Few hearts like his, with virtue warmed,
Few heads with knowledge so informed:
If there's another world, he lives in bliss;
If there is none, he made the best of this.

A GRACE BEFORE DINNER.

O THOU,

who kindly dost provide

For every creature's want!

We bless thee, God of Nature wide,
For all thy goodness lent :

And, if it please thee, Heavenly Guide,
May never worse be sent ;

But whether granted or denied,

Lord, bless us with content!

Amen.

A FAREWELL.

FAREWELL, dear friend! may Guid-Luck hit you,
And 'mang her favourites admit you!
If e'er Detraction shore to smit you,

May nane believe him!

And ony deil that thinks to get you,

Good Lord deceive him!

ON BURNS'S HORSE BEING IMPOUNDED BY THE MAYOR OF CARLISLE.

WAS e'er puir poet sae befitted?

The maister drunk,-the horse committed:
Puir harmless beast! tak thee nae care,

Thou 'lt be a horse when he's nae mair (mayor)

ON TAM THE CHAPMAN.
As Tam the Chapman on a day
Wi' Death forgathered by the way,

Weel pleased, he greets a wight sae famous,
And Death was nae less pleased wi' Thomas,
Wha cheerfully lays down the pack,
And there blaws up a hearty crack;
His social, friendly, honest heart,
Sae tickled Death, they could na part:
Sae, after viewing knives and garters,
Death takes him hame to gie him quarters.

ON WEE JOHNNY.

HIC JACET WEE JOHNNY.
WHOE'ER thou art, O reader know
That Death has murdered Johnny!
An' here his body lies fu' low-
For saul-he ne'er had ony.

EPIGRAM ON BACON.

AT Brownhill we always get dainty good cheer, And plenty of Bacon, each day in the year; We've all things that's neat, and mostly in season: But why always Bacon?-come, give me a reason?

VERSES TO J. RANKINE.

AE day, as Death, that grusome carl,
Was driving to the tither warl'
A mixtie-maxtie motley squad,
And mony a guilt-bespotted lad;
Black gowns of each denomination,
And thieves of every rank and station,

From him that wears the star and garter,
To him that wintles in a halter;
Ashamed himsel' to see the wretches,
He mutters, glow'rin' at the bitches,
'By God! I'll not be seen behint them,
Nor 'mang the sp'ritual core present them,
Without at least ae honest man

To grace this damned infernal clan.'
By Adamhill a glance he threw,
'Lord God!' quoth he, 'I have it now:
There's just the man I want, i' faith!'
And quickly stoppit Rankine's breath.

VERSES TO JOHN RANKINE.
I AM a keeper of the law

In some sma' points, although not a',
Some people tell me gin I fa'

Ae way or ither,

The breaking of ae point, though sma',

Breaks a' thegither.

I hae been in for 't ance or twice,
And winna say o'er far for thrice,
Yet never met with that surprise

That broke my rest,

But now a rumour's like to rise

A whaup's i' the nest.

ON A NOISY POLEMIC.

BELOW thir stanes lie Jamie's banes;
O Death! it's my opinion,

Thou ne'er took such a bleth'rin' bitch
Into thy dark dominion!

ON A NOTED COXCOMB.

LIGHT lay the earth on Billy's breast,

His chicken heart so tender;

But built a castle on his head,
His skull will prop it under.

ON MISS JEAN SCOTT, OF ECCLEFECHAN.

O, HAD each Scot of ancient times
Been, Jeanie Scott, as thou art,
The bravest heart on English ground
Had yielded like a coward.

ON A HEN-PECKED COUNTRY SQUIRE.

As father Adam first was fooled,
A case that's still too common,
Here lies a man a woman ruled-
The Devil ruled the woman.

ON THE SAME.

O DEATH! hadst thou but spared his life
Whom we this day lament,
We freely wad exchange the wife,

An' a' been weel content!

E'en as he is, cauld in his graff,
swap we yet will do 't;

The

Tak thou the carlin's carcase aff,
Thou'se get the saul to boot.

ON THE SAME.

ONE Queen Artemisia, as old stories tell,

When deprived of her husband she loved so well,
In respect for the love and affection he'd shown her,
She reduced him to dust and she drank up the powder.

But Queen Netherplace, of a different complexion, When called on to order the funeral direction, Would have ate her dead lord, on a slender pretence, Not to show her respect, but-to save the expense!

THE HIGHLAND WELCOME.

WHEN death's dark stream I ferry o'er,-
A time that surely shall come;

In heaven itself I'll ask no more
Than just a Highland welcome.

VERSES

WRITTEN ON A WINDOW OF THE INN AT CARRON.

WE cam na here to view your warks,

In hopes to be mair wise,

But only, lest we gang to hell,

It may be nae surprise;

But whan we tirled at your door,

Your porter dought na hear us;

Sae should we to hell's yetts come,

may,

Your billy Satan sair us!