At glaring copperplates connive all;
And prints do well with him that led is
To shun the substance, hunt the shadows;
For, if a picture, 'tis enough;

A Newton, or a Jamie Duff. *
Nor would I recommend to Walter
This scheme of copperplates to alter;
Since others at the samen prices
Propose to give a dish that nice is,
Folks will desert his ordinary,
Unless, like theirs, his dishes vary.

TO WILLIAMSON,† and his resetters,
Dispersing of the burial letters,
That they may pass with little cost
Fleet on the wings of Penny-post;
Always providing and declaring,
That Peter shall be ever sparing
To make, as use is, the demand
For letters that may come to hand,
To me address'd while locum tenens
Of earth and of corporeal penance;
Where, if he fail, it is my will,
His legacy be void and null.

Let honest GREENLAW be the staff
On which I lean for epitaph.
And that the Muses, at my end,
May know I had a learned friend,
Whate'er of character he 's seen
In me, through humour or chagrin,
I crave his genius may narrate in
The strength of Ciceronian Latin.
Reserving to myself the power
To alter this at latest hour,

* A fool who attended at funerals.
The Penny-post Master.

An excellent classical scholar.

13

Cum privilegio revocare,

Without assigning ratio quare:
And I (as in the Will before did)
Consent this deed shall be recorded:
In testimonium cujus rei,

These presents are delivered by

R. FERGUSson.

POEMS

IN THE

SCOTTISH DIALECT.

AN ECLOGUE.

WILLIE AND SANDIE.

'Twas e'enin' when the spreckled gowdspink sang; When new-fa'en dew in blobs o' crystal hang; Then Will and Sandie thought they'd wrought eneugh,

And lows'd their sair-toil'd owsen frae the pleugh.
Before they ca'd their beasts unto the town,
The lads, to draw their breath, e'en sat them down:
To the stiff sturdy aik they lean their backs,
While honest Sandie thus begins the cracks.

SANDIE.

Ance I cou'd hear the lavrock's shrill-tun'd throat,
And listen to the clatterin' gowdspink's note;
Ance I cou'd whistle cantily as they,

To owsen, as they till'd my ruggit clay :
But now, I wou'd as lieve maist lend my lugs
To tuneless puddocks croakin' i' the bogs.
I sigh at hame; a-field I'm dowie too;
To sowf a tune I'll never crook my mou.
E

Foulf a' me! if your bridal hadna been
Nae langer bygane than sin' Halloween,
I cou'd hae tell't you, but a warlock's art,
That some daft lightlyin quean had stown your
heart:

Our beasties here will tak their e'enin' pluck;

An' now, sin' Jock's gane hame the byres to muck,
Fain wou'd I houp my friend will be inclin'd
To gie me a' the secrets o' his mind:

Heh, Sandie, lad! what dool's come owre ye now,
That you to whistle ne'er will crook your mou?

SANDIE.

Ah, Willie, Willie! I may date my wae
Frae what betid me on my bridal day;
Sair may I rue the hour in which our hands
Were knit thegither in the haly bands:
Sin' that I thrave sae ill, in troth, I fancy,
Some fiend or fairy, no sae very chancy,
Has driven me, by pawky wiles uncommon,
To wed this flytin' fury o' a woman.

WILLIE.

Ah, Sandie! aften hae I heard you tell,
Amang the lasses a' she bure the bell;
An' say, the modest glances o' her een
Far dang the brightest beauties o' the green :
You ca'd her aye sae innocent, sae young,
I thought she ken'dna how to use her tongue.

SANDIE.

Before I married her, I'll tak my aith,
Her tongue was never louder than her breath;
But now it's turn'd sae souple and sae bauld,
That Job himsel cou'd scarcely thole the scauld.