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So, ye may doucely fill a Throne,

For a' their clish-ma-claver :

There, Him * at Agincourt wha fhone,

Few better were or braver ;

And yet, wi' funny, queer Sir Jobnt,

He was an unco fhaver

For monie a day,


For you, right rev'rend O

Nanc sets the lawn s'eeve sweeter,

Altho' a ribban at your lug

Wad been a dress completer:

As ye disown yon paughty slog

That bears the Keys of Peter,

Then, fwith! an' get a wife to hug,

* King Henry V.
+ Sir John Falstaff, Vide Shakespeare.

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A glorious Galley *, stem and stern,

Weel rigg’d for Venus barter;
But first hang out, that she'll discern

Your hymeneal charter,
Then heave aboard your grapple ajrn,
An', large upon her quarter

Come full that day.


Ye lastly, bonie bloffcms a',

Ye royal Lasses dainty,


Alluding to the News-paper account of a certain Royal Saia :lor's amour,

Heav'n mak you guid as weel as braw,

An'gie you lads a plenty: But sneer na British boys awa',

For Kings are unco scant ay; An' German Gentles are but sma',

They're better just than want ay

On onie day.


God bless you a'! confider now,

Ye're unco muckle dautet;

But ere the course o' life be through,

be bitter fautet:

An' I hae seen their coggie fov,

That yet hae tarrow't at it; But or the day was done, I trow,

The laggen they hae clautet

Fu' clean that day.




THE sun had clos'd the winter-day,
The curlers quat their roaring play,

An' hunger’d Maukin taen her way

To kail-yards green,

While faithless snawş ilk step betray

Whare the 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,


* Duan, a term of Ossians for the different divisions of a dia gressive Poem. See his Catb-Loda, vol. 2. of M'Pherson's Translation.

Ben i' the Spence, right pensivelie,

I gaed to rest.

THERE, lanely, by the ingle-cheek,
I sat and ey'd the spewing reek,
That fill'd, wi’hoast-provoking smeek,

The auld, clay biggin; And heard the restless rattons squeak

About the riggin.

All in this mottie misty clime,

1 backward mus'd on wälted 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,

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