But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer, A DEDICATION TO GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ. EXPECT na, Sir, in this narration, Then when I'm tir'd-and sae are ye, For fear your modesty be hurt. This may do maun -maun do, Sir, wi' them wha Maun please the great folk for a wamefou; For me! sae laigh I needna bow, For, Lord be thankit, I can plough : And when I downa yoke a naig, The Foet, some guid angel help him, The Patron, Sir, ye maun forgie me, He's just-nae better than he should be. I readily and freely grant, He downa see a poor man want; What ance he says he winna break it; And rascals whyles that do him wrang, But then, nae thanks to him for a' that; Nae godly symptom ye can ca' that; It's naething but a milder feature, Of our poor, sinfu corrupt nature: Ye'll get the best o' moral works, 'Mang black Gentoos and pagan Turks, Or hunters wild on Ponotaxi, Wha never heard of orthodoxy. That he's the poor man's friend in need, Morality, thou deadly bane, Thy tens o' thousands thou hast slain ! Vain is his hope, whose stay and trust is In moral mercy, truth, and justice! No-stretch a point to catch a plack; Abuse a brother to his back; Steal thro' a winnock fra a wh-re, But point the rake that takes the door: No matter, stick to sound believing. Learn three-mile pray'rs, an' half-mile graces, Wi' weel-spread looves, an' lang wry faces; Grunt up a solemn, lengthen'd groan, And damn a' parties but your own; I'll warrant then, ye're nae deceiver, A steady, sturdy, staunch believer. O ye wha leave the springs of C-lv-n, Ye'll some day squeel in quaking terror! Your pardon, Sir, for this digression, So, Sir, ye see, 'twas nae daft vapour, But I maturely thought it proper, When a' my works I did review, To dedicate them, Sir, to You: Because (ye need na tak it ill) I thought them something like yoursel. Then patronise them wi' your favour, I'm baith dead-sweer, an' wretched ill o't; 6 May ne'er misfortune's gowling bark, Howl thro' the dwelling o' the Clerk! May ne'er his gen'rous honest heart, For that same gen'rous spirit smart! May K******'s far honour'd name Lang beet his hymeneal flame, • Till H*******'s, at least a dizen, Are frae their nuptial labours risen ; Five bonnie lasses round their table, And seven braw fellows, stout an' able • To serve their king an' country weel, By word, or pen, or pointed steel! May health and peace, with mutual rays, I will not wind a lang conclusion, But whilst your wishes and endeavours But if (which Pow'rs above prevent !) By sad mistakes, and black mischances, The victim sad of fortune's strife, TO A LOUSE, ON SEEING ONE ON A LADY'S BONNET, AT CHURCH. HA! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie! Your impudence protects you sairly: |