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, He fand it was awa, man; But what his common sense came short, MR. ER-NE, Collected Harry stood awee, Then open'd out his arm, man; And ey'd the gathering storm, man: The Bench sae wise lift up their eyes, 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, Asham'd himsel to see the wretches, He mutters, glow'rin at the bitches, By G-d I'll not be seen behint them, To grace this dd infernal clan.' * 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; ADDRESS TO GENERAL DUMOURIER, (A PARODY ON ROBIN ADAIR.) 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, 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; 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, A Towmont, Sirs, is gane to wreck! The Spanish empire's tint a head, A Towmont-A Twelvemonth. The tane is game, a bluidie devil, Ye ministers, come mount the poupit, 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, Nae waur than he did, honest man; January 1, 1789. } |