LINES SPOKEN EXTEMPORE,
ON BEING APPOINTED TO THE EXCISE.
SEARCHING auld wives' barrels,
Och, hon! the day!
That clarty barm should stain my laurels ;
But-what'll ye say?
These movin' things ca'd wives and weans
Wad move the very hearts o' stanes!
POETICAL REPLY TO AN INVITATION.
Yours this moment I unseal,
And faith, I'm gay and hearty!
To tell the truth an' shame the Deil,
I am as fou' as Bartie:
But foorsday, sir, my promise leal,
Expect me o' your party,
If on a beastie I can speel,
Or hurl in a cartie.-R. B.
THE King's most humble servant, I
Can scarcely spare a minute;
But I'll be wi' you by-and-by,
Or else the Devil's in it.
A MOTHER'S ADDRESS TO HER INFANT.
My blessin's upon thy sweet wee lippie!
My blessin's upon thy bonnie ee brie!
Thy smiles are sae like my blithe sodger laddie.
Thou's aye the dearer and dearer to me!
THE CREED OF POVERTY.
IN politics if thou wouldst mix,
And mean thy fortunes be;
Bear this in mind,- Be deaf and blind;
Let great folks hear and see.'
WRITTEN IN A LADY'S POCKET-BOOK.
GRANT me, indulgent Heaven! that I may live
To see the miscreants feel the pain they give;
Deal freedom's sacred treasures free as air,
Till slave and despot be but things which were!
THE PARSON'S LOOKS.
THAT there is falsehood in his looks
I must and will deny;
They say their master is a knave-
And sure they do not lie.
PINNED TO A LADY'S COACH.
IF you rattle along like your mistress's tongue
Your speed will outrival the dart;
But a fly for your load, you'll break down on the road,
If your stuff be as rotten's her heart.
ON ROBERT RIDDEL.
To Riddel, much-lamented man,
This ivied cot was dear:
Reader, dost value matchless worth?
This ivied cot revere.
ON MRS. RIDDEL'S BIRTHDAY, NOVEMBER 4, 1793.
OLD Winter with his frosty beard,
Thus once to Jove his prayer preferred:
'What have I done, of all the year,
To bear this hated doom severe ?
My cheerless suns no pleasure know;
Night's horrid car drags dreary, slow;
My dismal months no joys are crowning,
But spleeny English, hanging, drowning.
'Now, Jove, for once be mighty civil
To counterbalance all this evil;
Give me,-and I've no more to say,-
Give me Maria's natal day!
That brilliant gift will so enrich me,
Spring, Summer, Autumn cannot match me.'
""Tis done!' says Jove. So ends my story,
And Winter once rejoiced in glory.
ON THE LATE MR. WILLIAM SMELLIE.
The old cocked-hat, the grey surtout, the same;
His bristling beard just rising in its might,
"Twas four long days and nights to shaving-night;
His uncombed grizzly locks wild-staring, thatched
A head for thought profound and clear unmatched;
Yet though his caustic wit was biting, rude,
His heart was warm, benevolent, and good.
On refusing to dine with him.
No more of your guests, be they titled or not,
And cook'ry the first in the nation;
Who is proof to thy personal converse and wit,
Is proof to all other temptation.
WITH A PRESENT OF A DOZEN OF PORTER.
O, HAD the malt thy strength of mind,
Or hops the flavour of thy wit;
'Twere drink for first of humankind,
A gift that e'en for Syme were fit!
ON A PERSON NICKNAMED "THE
THE LANDLORD OF A PUBLIC-HOUSE IN DUMFRIES.
HERE lies a mock Marquis, whose titles were shammed: If ever he rise, it will be to be damned.
LINES WRITTEN ON A WINDOW IN DUMFRIES.
YE men of wit and wealth, why all this sneering
'Gainst poor Excisemen? Give the cause a hearing.
What are your landlords' rent-rolls-taxing ledgers;
What Premiers-what? even monarchs' mighty gaugers:
Nay, what are priests, those seeming godly wise men?
What are they, pray, but spiritual Excisemen?
LINES WRITTEN ON A PANE OF GLASS, ON THE OCCASION OF A NATIONAL THANKSGIVING FOR A NAVAL VICTORY.
YE hypocrites! are these your pranks?
To murder men, and gie God thanks!
For shame! gie o'er,~proceed no further-
God wont accept your thanks for murder!
WRITTEN ON A WINDOW OF THE GLOBE TAVERN,
DUMFRIES.
THE greybeard, old Wisdom, may boast of his treasures,
Give me with gay Folly to live;
I grant him calm-blooded, time-settled pleasures,
But Folly has raptures to give.
INVITATION TO A MEDICAL GENTLEMAN,
TO ATTEND A MASONIC ANNIVERSARY MEETING.
FRIDAY first 's the day appointed,
By our Right Worshipful anointed,
To hold our grand procession;
To get a blade o' Johnnie's morals,
And taste a swatch o' Manson's barrels,
I' the way of our profession.
Our Master and the Brotherhood
Wad a' be glad to see you;
For me I would be mair than proud
To share the mercies wi' you.
If Death, then, wi' scaith, then,
Some mortal heart is hechtin,
Inform him, and storm him,
That Saturday ye 'll fecht him.
ROBERT B
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