LINES

WRITTEN ON THE WINDOW OF THE GLOBE TAVERN, DUMFRIES.

THE graybeard, Old Wisdom, may boast of his treasures,
Give me with gay Folly to live:

I grant him his calm-blooded, time-settled pleasures,
But Folly has raptures to give.

EPIGRAM ON CAPTAIN FRANCIS GROSE,

THE CELEBRATED ANTIQUARY.

THE Devil got notice that Grose was a-dying,

So whip! at the summons, old Satan came flying;

But when he approach'd where poor Francis lay moaning,
And saw each bed-post with its burden a-groaning,
Astonish'd! confounded! cry'd Satan, 'By God,
I'll want 'im, ere I take such a damnable load.'

LINES WRITTEN UNDER THE PICTURE OF THE CELEBRATED MISS BURNS.

EPIGRAM ON ELPHINSTONE'S TRANSLATION OF

MARTIAL'S EPIGRAMS.

THOU whom Poetry abhors,

Whom Prose had turned out of doors,

Heard'st thou that groan?- proceed no further,
'Twas laurel'd Martial roaring murther.

EPITAPH ON A COUNTRY LAIRD, NOT QUITE SO WISE AS SOLOMON.

BLESS Jesus Christ, O Cardoness,
With grateful lifted eyes,

Who said that not the soul alone,
But body too, must rise:

For had he said, 'The soul alone
From death I will deliver,'

Alas, alas! O Cardoness,

Then thou hadst slept for ever!

EPITAPH ON A NOISY POLEMIC.

BELOW thir stanes lie Jamie's banes:
O Death, it's my opinion,

Thou ne'er took such a bleth'rin bitch
Into thy dark dominion!

EPITAPH ON WEE JOHNNY.

Hic jacet wee Johnny.

WHOE'ER thou art, O reader, know
That death has murder'd Johnie !
An' here his body lies fu' low-

For saul he ne'er had ony.

EPITAPH ON A CELEBRATED RULING ELDER.

HERE Sowter Hood in Death does sleep;

To Hell, if he's gane thither,

Satan, gie him thy gear to keep,

He'll haud it weel thegither.

EPITAPH FOR ROBERT AIKEN, ESQ.

KNOW thou, O stranger to the fame
Of this much lov'd, much honour'd name,
(For none that knew him need be told)
A warmer heart death ne'er made cold.

EPITAPH FOR GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ.

THE poor man weeps - here Gavin sleeps

Whom canting wretches blam'd:

But with such as he, where'er he be,
May I be sav'd or damn'd!

EPITAPH ON MY FATHER.

O YE, whose cheek the tear of pity stains,

Draw near with pious rev'rence and attend!
Here lie the loving husband's dear remains,
The tender father, and the gen❜rous friend.

The pitying heart that felt for human woe;
The dauntless heart that fear'd no human pride;

The friend of man, to vice alone a foe;

'For ev'n his failings lean'd to virtue's side.'

EPITAPH ON A PERSON NICKNAMED

'THE MARQUIS,' WHO DESIRED BURNS TO WRITE ONE on him.

HERE lies a mock Marquis whose titles were shamm'd,
If ever he rise, it will be to be damn'd.

AT Brownhill we always get dainty good cheer,
And plenty of bacon each day in the year;
We've all things that's nice, and mostly in season,
But why always Bacon-come, give me a reason?

WHEN

EPIGRAM.

deceased, to the devil went down,

'Twas nothing would serve him but Satan's own crown,

Thy fool's head,' quoth Satan, 'that crown shall wear never,

I grant thou'rt as wicked, but not quite so clever.'