Wad ding a Lalland tongue, or Erse, An' now, auld Cloots, ken ye're thinkin Some luckless hour will send him linkin But, faith! he'll turn a corner jinkin, But, fare you weel, auld Nickie-ben! - I'm wae to think upo' your den, ON THE LATE CAPTAIN GROSE'S PEREGRI NATIONS THROUGH SCOTLAND, COLLECTING THE ANTIQUITIES OF THAT KINGDOM. HEAR! land o' cakes, and brither Scots. If there's a hole in a' your coats, A chiel's amang you taking notes, And, faith, he'll prent it. If in your bounds ye chance to ight, O' stature short, but genius bright, And wow! he has an unco slight By some auld, houlet-haunted biggin," Wi' deils, they say, L-d save's! colleaguin Ilk ghaist that haunts auld ha' or cham'er, Ye'll quake at his conjuring hammer, Ye midnight bitches! It's tauld he was a sodger bred, And taen the antiquarian trade, I think they call it. He has a fouth o' al. nick-nackets! And paraitch-pats, and auld saut-backets, Vide his Antiquities of Scotland. † Vide his Treatise on Ancien Armor and Weapons. Of Eve's first fire he has a cinder; A broom-stick o' the witch of Endor, Forbye he'll shape you aff, fu' gleg, It was a faulding jocteleg, Or lang kail-gullie. But wad ye see him in his glee, Then set him down, and twa or three And Port, O Port! shine thou a wee, Now, by the pow'rs o' verse and prose! Thou art a dainty chiel, O Grose! Whae'er o' thee shall ill suppose, They sair misca' thee; I'd tak the rascal by the nose, Wad say, Shame fa' thee WRITTEN IN A LINES WRAFPER, ENCLOSING A LETTER TO CAPTAIN GROSE, TO BE LEFT WITH MR. CARDONNEL, ANTIQUARIAN. TUNE-"Sir John Malcolm." KEN ye aught o' Captain Grose? If he's amang his friends or foes? Is he south, or is he north? Or drowned in the river Forth? Is he slain by Highland bodies? And eaten like a wether-haggis? Iram, coram, dago. Is he to Abram's boson gane? Or hauden Sarah by the wane? Where'er he be, the Lord be near him! As for the Deil, he daur na steer him! But please transmit the enclosed letter, Which will oblige your humble debtor, So may ye hae auld stanes in store, The very stanes that Adam bore, So may ye get in glad possession. The coins o' Satan's coronation! Iram, coram, dago. 289 EPIGRAM ON CAPTAIN GROSE. THE Deil got notice that Grose was a-dying, And saw each bed-post with its burden a-groaning, -ble load."* • Mr. Grose was exceedingly corpulent, and used to rally himself, with the greatest good humor, on the singular rotundity of his figure This epigram, written by Burns in a moment of festivity, was so much relished by the antiquarian, that he made it serve as an excuse for proonging the convivial occasion that gave it birth, to a very late hour. |