Your pardon, Sir, for this digression, But when divinity comes cross me, So, Sir, ye see 'twas nae daft vapour, I thought them something like yoursel. Then patronise them wi' For prayin I hae little skill o't; I'm baith dead-sweer, an' wretched ill o't; May ne'er misfortune's gowling bark, 'Howl thro' the dwelling o' the Clerk! May ne'er his gen'rous, honest heart, For that same gen'rous spirit smart! May K******'s far-honour'd name Lang beet his hymeneal flame, • Till • Till H*******'s, at least a dizen, By word, or pen, or pointed steel! May health and peace, with mutual rays, • Shine on the evening o' his days; Till his wee curlie John's ier-oe, I will not wind a lang conclusion, But whilst your wishes and endeavours } But if (which Pow'rs above prevent!) By sad mistakes, and black mischances, While hopes, and joys, and pleasures fly him, Your humble servant then no more; VOL. III. Q poor! But, But by a poor man's hopes in Heaven! Then, Sir, your hand-my friend and brother! ΤΟ то A LOUSE, ON SEEING ONE ON A LADY'S BONNET, AT CHURCH. HA! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie! I canna say but Tho' faith, I fear ye strunt rarely, Owre gauze and lace; ye dine but sparely On sic a place. Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner, Gae somewhere else and seek your dinner, Swith, in some beggar's haffet squattle; There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle Wi' ither kindred, jumpin cattle, In shoals and nations; Whare horn or bane ne'er dare unsettle Your thick plantations. Now haud ye there, ye're out o' sight, Below the fatt'rils, snug an' tight; Na, faith ye yet! ye'll no be right Till ye've got on it, The vera tapmost, tow'ring height O' Miss's bonnet. My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose out, As plump and gray as onie grozet; O for some rank, mercurial rozet, Or fell, red smeddum, I'd gie you sic a hearty doze o't, Wad dress your droddum! |