Were this the charter of our state, เ 'On pain o' hell be rich an' great,' Damnation then would be our fate, Beyond remead; But, thanks to Heav'n, that's no the gate We learn our creed. For thus the royal Mandate ran, When first the human race began, The focial, friendly, honeft man, • Whate'er he be, 'Tis he fulfils great Nature's plan, 'An' none but he! O Mandate glorious and divine! The followers of the ragged Nine, Poor thoughtless devils! yet may shine Tho' here they scrape, an' squeeze, an' growl, Their worthlefs nievefu' of a foul May in fome future carcafe howl, The foreft's fright; Or in fome day-detefting owl May fhun the light. Then may L*****k and B**** arise, To reach their native, kindred skies, And fing their pleasures, hopes, an' joys, In fome mild sphere, Still closer knit in friendship's ties Each paffing year! то то W. S***** N, May 1785. IGAT your letter, winsome Willie ; Wi' gratefu' heart I thank you brawlie; Tho'. I maun fay't, I wad be filly, An' unco vain, Should I believe, my coaxin billie, Your flatterin ftrain. But I'fe believe ye kindly meant it, I fud be laith to think ye hinted Ironic fatire, fidelins sklented On my poor Mufie; Tho' in fic phraifin terms ye've penn'd it, I fcarce excuse ye. My fenfes wad be in a creel, Should I but dare a hope to speel, Wi Allan, or wi' Gilbertfield, The braes o' fame; Or Ferguson, the writer-chiel, A deathlefs name. (0 Ferguson thy glorious parts Ill fuited law's dry, musty arts! My curfe upon your whunftane hearts, Ye Enbrugh Gentry! The tythe o' what ye waste at cartes Wad ftow'd his pantry!) Yet Yet when a tale comes i' my head, Or laffes gie my heart a fcreed, As whiles they're like to be my dead, (O fad disease!) I kittle up my ruftic reed; It gies me ease. Auld Coila now may fidge fu' fain, She's gotten Poets o' her ain, Chiels wha their chanters winna hain, But tune their lays, Till echoes a' refound again Her weel-fung praise. Nae Poet thought her worth his while, To fet her name in measur'd style; She lay like fome unkend-of isle Befide New-Hollan', Or whare wild-meeting oceans boil Befouth Magellan. |