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TIE

FAREWELL TO THE BRETHREN OF ST.

JIMES'S LODGE,

TARBOLTON.

Tune,' Good night, and joy be wi' you a'!'

I.
Adieu ! a heart-warm, fond adieu!

Dear brothers of the mysic tye !
Ye favour'd, ye enlighten'd few,

Companions of my social joy! Tho' I to foreign lands must hie,

Pursuing Fortune's slidd'ry ba', With melting heart, and brimful eye,

I'll mind you still, tho' far awa'.

II.

Oft have I met your social band,

And spent the cheerful, festive night; Oft, honour'd with supreme command,

Presided o'er the song of light : And by that hieroglyphic bright,

Which none but craftsmen ever saw! Strong memory on my heart shall write

Those happy scenes when far awa'.

III.

May freedom, harmony, and love,

Unite you in the grand design,

Beneath the omniscient eye above,

The glorious architect divine !
That you may keep the unerring line,

Still rising by the plummets law,
Till order bright completely shine,

Shall be my pray'r when far awa'.

IV.

And you farewell! whose merits claim,

Justly, that highest badge to wear! Heav'n bless your honour'd, noble name,

To Masonry and Scotia dear! A last request permit me here,

When yearly ye assemble a', One round, I ask it with a tear,

To him, the Bard that's far awa'.

SONG.

Tune, ' Prepare, my dear brethren, to the Tavern let's fly.'

I.
No churchman am I for to rail and to write,
No statesman nor soldier to plot or to fight,
No sly man of business contriving a snare,
For a big-belly'd bottle's the whole of my care.

II. The peer I don't envy, I give him his bow; I scorn not the peasant, tho' ever so low; But a 'club of good fellows, like those that are here, And a bottle like this, are my glory and care,

III:

Here passes the squire on his brother-his horse ; There centum per centum, the cit with his purse ; But see you the crown how it waves in the air, There a big-belly'd bottle still eases my care.

IV.
The wife of my bosum, alas! she did die :
For sweet consolation to church I did fly;
I found that old Solomon proved it fair,
That a big-belly'd bottle's a cure for all care.

V. I once was persuaded a venture to make; A letter inform’d me that all was to wreck ;But the pursy old landlord just waddled up stairs, With a glorious bottle that ended my cares.

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VI. * Life's cares they are comforts,'*.

-a maxim laid down By the bard, what d'ye call him, that wore the black

gown : And faith I agree with the old prig to a hair ; For a big-belly'd bottle's a heav'n of care.

A Stanza added in a Mason Lodge. Then fill up a bumper and make it o'erflow, And honours masonic prepare for to throw; May every true brother of the compass and square Have a big-belly'd bottle when harass’d with care.

* Young's Night Thoughts. Vol. XXXVIII. X

WRITTEN IN

FRIARS-CARSE HERMITAGE,

ON NITH-SIDE.

Tuou whom chance may hither lead,
Be thou clad in russet weed,
Be thou deckt in silken stole,
Grave these counsels on thy soul.

Life is but a day at most,
Sprung from night, in darkness lost :
Hope not sunshine ev'ry hour,
Fear not clouds will always lower.

As youth and love with sprightly dance, Beneath thy morning star advance, Pleasure with her siren air May delude the thoughtless pair ; Let prudence bless enjoyment's cup, Then raptur'd sip, and sip it up.

As thy day grows warm and high, Life's meridian Alaming nigh, Dost thou spurn the humble vale ? Life's proud summits wouldst thou scale ? Check thy climbing step, elate, Evils lurk in felon wait: Dangers, eagle-pinioned, bold, Soar around each cliffy hold,

While cheerful peace, with linnet song,
Chants the lowly dells among.

As the shades of ev’ning close, Beck’ning thee to long repose ; As life itself becomes disease, Seek the chimney-neuk of ease. There ruminate with sober thought, On all thou'st seen, and heard, and wrought; And teach the sportive younkers round, Laws of experience, sage and sound. Say, man's true, genuine estimate, The grand criterion of his fate, Is not, Art thou high or low? Did thy fortune ebb or flow? Did many talents gild thy span? Or frugal nature grudge thee one? Tell them, and press it on their mind, As thou thyself must shortly find, The smile or frown of awful Heav'n, To virtue or to vice is giv'n. Say, to be just, and kind, and wise, There solid self-enjoyment lies; That foolish, selfish, faithless ways, Lead to the wretched, vile, and base.

Thus resign'd and quiet, creep
To the bed of lasting sleep;
Sleep, whence thou shalt ne'er awake,
Night, where dawn shall never break,
Till future life, future no more,
To light and joy the good restore,
To light and joy unknown before,

Stranger, go! Heav'n be thy guide!
Quod the beadsman of Nith-side.

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