GONE TO THE WEST INDIES. A' YE wha live by sowps o' drink, Come, mourn wi' me! Our billie's gien us a' a jink, Lament him a' ye rantin' core, For now he's ta'en anither shore, Auld cantie Kyle may weepers wear, He was her laureat mony a year, quantities versifying brother, the slip over noisy folks who, frolic no more cheerful salt splinters jilt rod meal and water wrapped himself given would not too bashful, succumb o'er, sorrow drop A BARD'S EPITAPH. Is there a whim-inspired fool, Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, And owre this grassy heap sing dool, Is there a bard of rustic song, Who, noteless, steals the crowds among, That weekly this area throng, Oh, pass not by! But, with a frater-feeling strong, Is there a man, whose judgment clear, Here pause-and, through the starting tear, The poor inhabitant below, Was quick to learn, and wise to know, But thoughtless follies laid him low, Reader, attend-whether thy soul Know, prudent, cautious self-control A DEDICATION TO GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ. EXPECT na.sir, in this narration, A fleechin, flethr'in dedication, To roose you up, and ca' you guid, not wheedling, flattering praise, call, good blood Because ye're surnamed like his Grace; (Duke of Hamilton) Perhaps related to the race; Then when I'm tired, and sae are ye, 80 Wi' mony a fulsome, sinfu' lie, Set up a face, how I stop short, For fear your modesty be hurt. This may do-maun do, sir, wi' them who Maun please the great folk for a wamefou; must belly full low cannot, nag Then, I'LL be thankfu' I can beg; Sae I shall sae, and that's nao flatterin', The Poet, some guid angel help him, The Patron (sir, ye maun forgie me, On every hand it will allowed be, He's just-nae better than he should be. I readily and freely grant, He downa see a poor man want; But then nae thanks to him for a that, Morality, thou deadly bane, Thy tens o' thousands thou hast slain! Vain is his hope whose stay and trust is No-stretch a point to catch a plack; coin any whinstone hold, grindstone Learn three-mile prayers, and half-mile graces, Wi' weel-spread looves, and lang wry faces; I'll warrant, then, ye're nae deceiver- Oh Ye'll some day squeel in quaking terror! When Ruin, with his sweeping besom, Just frets, till Heaven commission gies him: So, sir, ye see 'twas nae daft vapour, But that's a word I need na say: palms, long muddy almost foolish almost I'm baith dead sweer, and wretched ill o't; both, unwilling knows galling (Mr Hamilton) dozen comfortable Five bonnie lassies round their table, I will not wind a lang conclusion But whilst your wishes and endeavours Are blest with fortune's smiles and favours, But if (which powers above prevent!) well great-grandchild By sad mistakes and black mischances, Your humble servant then no more; no more TO MR M'KENZIE. FRIDAY first's the day appointed To get a blad o' Johnie's morals, And taste a swatch o' Manson's barrels I' the way of our profession. The Master and the Brotherhood For me I would be mair than proud If Death, then, wi' skaith, then, That Saturday you'll fecht him. MOSSGIEL, An. M. 5790. piece sample more entertainment hurt threatening fight ROBERT BURNS. |