A conscience but a canker-
A correspondence fix'd wi' Heav'n,
Is sure a noble anchor.

Adieu, dear, amiable youth!

Your heart can ne'er be wanting;
May prudence, fortitude, and truth
Erect your brow undaunting!

In ploughman phrase, God send you speed,
Still daily to grow wiser!

And may you better reck the rede,"
Than ever did th' adviser!

TO THE REV. JOHN M'MATH,

Enclosing a copy of Holy Willie's Prayer,
which he had requested.

Sept. 17th, 1785.

WHILE at the stook the shearers cow'r

To shun the bitter blaudin'P show'r,

Or in gulravage9 rinnin' scow'r,

To pass the time,

To you I dedicate the hour

In idle rhyme.

My musie, tir'd wi' mony a sonnet

On

gown, an' ban', an' douse black bonnet, Is grown right eerier now she's done it,

Lest they should blame her,
An' rouse their holy thunder on it
And anathem her.

I own 'twas rash, an' rather hardy,
That I, a simple, kintra bardie,
Should meddle wi' a pack sae sturdy,

Wha, if they ken me,

Can easy, wi' a single wordie,

Lowse h-ll upon me.

n Take heed, or pay due attention to good advice.

Shock of corn

p Pelting.

r Frighted.

g Riotous merriment.

s Country.

But I gae mad at their grimaces,

Their sighin', cantin', grace-prood faces,
Their three-mile prayers, an' half-mile graces,
Their raxin't conscience,

Whase greed, revenge, an' pride disgraces
Waur nor" their nonsense.

W

There's Gaun, miska't* waur than a beast,
Wha has mair honour in his breast

Than mony scores as guid 's the priest
Wha sae abus't him;

An' may a bard no crack his jest

What way they've use❜t him?

See him, the poor man's friend in need,
The gentleman in word an' deed;
An' shall his fame an' honour bleed

By worthless skellums,"

An' not a muse erect her head

To cowe the blellums ?a

O Pope, had I thy satire's darts
To gie the rascals their deserts,
I'd rip their rotten, hollow hearts,
An' tell aloud

Their jugglin' hocus-pocus arts

To cheat the crowd.

God knows, I'm no the thing I should be,
Nor am I ev'n the thing I could be,

But twenty times I rather would be,

An atheist clean,

Than under gospel colours hid be

Just for a screen.

A honest man may like a glass,
A honest man may like a lass,

t Stretching.

w Gavin Hamilton, Esq.

u Worse than.
r Miscalled.

y The poet has introduced the two first lines of this stanza inte he dedication of his works to Mr. Hamilton.

z Fellows.

a Idle talkers.

But mean revenge, an' malice fause,b
He 'll still disdain,

An' then cry zeal for gospel laws,
Like some we ken.

They take religion in their mouth;
They talk o' mercy, grace, an' truth,
For what? to gie their malice skouthe
On some puir wight,

An' hunt him down, o'er right an' ruth,
To ruin streight.

All hail, Religion! maid divine!
Pardon a muse sae mean as mine,
Who in her rough imperfect line

Thus daurs to name thee;

To stigmatize false friends of thine

Can ne'er defame thee.

Tho' blotcht an' foul wi' mony a stain,
An' far unworthy of thy train,

With trembling voice I tune my strain
To join with those,

Who boldly dare thy cause maintain
In spite of foes:

In spite o' crowds, in spite o' mobs,
In spite of undermining jobs,
In spite o' dark banditti stabs

At worth an' mexit,

By scoundrels, even wi' holy robes,
But hellish spirit.

O Ayr, my dear, my native ground,
Within thy presbytereal bound
A candid, lib'ral band is found

Of public teachers,

As men, as Christians too, renown'd,

Falee.

An' manly preachers.

c Scope.

Sir, in that circle you are nam'd;
Sir, in that circle you are fam'd

;

An' some by whom your doctrine's blam'd
(Which gies you honour),

Even, Sir, by them your heart's esteem'd,
An' winning manner.

Pardon this freedom I have ta'en,
An' if impertinent I've been,
Impute it not, good Sir, in ane

Whase heart ne'er wrang'd ye,

But to his utmost would befriend

Ought that belang'd ye.

TO MR. M'ADAM, OF CRAIGEN-
GILLAN,

In answer to an obliging Letter he sent in the Commencement of my Poetic Career.

SIR, o'er a gill I gat your card,
I trow it made me proud;
See wha takes notice o' the bard,
1 lapd and cry'd fu' loud.

Now deil-ma-care about their jaw,
The senseless, gawky million;
I'll cock my nose aboon them a',
I'm roos'd by Craigen-Gillan!

'Twas noble, Sir; 'twas like yoursel,
To grant your high protection;
A great man's smile ye ken fu' well,
Is ay a blest infection.

Tho', by his banes wha in a tub
Match'd Macedonian Sandy!
On my ain legs thro' dirt an' dub,
I independent stand ay.-

d Did leep.

And when those legs to guid, warm kail,
Wi' welcome canna bear me ;
A lee dykef-side, a sybow-tail,.

And barley-sconeh shall cheer me.
Heaven spare you lang to kiss the breath
O' mony flow'ry simmers !i
And bless your bonnie lasses baith,

I'm tald they're loosome kimmers !!

And God bless young Dunaskin's laird,
The blossom of our gentry!

And may he wear an auld man's beard,
A credit to his country!

TO TERRAUGHTY,m ON HIS BIRTH-DAY.

HEALTH to the Maxwells' vet'ran chief;
Health, ay unsour'd by care or grief:
Inspir'd, I turn'd Fate's sybil leaf,

This natal morn,

I see thy life is stuff o' prief,"

Scarce quite half worn.

This day thou metes three-score eleven,
And I can tell that bounteous Heaven
(The second sight, ye ken, is given
To ilka poet),

On thee a tack o' seven times seven
Will yet bestow it.

If envious buckies view wi' sorrow,
Thy lengthen'd days on this blest morrow,
May desolation's lang-teeth'd harrow,
Nine miles an hour,

Rake them like Sodom and Gomorrah,

e Shaded, or grassy.

In brunstane stoure.°

Summers.

f Wall. g A sort of leek. h Cake. k Both. 7 Lovely girls. n Proof. m Mr. Maxwell, of Terraughty, near Dumfries. • Brimstone dust.