144 Cornwallis fought as lang 's he dought, An' did the buckskins claw, man; But Clinton's glaive frae rust to save, He hung it to the wa', man. Then Montague, an' Guilford too, Began to fear a fa', man; And Sackville doure, wha stood the stoure, The German chief to thraw, man; For Paddy Burke, like onie Turk, Nae mercy had at a', man ; An' Charlie Fox threw by the box, An' lowsed his tinkler jaw, man. Then Rockingham took up the game, Till death did on him ca', man; But word an' blow, North, Fox, and Co. An' did her whittle draw, man; An swoor fu' rude, through dirt an' blood To make it guid in law, man. -0 THE DEAN OF FACULTY. A NEW BALLAD. [The Hal and Boo referred to in the opening stanzas meant, respectively, the Hon. Henry When Shelburne meek held up his Erskine and Robert Dundas Esq., of Arniston.] So, their worships of the Faculty, Quite sick of merit's rudeness, Chose one who should owe it all, d'ye see, To their gratis grace and goodness. As once on Pisgah purged was the sight Of a son of Circumcision, So may be, on this Pisgah height, Bob's purblind, mental vision: Nay, Bobby's mouth may be opened yet, Till for eloquence you hail him, And swear he has the Angel met That met the Ass of Balaam. SKETCH OF A CHARACTER. [As a specimen of a series of proposed portraitures, this sketch of character was sent by Burns in manuscript to Dugald Stewart, the Poet rather grandiosely speaking of it in his accompanying note as constituting "the postulata, the axioms, the definition of a character." The Professor's silence upon the matter would seem to have implied discouragement.] A LITTLE, upright, pert, tart, tripping wight, And still his precious self his dear delight; Who loves his own smart shadow in the streets In your heretic sins may ye live, and die, Better than e'er the fairest she he meets: Ye heretic eight-and-thirty! But accept, ye sublime Majority, My congratulations hearty. With your honours and a certain king, In your servants this is striking The more incapacity they bring, LINES UNDER THE PORTRAIT OF FERGUSSON. [These verses, dated the 19th March, 1787 were penned under an engraved portrait of Fergusson, in a copy of that poet's works presented by Burns to a young lady in Edinburgh.] CURSE on ungrateful man! that can be pleased, And yet can starve the author of the pleasure! O thou, my elder brother in misfortune! By far my elder brother in the Muses, With tears I pity thy unhappy fate! Why is the bard unpitied by the world, Yet has so keen a relish of its pleasures? A man of fashion, too, he made his tour, Learned Vive la bagatelle! et Vive l'amour! So travelled monkeys their grimace im prove, Polish their grin-nay, sigh for ladies' love. Much specious lore, but little understood; Veneering oft outshines the solid wood: His solid sense by inches you must tell, But mete his cunning by the old Scots ell; His meddling vanity, a busy fiend, Still making work his selfish craft must mend. TO MRS. SCOTT OF WAUCHOPE. [This was Burns's answer to a lengthy and racy copy of verses in the Scottish dialect addressed to him by an accomplished lady of Roxburghshire, a painter and a poetess, Mrs. Scott of Wauchope, who quaintly headed her epistleThe Guidwife of Wauchope House to Rol ert Burns," expressing great admiration of his writings, but very serious doubts as to the accuracy of the statement that he was a ploughman. The Poet not only at once replied per post as follows, but in the course of his Border tour, paid her and her husband a visit at Wauchope.] GUIDWIFE, I mind it weel, in early date, A man I reckoned was, Even then a wish, (I mind its power,) A wish that to my latest hour Shall strongly heave my breast- I turned the weeder clips aside, My envy e'er could raise, But still the elements o' sang, Till on that hairst I said before, She roused the forming strain: IIer witching smile, her pauky een, At every kindling keek, Health to the sex! ilk guid chiel says, Wi' merry dance in winter days, And we to share in common: The gust o' joy, the balm of woe, The saul o' life, the heaven below, Is rapture-giving woman. Ye surly sumphs, who hate the name, Be inindfu' o' your mither; She, honest woman, may think shame Ye 're wae men, ye 're nae men, Ilk honest birkie swears. PROLOGUE. SPOKEN BY MR. WOODS ON HIS BENEFIT NIGHT, MONDAY, APRIL 16, 1787. [Woods, who was for a long while a popular actor in Edinburgh, and who before he came to know Burns had known Fergusson, died in the December of 1802, having retired from the boards only in the previous April.] WHEN by a generous public's kind acclaim, That dearest meed is granted-honest fame: When here your favour is the actor's lot, Nor even the man in private life forgot; What breast so dead to heavenly virtue's glow, Here Douglas forms wild Shakespeare into plan, And Harley rouses all the god in man, When well-formed taste and sparkling wit unite With manly lore, or female beauty bright, (Beauty, where faultless symmetry and grace Can only charm us in the second place,) Witness, my heart, how oft, with panting fear, As on this night, I've met these judges here! But still the hope Experience taught to live, Equal to judge-you're candid to forgive. But heaves impassioned with the grateful No hundred-headed Riot here we meet, throe? Poor is the task to please a barbarous throng, It needs no Siddons' powers in Southern's song; But here an ancient nation famed afar For genius, learning high, as great in war Hail, Caledonia! name for ever dear! Before whose sons I'm honoured to appear! Where every science-every nobler artThat can inform the mind, or mend the heart, Is known; as grateful nations oft have found, With decency and law beneath his feet; Nor Insolence assumes fair Freedom's name: Like Caledonians, you applaud or blame. O Thou dread Power! whose empiregiving hand Has oft been stretched to shield the honoured land, Strong may she glow with all her ancient fire! May every son be worthy of his sire! Firm may she rise with generous disdain At Tyranny's, or direr Pleasure's, chain! Still self-dependent in her native shore, Bold may she brave grim Danger's loudest roar, Far as the rude barbarian marks the Till Fate the curtain drops on worlds to |