EPISTLE TO REV. JOHN M'MATH My musie, tir'd wi' mony a sonnet b On gown, an' ban', an' douse black bonnet, I own 'twas rash, an' rather hardy, Can easy, wi' a single wordie, Lowse hell upon me. But I gae mad at their grimaces, Whase greed, revenge, an' pride disgraces There's Gaw'n, misca'd waur than a beast, And may a bard no crack his jest What way they've us'd him? See him, the poor man's friend in need, An' not a muse erect her head e To cowe the blellums!? O Pope, had I thy satire's darts grave. b frightened. • let loose. f blusterers. EPISTLE TO REV. JOHN M'MATH I'd rip their rotten, hollow hearts, Their jugglin hocus-pocus arts To cheat the crowd. God knows, I'm no the thing I should be, Than under gospel colours hid be An honest man may like a glass, An' then cry zeal for gospel laws, They take religion in their mouth; An' hunt him down, owre right and ruth, All hail, Religion! maid divine! Thus daurs to name thee; To stigmatise false friends of thine Tho' blotch't and foul wi' mony a stain, With trembling voice I tune my strain, Who boldly dare thy cause maintain In spite of foes: EPISTLE TO REV. JOHN M'MATH In spite o' crowds, in spite o' mobs, In spite o' dark banditti stabs At worth an' merit, By scoundrels, even wi' holy robes, O Ayr! my dear, my native ground, As men, as christians too, renown'd, Sir, in that circle you are nam'd; Even, sir, by them your heart's esteem'd, Pardon this freedom I have ta'en, Whase heart ne'er wrang'd ye, But to his utmost would befriend SECOND EPISTLE TO DAVIE Second Epistle to Davie.1 AULD NEIBOUR, A BROTHER POET. I'm three times doubly o'er your debtor, For my puir, silly, rhymin clatter Some less maun sair.b Hale be your heart, hale be your fiddle, Till bairns' bairns kindly cuddle Your auld grey hairs. But Davie, lad, I'm red ye're glaikitR; Until ye fyke; Sic haun's as you sud ne'er be faikit,h Be hain't wha like. For me, I'm on Parnassus brink, Rivin' the words to gar them clink; Whiles dazed wi' love, whiles dazed wi' drink, Wi' jads or masons; An' whiles, but aye owre late, I think Braw sober lessons. YOUNG PEGGY BLOOMS Except it be some idle plan O' rhymin clink, The devil haet, "-that I sud ban They ever think. Nae thought, nae view, nae scheme o' livin, But just the pouchie put the neive in, An' while ought's there, Then, hiltie, skiltie, we gae scrievin,b An' fash nae mair. Leeze me ond rhyme! it's aye a treasure, The muse, poor hizzie! Tho' rough an' raploch be her measure, Haud to the muse, my daintie Davie : Na, even tho' limpin wi' the spavie Frae door to door. Song.-Young Peggy Blooms.1 Tune-"Loch Eroch-side." YOUNG Peggy blooms our boniest lass, ⚫ never a bit. bhelter skelter we go careering. d commend me to.⚫ coarse. 1 Peggy was a Miss Kennedy, a kinswoman of Gavin Hamilton's wife. She did not marry "the highly favoured c trouble. f trick. youth," and was unfortunate in a life closed by an early death. (Chambers.) |