In vain with Squire Billy for laurels you struggle,
He'll have them by fair trade, if not, he will smuggle;
Not cabinets even of kings would conceal 'em,

He'd up the back stairs, and, by God, he would steal 'em!
Then feats like Squire Billy's you ne'er can achieve 'em,
It is not outdo him, the task is out-thieve him!

ON SEEING A WOUNDED HARE LIMP BY ME
WHICH A FELLOW HAD JUST SHOT at.

INHUMAN man! curse on thy barb'rous art,
And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye:
May never pity soothe thee with a sigh,
Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart!

Go live, poor wanderer of the wood and field,
The bitter little that of life remains:

No more the thickening brakes and verdant plains
To thee shall home, or food, or pastime yield.

Seek, mangled wretch, some place of wonted rest-
No more of rest, but now thy dying bed!

The sheltering rushes whistling o'er thy head,
The cold earth with thy bloody bosom prest.

Oft as by winding Nith I, musing, wait
The sober eve, or hail the cheerful dawn,

I'll miss thee sporting o'er the dewy lawn,

And curse the ruffian's aim, and mourn thy hapless fate.

DELIA.

FAIR the face of orient day,
Fair the tints of opening rose;
But fairer still my Delia dawns,
More lovely far her beauty blows.

Sweet the lark's wild-warbled lay,
Sweet the tinkling rill to hear;
But, Delia, more delightful still,
Steal thine accents on mine ear.

The flower-enamoured busy bee
The rosy banquet loves to sip;
Sweet the streamlet's limpid lapse
To the sun-browned Arab's lip.
But, Delia, on thy balmy lips
Let me, no vagrant insect, rove!
Oh, let me steal one liquid kiss!
For, oh! my soul is parched with love!

ON CAPTAIN GROSE'S PEREGRINATIONS
THROUGH SCOTLAND,

COLLECTING THE ANTIQUITIES OF THAT KINGDOM.
HEAR, Land o' Cakes, and brither Scots,
Frae Maidenkirk to Johnny Groat's;
If there's a hole in a' your coats,

I rede you tent it:

A chiel's amang you, taking notes,

And, faith, he'll prent it.

If in your bounds ye chance to light
Upon a fine, fat, fodgel wight,
O' stature short, but genius bright,

That's he, mark weel

And wow! he has an unco slight

O' cauk and keel.

By some auld, houlet-haunted biggin',
Or kirk deserted by its riggin',

It's ten to ane ye 'll find him snug in

Some eldritch part,

Wi' deils, they say, Lord save's! colleaguin',
At some black art.

Ilk ghaist that haunts auld ha' or cham'er,
Ye gipsy gang that deal in glamour,

And you deep read in hell's black grammar,
Warlocks and witches,

Ye'll quake at his conjuring hammer,

Ye midnight bitches.

It's tauld he was a sodger bred,
And ane wad rather fa'n than fled;
But now he's quat the spurtle blade,

And dogskin wallet,

And ta'en the-Antiquarian trade,

I think they ca' it.

He has a fouth o' auld nick-nackets:
Rusty airn caps and jinglin' jackets,
Wad haud the Lothians three in tackets,
A towmont guid;

And parritch-pats, and auld saut-backets,
Before the Flood.

Of Eve's first fire he has a cinder;
Auld Tubalcain's fire-shool and fender;
That which distinguishèd the gender
O' Balaam's ass;

A broom-stick o' the witch of Endor,

Weel shod wi' brass.

Forbye, he'll shape you aff, fu' gleg,
The cut of Adam's philabeg:

The knife that nicket Abel's craig

He'll prove you fully,

It was a faulding jocteleg,

Or lang-kail gully.

But wad ye see him in his glee,
For meikle glee and fun has he,
Then set him down, and twa or three

Guid fellows wi' him;

And port, O port! shine thou a wee,

And then ye 'll see him!

Now, by the powers o' verse and prose!
Thou art a dainty chiel, O Grose!
Whae'er o' thee shall ill suppose,

They sair misca' thee;

I'd take the rascal by the nose,

Wad say, Shame fa' thee!

LINES WRITTEN IN A WRAPPER,

ENCLOSING A LETTER TO CAPTAIN GROSE.

KEN ye aught o' Captain Grose?
Igo and ago,

If he's amang his friends or foes?

Iram, coram, dago.

Is he south, or is he north?
Igo and ago,

Or drowned in the river Forth?

Iram, coram, dago.

Is he slain by Highlan' bodies?
Igo and ago,

And eaten like a wether-haggis?
Iram, coram, dago.

.

Is he to Abram's bosom gane?

Igo and ago,

Or haudin' Sarah by the wame?

Iram, coram, dago.

Where'er he be, the Lord be near him!
Igo and ago,

As for the Deil, he daurna steer him!
Iram, coram, dago.

But please transmit th' enclosed letter,
Igo and ago,

Which will oblige your humble debtor,
Iram, coram, dago.

So may ye hae auld stanes in store,
Igo and ago,

The very stanes that Adam bore,
Iram, coram, dago.

So may ye get in glad possession,
Igo and ago,

The coins o' Satan's coronation!
Iram, coram, dago.

VERSES TO MY BED.

THOU Bed, in which I first began
To be that various creature-man!
And when again the fates decree
The place where I must cease to be;
When sickness comes, to whom I fly,
To soothe my pain, or close mine eye :
When cares surround me, where I weep,
Or lose them all in balmy sleep;
When sore with labour, whom I court,
And to thy downy breast resort;
Where, too, ecstatic joys I find,
When deigns my Delia to be kind-
And full of love, in all her charms,
Thou giv'st the fair one to my arms.