XIX.

THE REPROOF.

[The imprudence of making the lines written at Stirling public was hinted to Burns by a friend; he said, "Oh, but I mean to reprove myself for it," which he did in these words.]

RASH mortal, and slanderous Poet, thy name Shall no longer appear in the records of fame; Dost not know that old Mansfield, who writes like the Bible,

Says the more 'tis a truth, Sir, the more 'tis a libel?

XX.

THE REPLY.

[The minister of Gladsmuir wrote a censure on the Stirling lines, intimating, as a priest, that Burns's race was nigh run, and as a prophet, that oblivion awaited his muse. The poet replied to the expostulation.]

LIKE Esop's lion, Burns says, sore I feel All others' scorn-but damn that ass's heel.

XXI. LINES

WRITTEN UNDER THE PICTURE OF THE CELEBRATED MISS BURNS.

[The Miss Burns of these lines was well known in those days to the bucks of the Scottish metropolis: there is still a letter by the poet, claiming from the magistrates of Edinburgh a liberal interpretation of the laws of social morality, in behalf of his fair namesake.]

CEASE, ye prudes, your envious railings,
Lovely Burns has charms-confess :
True it is, she had one failing-

Had a woman ever less?

XXII.

EXTEMPORE

IN THE COURT OF SESSION.

[These portraits are strongly coloured with the partialities of the poet: Dundas had offended his pride, Erskine had pleased his vanity; and as he felt he spoke.]

CURS'D be the man, the poorest wretch in life,
The crouching vassal to the tyrant wife!
Who has no will but by her high permission;
Who has not sixpence but in her possession;
Who must to her his dear friend's secret tell;
Who dreads a curtain lecture worse than hell!
Were such the wife had fallen to my part,
I'd break her spirit, or I'd break her heart;
I'd charm her with the magic of a switch,
I'd kiss her maids, and kick the perverse b-h.

XXIV.

WRITTEN AT INVERARY.

[Neglected at the inn of Inverary, on account of the presence of some northern chiefs, and overlooked by his Grace of Argyll, the poet let loose his wrath and his rhyme: tradition speaks of a pursuit which took place on the part of the Campbell, when he was told of his mistake, and of a resolution not to be soothed on the part of the bard.]

WHOE'ER he be that sojourns here,
I pity much his case,
Unless he's come to wait upon

The Lord their God, his Grace.

XLIV.

WRITTEN

IN A LADY'S POCKET-BOOK.

[That Burns loved liberty and sympathised with those who were warring in its cause, these lines, and hundreds more, sufficiently testify.]

GRANT me, indulgent Heav'n, that I may live
To see the miscreants feel the pains they give;
Deal Freedom's sacred treasures free as air,
Till slave and despot be but things which were.

XLV.

THE PARSON'S LOOKS.

[Some sarcastic person said, in Burns's hearing, that there was falsehood in the Reverend Dr. Burnside's looks: the poet mused for a moment, and replied in lines which have less of truth than point.]

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.

XLVIII.

THE TOAST.

[Burns being called on for a song by his brother volunteers, on a festive occasion, gave the following Toast.]

INSTEAD of a song, boys, I'll give you a toastHere's the memory of those on the twelfth that we lost!

That we lost, did I say? nay, by Heav'n, that we found;

For their fame it shall last while the world goes round.

The next in succession, I'll give you the King!
Whoe'er would betray him, on high may he swing;
And here's the grand fabric, our free Constitution,
As built on the base of the great Revolution;
And longer with politics not to be cramm'd,
Be Anarchy curs'd, and be Tyranny damn'd;
And who would to Liberty e'er prove disloyal,
May his son be a hangman, and he his first trial.

XLVI.

THE TOAD-EATER.

[This reproof was administered extempore to one of the guests at the table of Maxwell of Terraughty, whose whole talk was of dukes with whom he had dined, and of earls with whom he had supped.]

WHAT of earls with whom you have supt,
And of dukes that you dined with yestreen?
Lord! a louse, Sir, is still but a louse,
Though it crawl on the curl of a queen.

XLIX.

ON A PERSON NICKNAMED

THE MARQUIS.

[In a moment when vanity prevailed against prudence, this person, who kept a respectable publichouse in Dumfries, desired Burns to write his epitaph.]

HERE lies a mock Marquis whose titles were shamm'd;

If ever he rise, it will be to be damn'd.

L. LINES

WRITTEN ON A WINDOW.

XLVII.

ON ROBERT RIDDEL.

[I copied these lines from a pane of glass, in the Friar's Carse Hermitage, on which they had been traced with the diamond of Burns.]

To Riddel, much-lamented man,
This ivied cot was dear;
Reader, dost value matchless worth?
This ivied cot revere.

[Burns traced these words with a diamond, on the window of the King's Arms Tavern, Dumfries, as a reply, or reproof, to one who had been witty on excisemen.]

YE men of wit and wealth, why all this sneering, 'Gainst poor Excisemen? give the cause a hearing; What are your landlords' rent-rolls? teazing ledgers:

What premiers-what? even monarchs' mighty gaugers:

Nay, what are priests, those seeming godly wise men?

What are they, pray, but spiritual Excisemen ?