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EXTEMPORE IN THE COURT OF

SESSION.

Tune, Gillicrankie.

LORD ATE.

HE clench'd his pamphlets in his fist,

He quoted and he hinted,

Till in a declamation-mist,
His argument he tint* it:
He gaped for't, he graped for't,

He fand it was awa, man;

But what his common sense came short,
He eked out wi' law, man.

MR. ER-NE,

Collected Harry stood awee,

Then open'd out his arm, man;
His lordship sat wi' ruefu' e'e,

And ey'd the gathering storm, man:
Like wind-driv'n hail it did assail,
Or torrents owre a lin, man;

The Bench sae wise lift up their eyes,
Half-wauken'd wi' the din, man.

Tint-lost.

VERSES TO J. RANKEN.

(The Person to whom his Poem on shooting the Partridge is addressed, while Ranken occupied the Farm of Adam-Hill, in Ayrshire.)

AE day, as Death, that grusome carl,
Was driving to the tither warl'
A mixtie-maxtie motley squad,
And mony a guilt-bespotted lad;
Black gowns of each denomination,
And thieves of every rank and station,
From him that wears the star and garter,
To him that wintles* in a halter:

Asham'd himsel to see the wretches,

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He mutters, glow'rin at the bitches,

By G-d I'll not be seen behint them,
'Nor 'mang the spir'tual core present them,
"Without, at least ae honest man,

To grace this dd infernal clan.'
By Adamhill a glance he threw,
'L-d God!' quoth he, I have it now,
There's just the man I want, i' faith,'
And quickly stoppit Ranken's breath.

* The word Wintle, denotes sudden and involuntary motion. In the ludicrous sense in which it is here applied, it may be admirably translated by the vulgar London expression of Dancing upon nothing.

On hearing that there was Falsehood in the Rev. Dr. B's very Looks.

THAT there is falsehood in his looks

I must and will deny :

They say their master is a knave

And sure they do not lie.

On a Schoolmaster in Cleish Parish, Fifeshire.

Here lie Willie M-hie's banes,

O Satan, when ye tak him,

Gie him the schulin of your weans;
For clever Deils he'll mak 'em!

ADDRESS TO GENERAL DUMOURIER,

(A PARODY ON ROBIN ADAIR.)

YOU'RE Welcome to Despots, Dumourier;
You're welcome to Despots, Dumourier.—

How does Dampiere do?

Aye, and Bournonville too?

Why did they not come along with you, Dumou rier?

I will fight France with you, Dumourier,—
I will fight France with you, Dumourier :-

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I will fight France with you,

I will take my chance with you;

By my soul I'll dance a dance with you, Dumourier.

Then let us fight about, Dumourier;

Then let us fight about, Dumourier;
Then let us fight about,

Till freedom's spark is out,

Then we'll be d-mn'd no doubt-Dumourier.

ELEGY

ON THE YEAR 1788.

A SKETCH.

FOR Lords or Kings I dinna mourn,
E'en let them die-for that they're born:
But oh! prodigious to reflec'!

A Towmont, Sirs, is gane to wreck!
O Eighty-eight, in thy sma' space
What dire events ha'e taken place!
Of what enjoyments thou hast reft us!
In what a pickle thou hast left us!

The Spanish empire's tint a head,
An' my auld teethless Bawtie's dead;
The tulzie's sair 'tween Pitt an' Fox,
And 'tween our Maggie's twa wee cocks;

A Towmont-A Twelvemonth.

The tane is game, a bluidie devil,
But to the hen-birds unco civil;
The tither's something dour o' treadin,
But better stuff ne'er claw'd a midden-

Ye ministers, come mount the poupit,
An' cry till ye be haerse an' roupet,
For Eighty-eight he wish'd you weel,
An' gied you a' baith gear an' meal;
E'en mony a plack, and mony a peck,
Ye ken yoursels, for a little feck!-

Ye bonie lasses, dight your e'en, For some o' you ha'e tint a frien'; In Eighty-eight, ye ken, was ta'en What ye'll ne'er ha'e to gie again.

Observe the very nowt an' sheep, How dowf and daviely they creep; Nay, even the yirth itsel does cry, For E'nbrugh wells are grutten dry.

O Eighty-nine, thou's but a bairn,
An' no o'er auld, I hope, to learn!
Thou beardless boy, I pray tak care,
Thou now has got thy Daddy's chair,
Nae hand-cuff'd, mizzl'd hap-shackl❜d Regent,
But, like himsel, a full free agent.
Be sure ye follow out the plan

Nae waur than he did, honest man;
As muckle better as you can.

January 1, 1789.

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