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Out o'er yon muir, out o'er yon moss,
Whare gor-cocks thro' the heather pass,
There wons auld Colin's bonie lass,
A lily in a wilderness.

My lady's gown, &c.

Sae sweetly move her genty limbs,
Like music notes o' lovers' hymns:
The diamond-dew in her een sae blue,
Where laughing love sae wanton swims.
My lady's gown, &c.

My lady's dink, my lady's drest,
The flower and fancy o' the west;
But the lassie that a man lo'es best,
O that's the lass to mak him blest.
My lady's gown, &c.

EPIGRAM AT ROSLIN INN

My blessings on ye, honest wife!
I ne'er was here before;

Ye've wealth o' gear for spoon and knife-
Heart could not wish for more.

Heav'n keep you clear o' sturt and strife,

Till far ayont fourscore,

And while I toddle on thro' life,

I'll ne'er gae by your door!

EPIGRAM ADDRESSED TO AN ARTIST

DEAR

I'll gie ye some advice,

You'll tak it no uncivil:

You shouldna paint at angels mair,
But try and paint the devil.

To paint an Angel's kittle wark,
Wi' Nick, there's little danger:
You'll easy draw a lang-kent face,

But no sae weel a stranger.-R. B.

THE BOOK-WORMS

THROUGH and through th' inspir'd leaves,
Ye maggots, make your windings;
But O respect his lordship's taste,
And spare his golden bindings.

ON ELPHINSTONE'S TRANSLATION OF
MARTIAL'S EPIGRAMS

O THOU whom Poetry abhors,

Whom Prose has turned out of doors,
Heard'st thou yon groan?-proceed no further,
Twas laurel'd Martial calling murther.

SONG A BOTTLE AND FRIEND

There's nane that's blest of human kind,
But the cheerful and the gay, man,
Fal, la, la, &c.

HERE'S a bottle and an honest friend!
What wad ye wish for mair, man?
Wha kens, before his life may end,
What his share may be o' care, man?

Then catch the moments as they fly,
And use them as ye ought, man:

Believe me, happiness is shy,

And comes not aye when sought, man.

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?

EPITAPH FOR WILLIAM NICOL, OF THE
HIGH SCHOOL, EDINBURGH

YE maggots, feed on Nicol's brain,
For few sic feasts you've gotten;
And fix your claws in Nicol's heart,
For deil a bit o't's rotten.

EPITAPH FOR MR. WILLIAM MICHIE Schoolmaster of Cleish Parish, Fifeshire.

HERE lie Willie Michie's banes;

O Satan, when ye tak him,
Gie him the schulin o' your weans,
For clever deils he'll mak them!

BOAT SONG-HEY, CA' THRO'

Up wi' the carls o' Dysart,

And the lads o' Buckhaven,
And the kimmers o' Largo,
And the lasses o' Leven.

Chorus.-Hey, ca' thro', ca' thro',

For we hae muckle ado.
Hey, ca' thro', ca' thro',
For we hae muckle ado;

We hae tales to tell,

An' we hae sangs to sing;

We hae pennies tae spend,

An' we hae pints to bring.
Hey, ca' thro', &c.

We'll live a' our days,

And them that comes behin',

Let them do the like,

An' spend the gear they win.

Hey, ca' thro', &c.

ADDRESS TO WM. TYTLER, ESQ., OF
WOODHOUSELEE

With an Impression of the Author's Portrait.
REVERED 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, Still more if that wand'rer were royal.

My fathers that name have rever'd on a throne:
My fathers have fallen to right it;

Those fathers would spurn their degenerate son,
That name should he scoffingly slight it.

Still in prayers for King George I most heartily join,
The Queen, 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,
That gave us th' Electoral stem?

If bringing them over was lucky for us,
I'm sure 'twas as lucky for them.

But, loyalty, truce! we're on dangerous ground;
Who knows how the fashions may alter?
The doctrine, to-day, that is loyalty sound,
To-morrow may bring us a halter!

I send you a trifle, a head of a bard,

A trifle scarce worthy your care;

But accept it, good Sir, as a mark of regard,
Sincere as a saint's dying prayer.

Now life's chilly evening dim shades on your eye,
And ushers the long dreary night:

But you, like the star that athwart gilds the sky,
Your course to the latest is bright.

EPIGRAM TO MISS AINSLIE IN CHURCH
Who was looking up the text during sermon.

FAIR maid, you need not take the hint,

Nor idle texts pursue:

'Twas guilty sinners that he meant,
Not Angels such as you.

BURLESQUE LAMENT FOR THE ABSENCE OF
WILLIAM CREECH, PUBLISHER

AULD chuckie Reekie's' sair distrest,
Down droops her ance weel burnish'd crest,
Nae joy her bonie buskit nest

Can yield ava,

Her darling bird that she lo'es best-
Willie's awa!

O Willie was a witty wight,

And had o' things an unco' sleight,
Auld Reekie aye he keepit tight,

And trig an' braw:

But now they'll busk her like a fright,-
Willie's awa!

The stiffest o' them a' he bow'd,
The bauldest o' them a' he cow'd;

They durst nae mair than he allow'd,
That was a law:

We've lost a birkie weel worth gowd;
Willie's awa!

Now gawkies, tawpies, gowks and fools,
Frae colleges and boarding schools,
May sprout like simmer puddock-stools
In glen or shaw;

He wha could brush them down to mools-
Willie's awa!

1 Edinburgh.

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