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ELEGY ON PEG NICHOLSON,1

A DEAD MARE.

PEG NICHOLSON was a good bay mare,
As ever trode on airn;
But now she's floating down the Nith,
And past the mouth o' Cairn.

Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare,
And rode through thick and thin;
But now she's floating down the Nith,
And wanting even the skin.

Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare,
And ance she bore a priest;
But now she's floating down the Nith,
For Solway fish a feast.

Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare,
And the priest he rode her sair;
And much oppressed and bruised she was,
As priest-rid cattle are. - etc., etc.

Feb. 9, 1790.

iron

1 In burlesque allusion, it may be presumed, to the insane woman, Margaret Nicholson, who made an attempt to stab George III. with a knife, August, 1786.

WRITTEN TO A GENTLEMAN 1 WHO HAD SENT THE POET A NEWSPAPER,

AND OFFERED TO CONTINUE IT FREE OF EXPENSE.

KIND Sir, I've read your paper through,
And, faith, to me 'twas really new!

How guessed ye, sir, what maist I wanted?
This monie a day I've graned and

gaunted,

To ken what French mischief was brewin',

groaned

yawned

Or what the drumlie Dutch were doin'; muddy

That vile doup-skelper, Emperor Joseph,

If Venus yet had got his nose off;

Or how the collieshangie works
Atween the Russians and the Turks;

Or if the Swede, before he halt,
Would play anither Charles the Twalt; 2
If Denmark, anybody spak o't;

contention

lease

Or Poland, wha had now the tack o't:
How cut-throat Prussian blades were hingin';
How libbet Italy was singin':

If Spaniard, Portuguese, or Swiss,
Were sayin' or takin' aught amiss.

emasculated

1 Probably Mr. Peter Stuart, of the Star newspaper.

2 Gustavus III. had attracted considerable notice in 1789 by his vigorous measures against Russia, and the arrest of many of his nobility who disapproved of his measures.

Or how our merry lads at hame,

In Britain's court, kept up the game;

How Royal George, the Lord leuk o'er him!
Was managing St. Stephen's quorum;
If sleekit Chatham Will was livin',

smooth

[blocks in formation]

itching stretched

Or glaikit Charlie got his nieve in; thoughtless
How Daddie Burke the plea was cookin';
If Warren Hastings' neck was yeukin';
How cesses, stents,1 and fees were raxed,
Or if bare
yet were taxed;
The news o' princes, dukes, and earls,
Pimps, sharpers, bawds, and opera-girls;
If that daft buckie, Geordie Wales,
Was threshin' still at hizzies' tails;

mad

hussies

Or if he was grown oughtlins douser, any soberer And no a perfect kintra cooser.

A' this and mair I never heard of,

stallion

And but for you I might despaired of.
So gratefu', back your news I send you,
And pray, a' guid things may attend you! 2
ELLISLAND, Monday Morning, 1790.

1 Valuations of property for purposes of taxation.

2 After all, from whatever cause, the gratuitous newspaper did not come very regularly, as appears from a subsequent note of remonstrance sent by the bard to head-quarters:

Dear Peter, dear Peter,
We poor sons of metre
Are often negleckit, ye ken;

For instance, your sheet, man,
(Though glad I'm to see't, man),
I get it no ae day in ten.-R. B.

SECOND EPISTLE TO MR. GRAHAM OF FINTRY.

The canvass for the Dumfries burghs had been proceeding with excessive vigor all this spring, and when the election at length took place in July, the agitation and fervor of the public mind in the district exceeded everything of the kind previously known. The influence of the Duke of Queensberry on the Whig side proved too much for the merits of excellent "Westerhall," and the dismissal of his Grace from the bedchamber was revenged on Pitt by the return of Captain Miller. In a spirited verseepistle on the subject, addressed to his friend Mr. Graham, Burns still shows, under an affected impartiality, his Tory and even Cavalier leanings.

FINTRY, my stay in worldly strife,
Friend o' my Muse, friend o' my life,
Are ye as idle's I am?

Come then, wi' uncouth, kintra fleg, country fling
O'er Pegasus I'll fling my leg,

And ye shall see me try him.

I'll sing the zeal Drumlanrig1 bears,
Who left the all-important cares

Of princes and their darlings;

1 The Duke of Queensberry. Burns, for metre's sake, uses his Grace's second title.

And, bent on winning borough towns,
Came shaking hands wi' wabster loons, weaver
And kissing barefit carlins.

Combustion through our boroughs rode,
Whistling his roaring pack abroad,

Of mad, unmuzzled lions

As Queensberry buff and blue 1 unfurled,
And Westerha' and Hopetoun 2 hurled
To every Whig defiance.

women

But Queensberry, cautious, left the war;
The unmannered dust might soil his star,
Besides, he hated bleeding;

But left behind him heroes bright,
Heroes in Cæsarean fight

Or Ciceronian pleading.

O for a throat like huge Mons-Meg,
To muster o'er each ardent Whig
Beneath Drumlanrig's banners;
Heroes and heroines commix
All in the field of politics,

To win immortal honours.

1 The livery of Mr. Fox.

2 The Earl of Hopetoun.

8

8 A piece of ordnance of extraordinary structure and magnitude, founded in the reign of James IV. of Scotland, about the end of the fifteenth century, and which is still exhibited, though in an infirm state, in Edinburgh Castle. The diameter of the bore is twenty inches.

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