Poet Willie, Poet Willie, Gie the doctor a volley, To confound the poor doctor at ance, Muirland George, Wi' your 'liberty's chain' and your wit: To confound the poor doctor at ance. O'er Pegasus' side, Ye ne'er laid a stride, Bar Steenie, Bar Steenie, Wi' people that ken you nae better. Jamie Goose, Jamie Goose, He has cooper'd and ca'd a wrong pin He has cooper'd and ca'd a wrong pin in't. Davie Bluster, Davie Bluster, For a saunt if ye muster, It's a sign they're no nice o' recruits, Yet to worth let's be just, Royal blood ye might boast, If the ass were the King o' the brutes. Davie Bluster, If the ass were the King o' the brutes, Muirland George, Muirland George, Whom the Lord made a scourge, To claw common sense for her sins; If ill manners were wit, There's no mortal so fit, THE SELKIRK GRACE. SOME hae meat, and canna eat, And some wad eat that want it; ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF PEG NICHOLSON. PEG NICHOLSON was a gude bay Peg Nicholson was a gude bay mare, mare, As ever trode on airn; But now she's floating down the Nith, Peg Nicholson was a gude bay mare, An' ance she bare a priest; But now she's floating down the Nith, Peg Nicholson was a gude bay mare, As priest-rid cattle are. WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF OF ONE OF MISS HANNAH MORE'S WORKS, WHICH SHE HAD GIVEN HIM. THOU flattering mark of friendship | She showed her tastes refined and just kind Still may thy pages call to mind The dear, the beauteous donor: Though sweetly female every part, Yet such a head, and more the heart, Does both the sexes honour. When she selected thee, But kind still, I'll mind still ON THE DEATH OF A LAP-DOG NAMED ECHO. IN wood and wild, ye warbling throng, | Ye jarring, screeching things around, Your heavy loss deplore; Now half-extinct your powers of song, Sweet Echo is no more. Scream your discordant joys; Now half your din of tuneless sound With Echo silent lies. ON SEEING MISS FONTENELLE IN A FAVORITE CHARACTER. SWEET naïveté of feature, Wert thou awkward, stiff, affected, Spurning nature, torturing art; Loves and graces all rejected, Then indeed thou'd'st act a part, EPITAPH ON MISS JESSY LEWARS. SAY, Sages, what's the charm on earth Can turn Death's dart aside? It is not purity and worth, Else Jessy had not died. THE RECOVERY OF JESSY LEWARS. BUT rarely seen since Nature's birth, The natives of the sky, Yet still one Seraph's left on earth, LINES WRITTEN ON A BANK NOTE. WAE worth thy power, thou cursed leaf! For lack o' thee I leave this much-lov'd shore, REMORSE. Of all the numerous ills that hurt our peace, That to our folly or our guilt we owe. Lives there a man so firm, who, while his heart Can reason down its agonizing throbs; Can firmly force his jarring thoughts to peace? O glorious magnanimity of soul! THE TOAST. FILL me with the rosy wine, |