So, row'd his hurdiest in a hammock, He ne'er was gien to great misguidin', The Muse was a' that he took pride in, Jamaica bodies, use him weel, He wad na wrang'd the vera Deil, Fareweel, my rhyme-composing billie! Now bonniely! I'll toast ye in my hindmost gillie, ELEGY ON THE YEAR 1788. January 1, 780. FOR lords or kings I dinna mourn, E'en let them die-for that they're born! The Spanish empire 's tintb a head, • Rolled, wrapped. t Loins, or backside. w To wrap, to cover. y Ill-natured, malicious. a Twelvemonth. b Lost. N u Pockets, Snug shelter. z Dimin. of Gill. The toolzie's teughe 'tween Pitt and Fox, Ye ministers, come mount the pulpit, Ye bonnie lasses dight" your een, Observe the very nowto an' sheep, O Eighty-nine, thou 's but a bairn, Be sure to follow out the plan Nae waurt than he did, honest man! As muckle better as you can. k Goods, effects. An old coin, the third part of a Scotch penny. m Value, or consideration. Black cattle. Earth. p Pithless. n Wipe. s Wept Worse. ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT RUISSEAUX." Now Robin lies in his last lair,w He'll gabble rhyme, nor sing nae mair, Cauld poverty, wi' hungry stare, Nae mair shall fear him ; Nor anxious fear, nor cankert care, E'er mair come near him. To tell the truth, they seldom fashty him; Then wi' a rhyme or song he lasht 'em, Though he was bred to kintra wark, To mak a man; But tell him, he was learn'd and clark, ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF PEG NICHOLSON, A favourite Mare belonging to Mr. W. Nicol, of the High School, Edinburgh-the Willie' that brew'd a Peck o' Maut.' PEG Nicholson was a gude bay mare, As ever trode on airn ;c But now she's floating down the Nith, Peg Nicholson was a gude bay mare, u Ruisseaux-a play on his own name. w A place for lying down. Troubled. c Iron. z Country. b Learned and clever. d A tributary stream of the Nith. But now she's floating down the Nith, Peg Nicholson was a gude bay mare, Peg Nicholson was a gude bay mare, An' meikle oppress'd an' bruised she was, EPIGRAMS, &c. EPIGRAM On Elphinstone's translation of Martial's Epigrams, O THOU Whom Poetry abhors, Whom Prose has turned out of doors, Heard'st thou that groan-proceed no further, 'Twas laurell'd Martial roaring murder. EXTEMPORE, WRITTEN 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. VERSES Written on the windows of the Globe Tavern, Dumfries. THE grey-beard, old Wisdom, may boast of hrs treasures, Give me with gay Folly to live; I grant him his calm-blooded, time-settled pleasures, But Folly has raptures to give. e Did bear. f Much. I MURDER hate by field or flood, The deities that I adore, Are social Peace and Plenty; IN politics if thou would'st mix, Bear this in mind, Be deaf and blind, EPIGRAM ON CAPTAIN GROSE. THE Devil got notice that Grose was a-dying, moaning, And saw each bed-post with its burden a-groaning, Astonish'd, confounded, cry'd Satan, By G-d, I'll want 'im ere I take such a damnable load! EXTEMPORE, In answer to an invitation to spend an hour at a Tavern. f Mr. Grose was exceedingly corpulent, and used to rally himself, with the greatest good humour, on the singular rotundity of his figure. This Epigram, written by Burns in a moment of festivity, was so much relished by the antiquarian, that he made it serve as an excuse for prolonging the convivial occasion that gave i birth to a very late hour. |