RECANTATORY POSTSCRIPT.

Be it known to all men, as I stumbled Towards Hughye's cot, and fell, and fumbled, Something I heard that strangely grumbled : Amaz'd I canter;

Lest by the Fays I should be home led

Or Ariel's chanter.

However, I took heart o' grace,
And ken'd a noise i' that same place,

At which I blest myself with face

As pale as stone:

For I could swear, in any case,

'Twas Davie's drone.

So in I went, pry'd all about;
The people wonder'd at the rout:
At last, with one outrageous shout,

Unkennel'd Davie ;

So stunn'd, that scarce one word came out,

Like that madcap in Hamlet's play,
We star'd, and star'd our fears away;

And then sat down, full spruce and gay,

As sound as cherry:

And Davie's here this very day,

Alive and merry.

Though all the town, in well-feign'd sorrow, Swore Death had pink'd his body thorough, And laid him flatter than the furrow,

There's no believing

In come, and you shall see to-morrow

Poor Davie living.

MY OWN ELEGY.

GUDE faith! with all thy roguish trick,

Thy Pegasus has got a kick;

Flat as a tomb-stone, dumb as stick,

Thou liest at last :

God send, thou gang'st not to old Nick

For frolics past.

I do remember thee right well:

Thou didst in witty pranks excel,

Can all thy deeds of sly note tell,

Thou great verse-fighter;

But ah! auld Death has borne the bell,

And bit the biter.

Right glum is all thy rhyming glee;
Struck mute, who wont to be so free:
Yet, yet shall I, on bended knee

(Faithfu' Achates +)

Drink to thy amorous memory;

Fine off'ring that is.

For thou didst long to taste the bowl:
And if from limbo-logwood whole,‡

I ken, thy jovial fluttering soul

Will snuff the vapours,

Gleam pure good humour o'er the whole,

And light the tapers.

Bathe the delighted sprite §' in ale, Liewedg'd in fiery' mugs, exhale The quintessence of pipes, and rail

At good old sages;

Flouting the de'il and his long tail

* Silent.

In smoky pages.

+ Sound, safe..

+Fides Achates.' Virgil.
§ Shakespeare: Measure for Measure.

When landlady, with burly mien,
Bids purses gleam with twinklers sheen,*
'Tis nuncle pays for thee,' I ween;

Gold grow'th not in heaven :

Yet, by the laws, we'll lug thee in

For reck'ning even.

Well, blessings on thy shade so laurel'd!
'Mid all thy high words thou ne'er quarrel'd ;
Laugh'd loud, and leer'd, when malice snarl'd,
A smiling wizard :

And when renown'd good beer was barrel'd
Grinn'd in thy gizzard.

No thanks to those who long'd to pelt or
Abuse thy poor muse, helter-skelter;

Send thee to solitude for shelter,

To grief and moping,

Her dim lyre (cause enough to melt her)

In darkness groping.

Yes: all must grant thee too a smack
Of genius, and of warmth. Alack!

* Bright money.

Alluding to a well-known story of Shuter, the actor.

J

Genius and warmth are gone apack

To land unknown;

They'll never come, I fear me, back,

To make us groan.

The merry catch shall greet thy sprite :
And in the dead of list'ning night
We'll drone sincere at thy ill plight,

And sprinkle strong dews:

The hop shall on thy tomb rise light,

Nor yield us wrong juice.

Tobacco tubes, like trumps inverted,
Shall deck thy grave, and smoke thick-darted.
Nourish the flow'rs around thee started

With od'rous aid :

Then, mon, be not this once faint-hearted;

Thy fortune's made.

At judgment-day, when strong-lung'd cherub
Shall pipe all hands from silence here up,
He'll know thee, Tom, to be a queer cub,
And give thee quarters ;

Wouns! what a sight, to see thy knee rub

'Gainst the saints and martyrs ?: