TO THE SAME,

ON THE AUTHOR BEING THREATENED WITH HIS

RESENTMENT.

SPARE me thy vengeance, Galloway,
In quiet let me live:

I ask no kindness at thy hand,
For thou hast none to give.

VERSES TO J. RANKINE.‡

AE day, as Death, that grusome carl,
Was driving to the tither warl'
A mixtie-maxtie motley squad,
And monie a guilt-bespotted lad;
Black gowns of each denomination,
And thieves of every rank and station,
From him that wears the star and garter,
To him that wintles in a halter;
Asham'd himsel to see the wretches,
He mutters, glowrin at the bitches,

66

By God I'll not be seen behint them, Nor 'mang the sp'ritual core present them,

Printed in the Glasgow Collection in 1801.

VOL. III.

Without, at least, ae honest man,
Το grace this damn'd infernal clan."
By Adamhill a glance he threw,
"Lord God!" quoth he, "I have it now,
There's just the man I want, i' faith,"
And quickly stoppit Rankine's breath.

EXTEMPORANEOUS EFFUSION, ON BEING APPOINTED TO THE EXCISE.*

SEARCHING auld wives' barrels,

Och, hon! the day!

That clarty barm should stain my

But-what'll ye say?

laurels ;

These movin' things, ca'd wives and weans,
Wad move the very hearts o' stanes!

ON HEARING THAT THERE WAS FALSEHOOD

IN THE REV. DR. B-- 'S VERY LOOKS.*

THAT there is falsehood in his looks

I must and will deny :

They say their master is a knave—
And sure they do not lie.

* Printed in Cromek's Reliques.

POVERTY.

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.

ON A SCHOOLMASTER IN CLEISH PARISH, FIFESHIRE.+

HERE lie Willie Michie's banes;
O Satan, when ye tak him,
Gie him the schoolin' of your weans,
For clever De'ils he'll mak them!

LINES

WRITTEN AND PRESENTED TO MRS. KEMBLE, ON SEEING

HER IN THE CHARACTER OF YARICO.

Dumfries Theatre, 1794.

KEMBLE, thou cur'st my unbelief
Of Moses and his rod;
At Yarico's sweet notes of grief
The rock with tears had flow'd.

+ Printed in Cromek's Reliques.

Printed in the Glasgow Collection in 1801.

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.

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 hearing;

What are your

ledgers:

landlords' rent-rolls? taxing

What premiers, what? even Monarchs' mighty

gaugers:

Nay, what are priests, those seeming godly wise men ?

What are they, pray, but spiritual Excisemen?

LINES WRITTEN ON THE WINDOW 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 plea

sures,

But Folly has raptures to give.

EXTEMPORE IN THE COURT OF SESSION.*

TUNE' GILLICRANKIE.'

LORD ADVOCATE.

He clench'd his pamphlets in his fist,

He quoted and he hinted,
Till in a declamation-mist,
His argument he tint it :

He gaped for't, he graped for't,

He fand it was awa, man;

But what his common sense came short,

He eked out wi' law, man.

• Printed in Cromek's Reliques.