That when we 're kedgy o'er our claret, We correspond may with your spirit.

Accept of my kind wishes, with The fame to Dons Butler, and Smith Health, wit, and joy, fauls large and free, Be a' your fates-fae God be wi' ye.

1721.

TO THE EARL OF DALHOUSIE.

DALHOUSIE of an auld descent,
My chief, my ftoup, and ornament,
For entertainment a wee while,
Accept this fonnet with a smile.
Setting great Horace in my view,
He to Mæcenas, I to you;

But that my mufe may fing with ease,
I'll keep or drap him as I please.

How differently are fowk inclin'd,
There's hardly twa of the fame mind!
Some like to study, fome to play,
Some on the Links to win the day,
And gar the courfer rin like wood,
A' drappin down with fweat and blood:
The winner fyne affumes a look
Might gain a monarch or a duke.
Neist view the man with pawky face
Has mounted to a fashious place,
Inclin'd by an o'er-ruling fate,
He's pleas'd with his uneasy state;

Glowr'd

Glowr'd at a while, he gangs

fou braw,

Till frae his kittle poft he fa'.

The Lothian farmer he likes best
To be of good faugh riggs poffeft,
And fen upon a frugal stock,

Where his forbeairs had us'd the yoke;
Nor is he fond to leave his wark,
And venture in a rotten bark,
Syne unto far aff countries fteer,
On tumbling waves to gather gear.

The merchant wreck'd upon the main,
Swears he 'll ne'er venture on 't again;
That he had rather live on cakes,
And shyrest swats, with landart maiks,
As rin the risk by ftorms to have,
When he is dead, a living grave.
But seas turn fmooth, and he grows fain,
And fairly takes his word again,
Tho' he fhou'd to the bottom fink,
Of poverty he downa think.

Some like to laugh their time away,
To dance while pipes or fiddles play;
And have nae sense of ony want,
As lang as they can drink and rant.

The

The rattling drum and trumpet's tout
Delight young fwankies that are ftout;
What his kind frighted mother ugs,
Is mufic to the foger's lugs.

The hunter with his hounds and hawks Bangs up before his wife awakes; Nor fpeers gin fhe has ought to say, But fcours o'er highs and hows a' day, Thro mofs and moor, nor does he care Whether the day be foul or fair, If he his trusty hounds can cheer To hunt the tod or drive the deer.

May I be happy in my lays, And won a lasting wreath of bays, Is a' my wish; well pleas'd to fing Beneath a tree, or by a spring, While lads and laffes on the mead Attend my Caledonian reed,

And with the sweetest notes rehearse

My thoughts, and reefe me for

my verse.

If you, my Lord, class me amang

Those who have fung baith faft and strang, Of smiling love, or doughty deed,

To ftarns fublime I'll lift my head.

1721.

TO MR. AIKMAN.

'Tis granted, Sir, pains may be spar'd Your merit to fet forth,

When there's fae few wha claim regard,

Yet poets give immortal fame

To mortals that excel,

Which if neglected they 're to blame;
But you 've done that yourfell.

Fair copies shall be tane,

And fix'd on brafs to bufk our bow'rs,

Your mem'ry shall remain.

To your ain deeds the maist deny'd,
Or of a taste o'er fine,

May be ye 're but o'er right, afraid

To fink in verfe like mine.

The