So, ye may doucely fill a Throne, For a' their clifh-ma-claver: * There, Him at Agincourt wha fhone, Few better were or braver ; And yet, wi' funny, queer Sir John†, He was an unco fhaver For monie a day, XII. FOR you, right rev'rend O Nanc fets the lawn sleeve fweeter, Altho' a ribban at your lug Wad been a drefs completer: As ye difown yon paughty dog That bears the Keys of Peter, Then, fwith an' get a wife to hug, * King Henry V. † Sir John Falstaff. Vide Shakespeare. Or Or trouth! ye'll ftain the Mitre Some lucklefs day. XIII YOUNG royal Tarry Breeks, I learn, Ye've lately come athwart her; A glorious Galley *, ftem and ftern, Weel rigg'd for Venus barter; But first hang out, that he'll discern Your hymeneal charter, Then heave aboard your grapple airn, An', large upon her quarter Come full that day. XIV. YE laftly, bonie bloffoms a', Ye royal Laffes dainty, Heav'n * Alluding to the News-paper account of a certain Royal Sai lor's amour. Heav'n mak you guid as weel as braw, An' gie you lads a plenty : But fneer na British boys awa', For Kings are unco fcant ay; An' German Gentles are but sma', They're better juft than want ay On onie day. XV. Gop blefs you a' confider now, Ye're unco muckle dautet; But ere the course o' life be through, It may be bitter fautet: An' I hae feen their coggie fou, That yet hae tarrow't at it; But or the day was done, I trow, 1 The laggen they hae clautet Fu' clean that day. THE THE VISION. DUAN FIRST*. THE fun had clos'd the winter-day, While faithlefs fnaws ilk ftep betray Whare fhe has been. THE Thresher's weary flinging-tree, The lee-lang day had tir'd me; And when the Day had clos'd his e'e, Fari' the West, Ben *Duan, a term of Ossians for the different divisions of a di gressive Poem. See his Catb-Loda, vol. 2. of M'Pherson's Translation. Ben i' the Spence, right penfivelie, I gaed to reft. THERE, lanely, by the ingle-cheek, I fat and ey'd the fpewing reek, That fill'd, wi' hoaft-provoking fmeek, The auld, clay biggin; And heard the reftlefs rattons squeak About the riggin. ALL in this mottie mifty clime, 1 backward mus'd on wasted time, How I had spent my youthfu' prime, An' done nae-thing, But ftringin blethers up in rhyme For fools to fing. HAD I to guid advice but harkit, I might by this hae led a market, Or |