Of Eve's first fire he has a cinder; A broom-stick o' the witch of Endor, Forbye, he'll shape you aff, fu' gleg, The knife that nicket Abel's craig It was a faulding jocteleg, Or lang kail-guillie. But wad ye see him in his glee, And port, O port! shine thou a wee, Now, by the powers o' verse and prose! Thou art a dainty chield, O Grose! Whae'er o' thee shall ill suppose, They sair misca' thee; I'd take the rascal by the nose, Wad say, Shame fa' thee! LINES WRITTEN IN A WRAPPER, INCLOSING A LETTER TO CAPTAIN GROSE TO BE LEFT WITH MR. CARDONNEL, ANTIQUARIAN. Tune-"Sir John Malcolm." KEN ye aught o' Captain Grose? If he's amang his friends or foes? Iram, coram, dago. Is he South, or is he North? Igo, and ago, Or drowned in the river Forth? Iram, coram, dago. Is he slain by Highland bodies? Igo, and ago, And eaten like a weather haggis? Iram, coram, dago. Is he to Abram's bosom gane? Igo, and ago, Or hauden Sarah by the wane? Iram, coram dago. Where'er he be, the Lord be near him! As for the Deil, he durst na steer him, Iram, coram, dago. But please transmit the enclosed letter, Which will oblige your humble debtor, So may ye hae auld stanes in store, The very satnes that Adam bore. Iram, coram, dago. So may ye get in glad possession, Igo, and ago, The coins o' Satan's coronation! THE Deil got notice that Grose was a-dying, And saw each bed-post with its burden a-groaning, *Mr. Grose was exceedingly corpulent, and used to rally himself with the greatest good humor, 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 it birth to a very late Hour: VOL. II.-F THIS Wot ye all whom it concerns, October twenty-third, A ne'er-to-be-forgotten day, Sae far I spreckled up the brae, I dinner'd wi' a Lord. I've been at drucken writers' feasts, I've even join'd the honor'd jorum, But wi' a Lord-stand out my shin, Up higher yet, my bonnet; And sic a Lord-lang Scotch ells twa, But oh for Hogarth's magic pow'r! And how he star'd and stammer'd, I sliding shelter'd in a nook, Like some portentous omen ; I marked nought uncommon. I watch'd the symptoms o' the Great, The fient a pride nae pride, had he, Then from his Lordship I shall learn, THE INVENTORY, IN ANSWER TO A MANDATE BY THE SURVEYOR OF THE TAXES. SIR, as your mandate did request, Imprimis then, for carriage cattle, |