Sweet fruit o' mony a merry dint, Which fools may scoff at; In my last plack thy part's be in't, The better ha'f o't. An' if thou be what I wad hae thee, If thou be spar'd; Thro' a' thy childish years I'll e'e thee, An' think't weel war'd. Gude grant that thou may ay inherit Without his failins, 'Twill please me mair to hear an' see't, Than stocket mailens. POEM, ADDRESSED TO MR. MITCHELL. Collector of Excise, Dumfries, 1796. FRIEND of the poet, tried and leal, Wi' a' his witches Are at it, skelpin! jig and reel In my poor pouches. I modestly fu fain wad hint it, That one pound one, I sairly want it; If wi' the hizzie down ye sent it, It would be kind: And while my heart's wi' life-blood dunted, I'd bear't in mind. So may the auld year gang out moaning To thee and thine; Domestic peace and comfort crowning The hail design. POSTCRIPT. Ye've heard this while how I've been licket, And sair me sheuk; But by gude luck I lap a wicket, And turn'd a neuk. But by that health, I've got a share o't, Then farewell, folly, hide and hair o't COPY OF A POETICAL ADDRESS ΤΟ MR. WILLIAM TYTLER, WITH THE PRESENT OF THE BARD'S PICTURE. REVER'D defender of beauteous Stuart, Of Stuart, a name once respected, A name which to love was the mark of a true heart, But now 'tis despis'd and neglected: Tho' something like moisture conglobes in my eye, Let no one misdeem me disloyal; A poor friendless wand'rer may well claim a sigh, My fathers that name have rever'd on a throne; Those fathers would spurn their degenerate son till in prayers for K-G-I most heartily join, The Q-and the rest of the gentry, Be they wise, be they foolish, is nothing of mine, Their title's avow'd by my country. But why of that epocha make such a fuss, * But loyalty truce! we're on dangerous ground, I send you a trifle, a head of a bard, But accept it, good Sir, as a mark of regard, Now life's chilly ev'ning dim shades on your eye, But you, like the star that athwart gilds the sky, Your course to the latest is bright. ON THE BATTLE OF SHERIFF.MUIR, BETWEEN THE DUKE OF ARGYLE AND THE EARL OF MAR. O CAM ye here the fight to shun, Or herd the sheep wi' me, man? I saw the battle, sair and tough, To hear the thuds, and see the cluds, I wat they glanced twenty miles : They hack'd and hash'd, while broad swords clash'd, And thro' they dash'd, and hew'd and smash'd, But had you seen the philibegs, The horsemen back to Forth, man; For fear amaist did swarf, man.' My sister Kate cam up the gate For fear, by foes, that they should lose LINES WRITTEN UNDER THE PICTURE OF THE CELEBRATED MISS BURNS. CEASE, ye prudes, your envious railing, Lovely Burns has charms-confess; True it is, she had one failing, Had a woman ever less? THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS WRITTEN TO A GENTLEMAN WHO HAD SENT HIM A NEWSPAPER, AND OF- KIND Sir, I've read your paper through, |