194 ADDRESS FOR MISS FONTENELLE.

[1795.

Has stripped the cleeding o' your braes? clothing Was it the bitter eastern blast,

That scatters blight in early spring?
Or was't the wil'fire scorched their boughs,
Or canker-worm wi' secret sting?"

"Nae eastlin blast," the sprite replied; "It blew na here sae fierce and fell; And on my dry and halesome banks

Nae canker-worms get leave to dwell: Man! cruel man!" the genius sighed,

As through the cliffs he sank him down, "The worm that gnawed my bonny trees, That reptile wears a ducal crown."

ADDRESS,

SPOKEN BY MISS FONTENELLE ON HER BENEFIT-NIGHT.2

STILL anxious to secure your partial favour, And not less anxious, sure, this night, than ever,

1 This piece was printed, probably for the first time, in a private book, entitled Original Poems on Several Occasions, 2 vols., Greenock, 1817, being chiefly the production of Collector Dunlop of that town, and only ten copies being printed, to be given to friends.

2 December 4, 1795.

ET. 37.] ADDRESS FOR MISS FONTENElle.

195

A Prologue, Epilogue, or some such matter, 'Twould vamp my bill, said I, if nothing better: So sought a Poet, roosted near the skies, Told him I came to feast my curious eyes; Said, nothing like his works was ever printed; And last, my Prologue-business slily hinted. "Ma'am, let me tell you," quoth my man of

Can you - but, Miss, I own I have my fears
Dissolve in pause and sentimental tears,
With laden sighs, and solemn-rounded sentence;
Rouse from his sluggish slumbers fell Repent-

ance;

Paint Vengeance as he takes his horrid stand, Waving on high the desolating brand,

Calling the storms to bear him o'er a guilty land?"

I could no more- askance the creature eyeing, D'ye think, said I, this face was made for cry

ing?

I'll laugh, that's poz

shall know it;

nay, more, the world

And so, your servant, gloomy Master Poet!
Firm as my creed, Sirs, 'tis my fixed belief,
That Misery's another word for Grief;

I also think

so may I be a bride!

That so much laughter, so much life enjoyed.

196 ADDRESS FOR MISS FONTENELLE.

[1795.

Thou man of crazy care and ceaseless sigh,
Still under bleak Misfortune's blasting eye;
Doomed to that sorest task of man alive —
To make three guineas do the work of five;
Laugh in Misfortune's face the beldam witch!
Say, you'll be merry, though you can't be rich.
Thou other man of care, the wretch in love,
Who long with jiltish arts and airs hast strove;
Who, as the boughs all temptingly project,
Measur'st in desperate thought a rope-thy

neck

Or, where the beetling cliff o'erhangs the deep, Peerest to meditate the healing leap:

Wouldst thou be cured, thou silly, moping elf! Laugh at her follies- laugh e'en at thyself: Learn to despise those frowns now so terrific, And love a kinder- that's your grand specific.

To sum up all, be merry, I advise,

And as we're merry, may we still be wise.

ET. 37.] EPISTLE TO COLLECTOR MITCHELL. 197

TO COLLECTOR MITCHELL.

It was probably at the end of the year that the poet addressed a short unceremonious rhymed epistle to worthy Collector Mitchell, alluding to a want of ready money, which he desired his friend to remedy by the temporary advance of a guinea, and also speaking of his illness as leaving him with resolutions of more careful conduct in future.

FRIEND of the Poet, tried and leal,
Wha, wanting thee, might beg or steal;
Alake, alake, the meikle deil

Wi' a' his witches

Are at it, skelpin' jig and reel,
In my poor pouches!

I modestly fu' fain wad hint it,

That one-pound-one, I sairly want it;
If wi' the hizzie down ye sent it,

It would be kind;

footing briskly

servant-girl

And while my heart wi' life-blood dunted, throbbed I'd bear't in mind.

So may the auld year gang out moaning
To see the new come laden, groaning,

198 EPISTLE TO COLLECTOR MITCHELL. [1795.

Wi' double plenty o'er the loanin,1
To thee and thine:

Domestic peace and comforts crowning
The hale design.

POSTSCRIPT.

Ye've heard this while how I've been licket,

And by fell death was nearly nicket;
Grim loon! he got me by the fecket,
And sair me sheuk;

But by guid-luck I lap a wicket,
And turned a neuk.

But by that health, I've got a share o't,
And by that life, I'm promised mair o't,
My hale and weel I'll tak a care o't,

A tentier way;

Then farewell folly, hide and hair o't,

For ance and aye!

cut off waistcoat

more heedful

1 An opening between fields of corn, near or leading to the homestead, left uncultivated for the sake of driving the cattle homewards. Here the cows are frequently milked.