ON SEEING THE BEAUTIFUL SEAT OF

LORD G.

What dost thou in that mansion fair?

Flit G

and find

Some narrow, dirty, dungeon cave,

The picture of thy mind!

ON THE SAME.

No Stewart art thou G

The Stewarts all were brave;
Besides the Stewart's were but fools,
Not one of them a knave.

ON THE SAME.

Bright ran thy line O, G——

Thro' many a far-fam'd sire!
So ran the far-fam'd Roman way,
So ended in a mire.

TO THE SAME ON THE AUTHOR BEING THREATENED WITH HIS RESENTMENT.

Spare me thy vengeance, G—

In quiet let me live :

I ask no kindness at thy hand,
For thou hast none to give.

THE

THE DEAN OF FACULTY.

A NEW BALLAD.

Tune-The Dragon of Wantley.

Dire was the hate at old Harlaw,
That Scot to Scot did carry ;
And dire the discord Langside saw,
For beauteous, hapless Mary:
But Scot with Scot ne'er met so hot,
Or were more in fury seen, Sir,

Than 'twixt Hal and Bob for the famous job-
Who should be Faculty's Dean, Sir.-

This Hal for genius, wit, and lore,
Among the first was number'd;
But pious Bob, 'mid learning's store,
Commandment tenth remember'd.-
Yet simple Bob the victory got,

And wan his heart's desire;

Which shews that heaven can boil the pot,
Though the devil p-s in the fire.-

Squire

Squire Hal besides had in this case
Pretensions rather brassy,
For talents to deserve a place
Are qualifications saucy;

So their worships of the Faculty,
Quite sick of merit's rudeness,
Chose one who should owe it all, d'ye see,
To their gratis grace and goodness.—

As once on Pisgah purg'd was the sight
Of a son of Circumcision,

So may be, on this Pisgah height,

Bob's purblind, mental vision:
Nay, Bobby's mouth may be open'd yet
Till for eloquence you hail him,
And swear he has the Angel met
That met the Ass of Balaam.-

!

EXTEMPORE

EXTEMPORE IN THE COURT OF SESSION.

Tune,-Gillicrankie.

LORD A-TE.

He clench'd his pamphlets in his fist,

He quoted and he hinted,
Till in a declamation-mist,
His argument he tint* it:
He gaped for't, he graped for 't,

He fand it was awa, man;

But what his common sense came short,

He eked out wi' law, man.

MR. ER-NE.

Collected Harry stood awee,

Then open'd out his arm, man; His lordship sat wi' ruefu' e'e,

And ey'd the gathering storm, man: Like wind-driv'n hail it did assail,

Or torrents owre a lin, man;

The Bench sae wise lift up their eyes,

Half-wauken'd wi' the din, man.

*Tint-lost.

VERSES

VERSES TO J. RANKEN,

(The person to whom his Poem on shooting the partridge is addressed, while Ranken occupied the farm of Adamhill, in Ayrshire.)

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:
Asham'd himsel to see the wretches,
He mutters, glow'rin at the bitches,

By G-d I'll not be seen behint them,

"Nor 'mang the sp'ritual core present them, "Without, at least ae honest man,

"To grace this d-d infernal clan."

By

*The word Wintle, denotes sudden and involuntary motion. In the ludicrous sense in which it is here applied, it may be admirably translated by the vulgar London expression of Dancing upon nothing.

F F