Thanks t'ye, Captain, for this fwatch
Of our store, and your favour;
Gin I be spar'd, your love to match
Shall still be my endeavour.
Next unto you,

My service due

Please gi'e to Matthew Cumin *,
Wha with fair heart

Has play'd his part,

And fent them true and trim in.

* Merchant in Glasgow, and one of the late magistrates of that city

1721.

TO THE MUSIC CLUB.

ERE on old Shinar's plain the fortress rose,
Rear'd by thofe giants who durft heav'n oppose,
An univerfal language mankind us'd,

Till daring crimes brought accents more confus'd;
Discord and jar for punishment were hurl'd
On hearts and tongues of the rebellious world.

The primar speech with notes harmonious clear,
(Transporting thought!) gave pleasure to the ear:
Then mufic in its full perfection fhin'd,
When man to man melodious spoke his mind.

As when a richly-fraughted fleet is loft
In rolling deeps, far from the ebbing coast,
Down many fathoms of the liquid mafs,
The artist dives in ark of oak or brass;
Snatches fome ingots of Peruvian ore,
And with his prize rejoicing makes the fhore:
Oft this attempt is made, and much they find
They fwell in wealth, tho' much is left behind.

AA 3

;

Amphion's

Amphion's fons, with minds elate and bright, Thus plunge th' unbounded ocean of delight, And daily gain new stores of pleasing founds, To glad the earth, fixing to spleen its bounds; While vocal tubes and confort strings engage To speak the dialect of the golden age. Then you, whose fymphony of fouls proclaim Your kin to heav'n, add to your country's fame, And fhew that mufic may have as good fate In Albion's glens, as Umbria's green retreat; And with Correlli's foft Italian fong

Mix "Cowdenknows," and "Winter nights are "long :"

Nor fhould the martial "Pibrough" be defpis'd; Own'd and refin'd by you, these shall the more be priz'd.

Each ravish'd ear extols your heav'nly art, Which foothes our care, and elevates the heart; Whilft hoarfer founds the martial ardours move, And liquid notes invite to fhades and love.

Hail! fafe restorer of diftemper'd minds, That with delight the raging paffions binds Extatic concord, only banish'd hell, Most perfect where the perfect beings dwell. Long may our youth attend thy charming rites, Long may they relish thy transported fweets.

AN EPISTLE TO MR. JAMES ARBUCKLE;

DESCRIBING THE AUTHOR.

EDINBURGH, January 1719.

As errant knight, with fword and pistol,
Bestrides his steed with mighty fiftle;
Then stands some time in jumbled fwither,
To ride in this road, or that ither;
At last spurs on, and difna care for
A how, a what way, or a wherefore.

Or like extemporary quaker,

*

Wafting his lungs, t' enlighten weaker
Lanthorns of clay, where light is wanting,
With formless phrafe, and formal canting;
While Jacob Boehmen's falt does feason,
And faves his thought frae corrupt reason,
Gowling aloud with motions queerest,
Yerking those words out which lye nearest.

Thus

*The Teutonic philofopher, who wrote volumes of unintelligible enthufiaftic bombaft.

Thus I (no longer to illustrate
With fimiles, left I should frustrate
Design laconic of a letter,

With heap of language, and no matter,)
Bang'd up my blyth auld-fashion'd whistle,
To fowf ye o'er a fhort epistle,
Without rule, compaffes, or charcoal,
Or serious study in a dark hole.
Three times I ga'e the muse a rug,
Then bit my nails, and claw'd my lug;
Still heavy at the last my nofe
I prim'd with an inspiring dose *,
Then did ideas dance (dear fafe us!)

As they'd been daft.-Here ends the preface.

Good Mr. James Arbuckle, Sir,
(That's merchants' ftyle as clean as fir,)
Ye 're welcome back to Caledonie t,
Lang life and thriving light upon ye,
Harvest, winter, fpring, and fummer,
And ay keep up your heartfome humour,
That ye may thro' your lucky task go,
Of brushing up our fifter Glasgow ;

Where

* Vide Mr. Arbuckle's Poem on Snuff.

+ Having been in his native Ireland, vifiting his friends.