A leffon fadly teaching to your cost,

That Architecture's noble art is loft!

The L-d be thankit that we've tint the gate

o't!

Gaunt, ghaftly, ghaift-alluring edifices,
Hanging, with threat'ning jut, like precipices;
O'er-arching mouldy, gloom-infpiring coves,
Supporting roofs fantastic, ftony groves:
Windows and doors, in nameless fculptures

dreft,

With order, fymmetry, or tafte unblest;
Forms like fome bedlam Statuary's dream,
The craz'd creations of mifguided whim;

Forms

Forms might be worshipp'd on the bended

knee,

And still the second dread command be free,

Their likeness is not found on earth, in air,

or fea.

Manfions that would difgrace the building

tafte

Of any mafon reptile, bird or beaft!

Fit only for a doited Monkish race,

Or frosty maids forfworn the dear embrace
Or Cuifs of latter times, wha held the notion
That fullen gloom was fterling true devotion;
Fancies that our guid Brugh denies protec-
tion,

And foon may they expire, unbleft with refur

rection !

AULD

AULD BRIG.

O YE, my dear-remember'd, ancient yealings,

Were ye but here to fhare my wounded feel

ings!

Ye worthy Proveses, an' mony a Bailie,
Wha in the paths o' righteousness did toil ay;
Ye dainty Deacons, an' ye douce Conveeners,
To whom our moderns are but caufey-cleaners;
Ye godly Councils, wha hae bleft this town;
Ye godly Brethren of the facred gown,

Wha meekly gae your burdies to the smiters ;

And (what would now be ftrange) ye godly Writers:

A'ye douce folk I've born aboon the broo, Were ye but here, what would ye fay or do!

How would your fpirits groan in deep vexa

tion,

VOL. I.

I

Το

To fee each melancholy alteration;

And agonizing, eurfe the time and place
When ye begat the bafe degen'rate race!

Nae langer Rev'rend Men, their country's

glory,

In plain braid Scots hold forth a plain braid

story!

Nae langer thrifty Citizens, an' douce, Meet owre a pint, or in the Council-house;

But ftaumrel, corky-headed, graceless Gen

try,

The herryment and ruin of the country;

Men, three-parts made by Taylors and by Barbers,

Wha waist your well-hain'd gear on d-d new Brigs and Harbours!

NEW

NEW BRIG.

Now haud you there! for faith ye've faid

enough,

And muckle mair than you can mak to through.
As for your Priesthood, I shall fay but little,
Corbies and Clergy are a fhot right kittle:
But, under favour of your langer beard,
Abuse o' Magiftrates might weel be fpar'd:
To liken them to your auld-warld fquad,
I muft needs fay, comparisons are odd,
In Ayr, Wag-wits nae mair can have a handle
To mouth A Citizen," a term o' fcandal:

Nae mair the Council waddles down the street,
In all the pomp of ignorant conceit;

Men wha grew wife priggin owre hops an'

raifins,

Or gather'd lib'ral views in Bonds and Seifins.

I a

If