THE AUTHOR'S AND EARNEST CRY AND PRAYER,* To the Right Honourable and Honourable, the Scotch Reprefentatives in the House of Commons. Dearest of Diftillation! laft and beft! -How art thou loft! PARODY ON MILTON. YE Irish Lords, ye knights an' Squires, Wha represent our broughs an' fhires, An' doucely manage our affairs In Parliament, To you a fimple Bardie's prayers Are humbly fent. Alas! my roupet Mufe is hearfe! Your Honours' hearts wi' grief 'twad pierce, To fee her fittin on her a Low i' the duft, An' fcriechen out parfaic verfe, An' like to bruft? This was wrote before the Act anent the Scotch Dif tilleries, of feflion 1786; for which Scotland and the Author return their moft grateful thanks. Tell them wha hae the chief direction, in' they laid that cure On Aquavite ; An' roufe them up to ftrong conviction, An' move their pity.. Stand forth, an' tell yon Premier Youth The honeft, open, naked truth; Tell him o' mine an' Scotland's drouth, His fervants humble; The muckle devil blaw ye fouth, If ye diffemble! Does ony great man glunch an' gloom Speak out an' never fash your thumb! Let pofts an' penfions fink or foom Wi' them wha grant 'em : If honeftly they canna come, Far better want 'em. In gath❜ring votes, you were na fläck; Now ftand as tightly by your tack: Ne'er claw your lug, an' fidge your back, An' hum an' haw, But raise your arm, an' tell your crack Before them a'. Paint Scotland greetin' owre her thifsle Her mutchkin-ftoup. as toom's a whifsle; An' d-mn'd Excifemen in a bustle. Seizen a fell, Triumphant crufhin't like a muffel Or lampit shell. Then on the tither hand prefent her, A blackguard Simuggler right behint her, An' cheek-for-chew, a chuffey Vintner, Colleaguing join, Picking her pouch as bare as Winter, Of a' kind coin. Is there, that bears the name of Scot, Thus dung in ftaves, An' plunder'do' her hindmoft groat By gallows knaves? Alas! I'm but a nameless wight, Trode i' the mire out o' fight! But could I like Montgomeries fight, Or gab like Bofwell's An' tie fome hose well. There's fome fark-necks I wad draw tight, God bless your Honours, can ye fee't,. The kind, auid, cantie Carlin- greet, An' no get warmly to your feet, An' gar them hear An' tell them, wi' a patriot neat, Ye winna bear it! Some o' ye nicely ken the laws, To round the period an' paule, An' with rhetoric clause on clause To mak harangues; Then echo thro' Saint Stephen's wa's Auld Scotland's wrangs. Dempfer, a true-blue Scot I'fe warran ; Thee, aith detefting, chaft Killkerran ; An' that glib-gabbit Aighland Baron, The Laird o' Graham; An' ane, a chap that's d-mn'd auldfarran, Dundas his name. Frfeine, a fpunkie Norlane billie; True Campbells, Frederick an' Illay; An' Liviftone, the bauld Sir Willie; An' monie ithers, Whom auld Demofthenes or Tully Might own for brithers. Aroufe, my boys! exert your mettle, To get auld Scotland back her kettle! Or faith! I'll wad my new pleugh-pettle, Ye'll fee't or lang, She'll teach you, wi'-a reekin whittle, Anither fang. This while fhe's been in crankous mood, Her loft Militia fir'd her bluid; (Deil na they never mair do guid, Play'd her that pliskie ;) An' now fhe's like to rin red wud About her whiskey. An' 1d, if ance they pit her till't, Her tartan petticoat she'll kilt, An' durk' an piftol at her belt, She'll tak the ftreets, And rin her whittle to the hilt, I' th' firft the meets! For God's fake, Sirs! then fpeak her fair, An' ftraik her cannie wi' the hair, An' to the muckle house repair, Wi' inftant fpeed, An' ftrive wi' a' your wit and Lear, To get remeád. Yon ill-tongu'd tinkler, Charlie Fox, May taunt you wi' his jeers and mocks; But gie him't het, my hearty cocks! E'n cowe the.cadie! An' fend him to his dicing box An' fportin lady. Tell yon guid blood o' auld Boconock's, I'll be his debt twa mafhlum bonnocks, |