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The L-d be thankit that we've tint the gate
Gaunt, ghastly, ghaist-alluring edifices, Hanging, with threat'ning jut, like precipices ; O'er-arching mouldy, gloom-inspiring coves, Supporting roofs fantastic, ftony groves : Windows and doors, in nameless sculptures
With order, symmetry, or taste unbleft ;
Forms might be worshipp'd on the bended
And still the second dread command be free,
Their likenefs is not found on earth, in air,
Mansions that would disgrace the building
Of any mason reptile, bird or beaft!
Fit only for a doited Monkish race,
That sullen gloom was sterling true devotion; Fancies that our guid Brugh denies protece
tion, And loon may they expire, unbleft with refur.
A ULD BRIG.
O YE, my dear-remember'd, ancient yealings, Were ye but here to share my wounded feel
ings! Ye worthy Proveses, an' mony a Bailie,
Wha in the paths o' righteousness did toil ay;
A’ye douce folk I've born aboon the broo, Were ye but here, what would ye say or do! How would your fpirits groan in deep vexa
tion, VOL. I.
To fee each melancholy alteration;
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 staumrel, corky-headed, graceless Gen
The herryment and ruin of the country;
Now haud you there! for faith ye've said
enough, And muckle mair than you can mak to through. As for your Priesthood, I shall fay þut little, Corbies and Clergy are a shot right kittle: But, under favour o your langer beard, Abuse of Magistrates might weel be spar'd: To liken them to your auld-warld squad, I must needs say, comparisons are odd, In Ayr, Wag-wits nae mair can have a handle To mouth' A Citizen,' a term o' scandal :
Nae mair the Council waddles down the street,
In all the pomp of ignorant conceit;
raisins, Or gather'd lib'ral views in Bonds and Seifins.