did hoary show,

By Hospitality with cloudless brow.
Next follow'd Courage with his martial stride,
From where the Feal wild-woody coverts hide;
Benevolence, with mild, benignant air,

A female form, came from the tow'rs of Stair:
Learning and Worth in equal measures trode
From simple Catrine, their long-lov'd abode:
Last, white-rob'd Peace, crown'd with a hazel
wreath,

To rustic Agriculture did bequeath
The broken iron instruments of death;
At sight of whom our Sprites forgat their
kindling wrath.

What farther clishmaclaver might been said,

What bloody wars, if Sprites had blood to shed,

No man can tell; but all before their sight,
A fairy train appear'd in order bright:
Adown the glittering stream they featly
danc'd;

Bright to the moon their various dresses glanc'd:

They footed o'er the watry glass so neat,
The infant ice scarce bent beneath their feet:
While arts of Minstrelsy among them rung,
And soul-ennobling Bards heroic ditties sung.
O had M'Lauchlan,* thairm-inspiring Sage,
Been there to hear this heavenly band engage,
When thro' his dear Strathspeys they bore with
Highland rage,

Or when they struck old Scotia's melting airs,
The lover's raptur'd joys or bleeding cares;
How would his Highland lug been nobler fir'd,
And ev'n his matchless hand with finer touch

inspir'd!

No guess could tell what instrument appear'd,
But all the soul of Music's self was heard;
Harmonious concert rung in every part,
While simple melody pour'd moving on the
heart.

The Genius of the Stream in front appears, A venerable Chief advanc'd in years; His hoary head with water-lilies crown'd, His manly leg with garter tangle bound. Next came the loveliest pair in all the ring, Sweet Female Beauty hand in hand with Spring;

Then, crown'd with flow'ry hay, came rural Joy,

And Summer, with his fervid-beaming eye:

THE ORDINATION.

For sense they little owe to Frugal Heaven.To please the Mob they hide the little given.

I.

KILMARNOCK Wabsters fidge an' claw An' pour your creeshie nations; An' ye wha leather rax an' draw,

Of a' denominations,

Swith to the Laigh Kirk, ane an' a'

An' there tak up your stations;
Then aff to B-gb-'s in a raw,
An' pour divine libations
For joy this day

II.

Curst Common Sense that imp o' h-ll,
Cam in wi' Maggie Lauder:*
But O******* aft made her yell,
An' R***** sair misca'd her;
This day M******* takes the flail,
And he's the boy will blaud her!
He'll clap a shangan on her tail,
An' set the bairns to daub her
Wi' dirt this day.

III.

Mak haste an' turn king David owre, An' lilt wi' holy clangor;

Alluding to a scoffing ballad which was made on the

Violin.

the Laigh Kirk