III.

FOR me before a Monarch's face,
Ev'n there I winna flatter;

For neither Penfion, Poft, nor Place,

Am I your humble debtor:

So, nae reflection on Your Grace,
Your King hip to befpatter;

There's monie waur been o' the Race,

And aiblins ane been better

Than You this day.

IV.

'Tis very true, my fov'reign King,
My kill may weel be doubted:

But Facts are cheels that winna ding,

An' downa be difputed:

Your Royal Neft, beneath Your wing,

Is e'en right reft an' clouted,

And now the third part of the ftring,

An' lefs, will gang about it

Than did ae day.

V.

FAR be't frae me that I afpire

To blame your Legislation,

Or fay, ye wisdom want, or fire,
To rule this mighty nation;

But, faith! I muckle doubt, my Sire,

Ye've trufted Miniftration

To chaps, wha, in a barn or byre,

Wad better fill'd their station

Than courts yon day.

VI.

AND now ye've gien auld Britain peace,

Her broken fhins to plaister;

Your

Your fair taxation does her fleece,

Till fhe has scarce a tefter:

For me, thank God, my life's a lease,

Nae bargain wearing fafter,

Or faith! I fear, that, wi the geefe,

I fhortly boost to pasture

I' the craft fome day..

VII.

I'm no mistrusting Willie Pitt,

When taxes he enlarges,

(An' Will's a true guid fallow's Get,

A Name not Envy fpairges)

That he intends to pay your debt,

An' leffen a' your charges;

But G-d fake! let nae saving-fit

Abridge your bonie Barges

An' Boats this day.

VIII.

ADIEU my Liege! may Freedom geck
Beneath your high protection;

An' may Ye rax Corruption's neck,

And gie her for diffection!

But fince I'm here, I'll no neglect,

In loyal, true affection,

To pay your Queen, with due respect,

My fealty an' fubjection

This great Birth-day.

IX.

HARL, Majesty most Excellent!

While Nobles ftrive to please Ye,

Will ye accept a Compliment

A fimple Bardie gies Ye?

Thae bonie Bairntime, Heav'n has lent,

Still higher may they heeze Ye

In blifs, till Fate fome day is fent,

For ever to release Ye

Frae Care that day.

X.

FOR you, young Potentate o' W-,

I tell your Highness fairly,

Down Pleasure's ftream, wi' fwelling fails,

I'm tauld ye're driving rarely;

But fome day ye may gnaw your nails,
An' curfe your folly fairly,

That e'er ye brak Diana's pales,

Or rattl'd dice wi' Charlie

By night or day.

XI.

YET aft a ragged Cowle's been known

To mak a noble Liver;