An' some, their new-light fair avow,
Just quite barefac'd,

Nae doubt the auld-light flocks are bleatin' :
Their zealous herds are vex'd an' sweatin';
Mysel, I've even seen them greetin'
Wi' girnin' spite,

To hear the moon sae sadly lie'd on
By word an' write.

But shortly they will cowe the louns!
Some auld-light herds in neebor towns
Are mind't, in things they ca' balloons,
To tak' a flight,

An' stay a month amang the moons
An' see them right.

Guid observation they will gi'e them;
An' when the auld moon's gaun to lea'e them,
The hindmost shaird, they'll fetch it wi' them,
Just i' their pouch,

An' when the new-light billies see them,
I think they'll crouch!

Sae, ye observe that a' this clatter
Is naething but a 'moonshine matter :'
But tho' dull prose-folk Latin splatter
In logic tulzie,

I hope, we bardies ken some better

Than mind sie brulzie.

EPISTLE TO J. RANKINE,

ENCLOSING SOME POEMS.

O ROUGH, rude, ready-witted Rankine,
The wale o' cocks for fun and drinkin'!
There's mony godly folks are thinkin',

Your dreams an' tricks Will send you, Korah-like, a-sinkin', Straight to auld Nick's.

Ye ha'e sae monie cracks an' cants And in your wicked, drucken rants, Ye mak' a devil o' the saunts,

An' fill them fou; And then their failings, flaws, an' wants, Are a' seen thro'.

Hypocrisy, in mercy spare it; That holy robe, O dinna tear it! Spare't for their sakes wha aften wear it, The lads in black! But your curst wit, when it comes near it, Rives't aff their back.

Think, wicked sinner, wha ye're skaithing, It's just the blue-gown badge an' claithing O' saunts; tak that, ye lea'e them naething To ken them by,

*A certain humorous dream of his was then making a noise in the country-side

But a miller used him worst of all,

For he crush'd him between two stones.

XII.

And they hae ta'en his very heart's blood
And drank it round and round;
And still the more and more they drank,
Their joy did more abound.

XIII.

John Barleycorn was a hero bold,
Of noble enterprise,
For if you do but taste his blood,
'Twill make your courage rise.

XIV.

'Twill make a man forget his woe; 'Twill heighten all his joy : 'Twill make the widow's heart to sing, Tho' the tear were in her eye.

XV.

Then let us toast John Barleycorn,
Each man a glass in hand;
And may his great posterity
Ne'er fail in old Scotland!

A FRAGMENT.

Tune-" Gillicrankie."

WHEN Guildford good our pilot stood,
And did our helm thraw, man,
Ae night, at tea, began a plea,
Within America, man:

Then up they gat the maskin-pat,
And in the sea did jaw, man;
An' did nae less, in full congress,
Than quite refuse our law, man.

II.

Then thro' the lakes Montgomery takes,
I wat he was na slaw, man:
Down Lowrie's burn he took a turn,

And Carleton did ca', man:
But yet, what-reck, he, at Quebec,
Montgomery-like did fa', man;
Wi' sword in hand, before his band,
Amang his enemies a', man.
III.

Poor Tammy Gage, within a cage,
Was kept at Boston ha', man;
Till Willie Howe took o'er the knowe
For Philadelphia, man:
Wi' sword an' gun he thought a sin

Guid Christian blood to draw, man; But at New-York, wi' knife and fork, Sir-loin he hacked sma', man.

IV. Burgoyne gaed up, like spur an' whip, Till Fraser brave did fa', man ;