ON THE DUKE OF QUEENSBERRY.
Your factors, grieves, trustees, and bailies,
I canna say but they do gaylies;
They lay aside a' tender mercies,
And tirl the hallions to the birses; 2
Yet while they're only poind't and herriet,3
They'll keep their stubborn Highland spirit;
But smash them-crash them a' to spails!"
And rot the dyvors i' the jails!
6
The young dogs, swinge them to the labour;
Let wark and hunger mak' themf sober!
The hizzies, if they 're aughtlins awsont,7
Let them in Drury Lane be lessoned!
And if the wives and dirty brats
E'en thigger at your doors and yetts,9
Flaffan wi' duds 10 and gray wi' beas',"
Frightin' awa' your deuks and geese,
Get out a horsewhip or a jowler,
The langest thong, the fiercest growler,
And gar the tattered gipsies pack
Wi' a' their bastards on their back!
Go on, my lord! I lang to meet you,
And in my house at hame to greet you!
Wi' common lords ye shanna mingle,-
The benmost neuk beside the ingle,
At my right han', assigned your seat,
"Tween Herod's hip and Polycrate,—
Or if you on your station tarrow, 13
Between Almagro and Pizarro,
A seat, I'm sure ye 're well deservin't:
And till ye come-Your humble servant,
June 1, Anno Mundi 5790 [A.D. 1786].
STANZAS ON THE DUKE OF QUEENSBERRY.
How shall I sing Drumlanrig's Grace---
Discarded remnant of a race
Once great in martial story?
His forbears' virtues all contrasted-
The very name of Douglas blasted-
His that inverted glory.
Hate, envy, oft the Douglas bore;
But he has superadded more,
And sunk them in contempt;
Follies and crimes have stained the name;
But, Queensberry, thine the virgin claim,
From aught that's good exempt.
["This fragment," says Burns to Dugald Stewart, "I have not shown to man living till I now send it to you. It forms the postulata, the axioms, the definition of a character, which, if it appear at all, shall be placed in a variety of lights. This particular part I send you merely as a sample of my hand at portrait-sketching."]
A LITTLE, upright, pert, tart, tripping wight,
And still his precious self his dear delight;
Who loves his own smart shadow in the streets
Better than e'er the fairest she he meets :
A man of fashion, too, he made his tour,
Learned Vive la bagatelle! et Vive l'amour!
So travelled monkeys their grimace improve,
Polish their grin-nay, sigh for ladies' love.
Much specious lore, but little understood;
Veneering oft outshines the solid wood:
His solid sense by inches you must tell,
But mete his cunning by the old Scot's ell;
His meddling vanity, a busy fiend,
Still making work his selfish craft must mend.
MONODY ON A LADY FAMED FOR HER CAPRICE.
How cold is that bosom which folly once fired!
How pale is that cheek where the rouge lately glistened!
How silent that tongue which the echoes oft tired!
How dull is that ear which to flattery so listened!
If sorrow and anguish their exit await,
From friendship and dearest affection removed;
How doubly severer, Eliza, thy fate,-
Thou diedst unwept as thou livedst unloved.
Loves, Graces, and Virtues, I call not on you;
So shy, grave, and distant, ye shed not a tear:
But come, all ye offspring of Folly so true,
And flowers let us cull for Eliza's cold bier.
We'll search through the garden for each silly flower,
We'll roam through the forest for each idle weed;
But chiefly the nettle, so typical, shower,
For none e'er approached her but rued the rash deed
We'll sculpture the marble, we'll measure the lay,
Here Vanity strums on her idiot lyre;
There keen Indignation shall dart on her prey,
Which spurning Contempt shall redeem from his ire.
Here lies, now a prey to insulting neglect,
What once was a butterfly gay in life's beam:
Want only of wisdom denied her respect,
Want only of goodness denied her esteem.
Epitaphs, Epigrams, Extempore Poems, &c. &c.
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 generous friend.
The pitying heart that felt for human woe;
The dauntless heart that feared no human pride;
The friend of man, to vice alone a foe;
"For ev'n his failings leaned to virtue's side."1
INNKEEPER, MAUCHLINE.
HERE lies Johnny Pidgeon:
What was his religion?
Whae'er desires to ken,
To some other warl'
Maun follow the carl,
For here Johnny Pidgeon had nane!
Strong ale was ablution,—
Small beer persecution,-
A dram was memento mori;
But a full flowing bowl
Was the saving his soul,
And port was celestial glory.
WRITER IN DUMFRIES.
HERE lies John Bushby, honest man!
Cheat him, Devil, if you can.
1 Goldsmith-" Deserted Village."
EPITAPH ON A WAG IN MAUCHLINE.
LAMENT him, Mauchline husbands a',
He aften did assist ye;
For had ye staid whole weeks awa',
Your wives they ne'er had missed ye.
Ye Mauchline bairns, as on ye pass
To school in bands thegither,
O, tread ye lightly on his grass,
Perhaps he was your father.
EPITAPH ON A CELEBRATED RULING ELDER.
HERE Souter Hood in death does sleep;
To Hell, if he's gane thither,
Satan, gi'e him thy gear to keep,
He'll haud it well thegither.
EPITAPH FOR ROBERT AIKEN, ESQ.
KNOW thou, O stranger to the fame
Of this much-loved, much-honoured 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 blamed :
But with such as he, where'er he be,
May I be saved or damned!
A BARD'S EPITAPH.
Is there a whim-inspired fool,
Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule.
Owre blate' to seek, owre proud to snool?
Let him draw near;
And owre this grassy heap sing dool,3
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