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Your humble servant then no more;
For who would humbly serve the poor?
But by a poor man's hopes in Heav'n!
While recollection's pow'r is given,
If, in the vale of humble life,
The victim sad of Fortune's strife,
I, thro' the tender gushing tear,
Should recognise my master dear,
If friendless, low, we meet together,
Then, Sir, your hand-my friend and brother.

LINES

ADDRESSED TO MR. JOHN RANKEN.

AE day as death, that grusome carl,
Was driving to the tither warl'
A mixtie-maxtie motley squad,
And monie 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 himself to see the wretches,
He mutters, glow'ring at the b-es,
: "Ay G-I'll not be seen behint them,
Nor 'mang the sp'ritual corps present them,
Without, at least, ae honest man,

To grace this damn'd infernal clan."
By Adamhill a glance he threw,

"L-d G-d!" quoth he, "I have it now,
There's just the man I want, in faith,"
And quickly stopped Ranken's breath.

LINES

WRITTEN BY BURNS, WHILE ON HIS DEATH-BED, TO THE SAME.

He who of R-k-n sang, lies stiff and dead:
And a green grassy hillock hides his head;
Alas! alas! a devilish change indeed!

EXTEMPORE

ON THE LATE MR. WILLIAM SMELLIE.

To Crochallan came* The old cock'd hat, the grey Surtout, the same; His bristling beard just rising in its might, 'Twas four long nights and days to shaving-night; His uncomb'd grizzly locks wild staring, thatch'd A head for thought profound and clear, unmatch'd; Yet, tho' his caustic wit was biting, rude,

His heart was warm, benevolent, and good.

* Mr. Smellie and Burns were both members of a club in Edinburgh, called the Crochallan Fencibles.

EXTEMPORE.

At a Meeting of the Dumfriesshire Volunteers, held to commemorate the anniversary of Rodney's Victory, April 12th, 1782, Burns was called upon for a Song, instead of which he delivered the following Lines extempore:

Instead of a song, boys, I'll give you a toast, Here's the memory of those on the twelfth that we lost:

That we lost, did I say, nay, by Heav'n, that we

found,

For their fame it shall last while the world goes round.

The next in succession, I'll give you the king,
Whoe'er would betray him, on high may he swing;
And here's the grand fabric, our free Constitution,
As built on the base of the great Revolution;
And, longer with Politics not to be cramm'd,
Be Anarchy curs,d and be Tyranny damn'd;
And who would to Liberty e'er prove disloyal,
May his son be a hangman, and he the first trial.

TO MR. $**E ON REFUSING TO DINE WITH HIM,
AFTER HAVING BEEN PROMISED THE FIRST OF
COMPANY, AND THE FIRST OF COOKERY.

No more of your guests, be they titled or not,
And cook'ry the first in the nation;

Who is proof to thy personal converse and wit,
Te proof to all other temptation.

hon 17, 1795.

TO MR. S**E,

WITH A PRESENT OF A DOZEN OF PORTER

O HAD the malt thy strength of mind,
Or hops the flavor of thy wit;
"Twere drink for first of human kind,
A gift that e'en for S**n were fit.

Jerusalem Tavern, Dumfries.

EXTEMPORE,

WRITTEN IN ANSWER TO A CARD FROM AN INTIMATE OF BURNS', INVITING HIM TO SPEND AN HOUR AT A TAVERN.

THE King's most humble servant, I

Can scarcely spare a minute;

But I'll be wi' ye by an' bye;

Or else the Deil's be in it.

EXTEMPORE,

WRITTEN IN A LADY'S POCKET BOOK

GRANT me, indulgent Heav'n, that I may live
To see the miscreants feel the pains they give;
Deal Freedom's sacred treasures free as air,
Till slave and despot be but things which were

LINES

ON MISS J. SCOTT, OF AYR.

OH! Had each Scot of ancient times,
Been, Jeany Scott, as thou art,
The bravest heart on English ground,
Had yielded like a coward.

LINES

ON BEING ASKED WHY GOD HAD MADE MISS DAVIS
SO LITTLE AND MISS SO LARGE.

Written on a Pane of Glass in the inn at Moffat.
ASK why God made the gem so small,
An' why so huge the granite?
Because God meant mankind should set
The higher value on it.

LINES

WRITTEN UNDER THE PICTURE OF THE CELEBRA.

TED MISS BURNS.

CEASE, ye prudes, your envious railing,
Lovely Burns has charms-confess;

True it is she had one failing,

Had a woman ever less?

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