MY LAST WILL.

He may bequeath't 'mong stubborn fellows To all the finer feelings callous,

Who think that parting breath's a sneeze To set sensations all at ease.

To Oliphant (4), my friend, I legate
Those scrolls poetic, which he may get,
With ample freedom to correct

Those writs I ne'er could retrospect ;
With pow'r to him and his succession,
To print and sell a new impression :

And here I fix on Ossian's head
A domicil for Doric reed,

With as much pow'r ad Musæ bona

As I in propria persona.

To Hamilton (5) I give the task Outstanding debts to crave and ask;

MY LAST WILL.

"

And that my Muse he may not dub ill,
For loading him with so much trouble,
My debts I leave him singulatim
As they are mostly desperatim.

To thee, whose genius can provoke Thy passions to the bowl or sock; For love to thee, Woods! and the Nine, Be my immortal Shakespeare thine. Here may you through the allies turn, Where Falstaff laughs, where heroes mourn,

And boldly catch the glowing fire

That dwells in rapture's on his lyre.

Now, at my dirge (if dirge there be),
Due to the Muse and Poetry,
Let Hutchison (6) attend; for none is
More fit to guide the ceremonies:
As I, in health, with him would often

This clay-built mansion wash and soften,

MY LAST WILL.

So let my friends with him partake
The gen'rous wine at dirge or wake.-

And I consent to registration
Of this my will for preservation,
That patent it may be, and seen,
In Walter's Weekly Magazine.

Witness whereof, these presents wrote are
By William Blair, the public notar,
And, for the tremour of my hand,

CODICIL

TO R. FERGUSSON'S LAST WILL.

WHEREAS, by testament dated blank,

Enroll'd in the poetic rank,

'Midst brighter themes that weekly come
To make parade at Walter's Drum,

I there, for certain weighty causes,
Produc'd some kind bequeathing clauses,
And left to friends (as 'tis the custom
With nothing till our death to trust 'em)
Some tokens of a pure regard

From one who liv'd and died a Bard.

If Poverty has any crime in

Teaching mankind the art of rhyming;
Then by these presents, know all mortals
Who come within the Muse's portals,
That I approve my will aforesaid,

But think that something might be more said,

CODICIL.

And only now would humbly seek

The liberty to add and eke

To test❜ment which already made is,
And duly register'd, as said is.

To Tulloch (7), who, in kind compassion, Departed from the common fashion, And gave to me, who never paid it, Two flasks of port, upon my credit, I leave the flasks, as full of air, As his of ruddy moisture were; Nor let him to complain begin; He'll get no more of cat than skin.

To Walter Ruddiman (8), whose pen
Still screen'd me from the Dunce's den,
I leave of phiz a picture, saving
To him the freedom of engraving
Therefrom a copy, to embellish,
And give his work a smarter relish ;