ON A SCHOOLMASTER IN CLEISH PARISH, FIFESHIRE. HERE lie Willie Michie's banes ; LINES WRITTEN AND PRESENTED TO MRS. KEMBLE, ON SEEING HER IN THE CHARACTER OF YARICO. Dumfries Theatre, 1794. KEMBLE, thou cur'st my unbelief At Yarico's sweet notes of grief I MURDER hate by field or flood, The deities that I adore Are social Peace and Plenty, I'm better pleased to make one more, LINES WRITTEN ON A WINDOW, AT THE KING'S ARMS TAVERN, DUMFRIES. YE men of wit and wealth, why all this sneering 'Gainst poor Excisemen? give the cause a hearing; What are your landlords' rent-rolls? taxing ledgers: What premiers, what? even Monarchs' mighty gaugers: Nay, what are priests, those seeming godly wise men? What are they, pray, but spiritual Excisemen ? LINES WRITTEN ON THE WINDOW OF THE GLOBE TAVERN, DUMFRIES. THE graybeard, Old Wisdom, may boast of his treasures, Give me with gay Folly to live: I grant him his calm-blooded, time-settled pleasures, But Folly has raptures to give. EXTEMPORE IN THE COURT OF TUNE-'KILLIECRANKIE.' LORD ADVOCATE. HE clench'd his pamphlets in his fist, Till in a declamation-mist, But what his common sense came short, MR. ERSKINE. Collected Harry stood awee, Then open'd out his arm, man ; And ey'd the gathering storm, man : Or torrents owre a linn, man ; LINES WRITTEN UNDER THE PICTURE CEASE, ye prudes, your envious railing, True it is, she had one failing, Had a woman ever less? `ON MISS J. SCOTT, OF AVR. OH! had each Scot of ancient times EPIGRAM ON CAPTAIN FRANCIS GROSE, THE CELEBRATED ANTIQUARY. THE Devil got notice that Grose was a-dying, And saw each bed-post with its burden a-groaning, EPIGRAM ON ELPHINSTONE'S TRANSLATION OF MARTIAL'S EPIGRAMS. O THOU whom Poetry abhors, Whom Prose had turned out of doors, Heard'st thou that groan?-proceed no further, 'Twas laurel'd Martial roaring murther. EPITAPH ON A COUNTRY LAIRD, NOT QUITE SO WISE AS SOLOMON. BLESS Jesus Christ, O Cardoness, With grateful lifted eyes, Who said that not the soul alone, For had he said, 'The soul alone Alas, alas! O Cardoness, Then thou hadst slept for ever! EPITAPH ON A NOISY POLEMIC. BELOW thir stanes lie Jamie's banes : Thou ne'er took such a bleth'rin' bitch EPITAPH ON WEE JOHNNY. Hic jacet wee Johnny. WHOE'ER thou art, O reader, know EPITAPH ON A CELEBRATED RULING ELDER. HERE sowter Hood in Death does sleep; To Hell, if he's gane thither, Satan, gie him thy gear to keep, He'll haud it weel thegither. EPITAPH FOR ROBERT AIKEN, ESQ. KNOW thou, O stranger to the fame |