EPITAPH FOR GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ.

THE poor man weeps-here Gavin sleeps,

Whom canting wretches blam'd:

But with such as he, where'er he be,
May I be sav'd or damn'd!

A BARD'S EPITAPH.

Is there a whim-inspired fool,

Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule,
Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool,
Let him draw near;

And owre this grassy heap sing dool,
And drap a tear.

Is there a Bard of rustic song,

Who, noteless, steals the crowds among,
That weekly this area throng,

O, pass not by !

But, with a frater-feeling strong,

Here, heave a sigh.

Is there a man whose judgment clear,
Can others teach the course to steer,
Yet runs, himself, life's mad career,

Wild as the wave ;

Here pause-and, thro' the starting tear,

Survey this grave.

The poor Inhabitant below

Was quick to learn and wise to know,
And keenly felt the friendly glow,

And softer flame,

But thoughtless follies laid him low,
And stain'd his name!

Reader, attend-whether thy soul
Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole,
Or darkling grubs this earthly hole,
In low pursuit ;

Know, prudent, cautious self-control
Is wisdom's root.

EPITAPH ON MY FATHER.

O YE, whose cheek the tear of pity stains, Draw near with pious rev'rence and attend! Here lie the loving husband's dear remains, The tender father, and the gen'rous friend.

The pitying heart that felt for human woe ;
The dauntless heart that fear'd no human pride;
The friend of man, to vice alone a foe;

'For ev'n his failings lean'd to virtue's side.'

EPITAPH ON JOHN DOVE, INNKEEPER, MAUCHLINE.

Here lies Johnny Pidgeon;

What was his religion?

Wha e'er desires to ken,

To some other warl'
Maun follow the carl,

For here Johnny Pidgeon had nane !

Strong ale was ablution,

Small beer persecution,

A dram was memento mori ;

But a full flowing bowl

Was the saving his soul,

And port was celestial glory.

EPITAPH ON JOHN BUSHBY, WRITER, IN DUMFRIES.

HERE lies John Bushby, honest man!
Cheat him, Devil, if you can.

EPITAPH ON A WAG IN MAUCHLINE.

LAMENT him, Mauchline husbands a',
He aften did assist ye;

For had ye staid whole weeks awa,
Your wives they ne'er had miss'd ye.

Ye Mauchline bairns, as on ye pass
To school in bands thegither,
O tread ye lightly on his grass,
Perhaps he was your father.

EPITAPH ON A PERSON NICKNAMED

'THE MARQUIS,' WHO DESIRED BURNS TO WRITE ONE ON HIM.

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

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

EPITAPH ON WALTER S——.

SIC a reptile was Wat,

Sic a miscreant slave,

That the worms ev'n damn'd him

When laid in his grave.

'In his flesh there's a famine,'

A starv'd reptile cries;

'An' his heart is rank poison,'
Another replies.

GRACE BEFORE MEAT.

LORD, when hunger pinches sore,
Do thou stand us in need,
And send us from thy bounteous store,
A tup or wether head! Amen.

ON COMMISSARY GOLDIE'S BRAINS.

LORD, to account who dares thee call,
Or e'er dispute thy pleasure?

Else why within so thick a wall
Enclose so poor a treasure?

IMPROMPTU.

AT Brownhill we always get dainty good cheer,
And plenty of bacon each day in the year;
We've all things that's nice, and mostly in season,
But why always Bacon-come, give me a reason?

ADDRESSED TO A LÁDY

WHOM THE AUTHOR FEARED HE HAD OFFENDED.

RUSTICITY'S ungainly form

May cloud the highest mind;
But when the heart is nobly warm,
The good excuse will find.

Propriety's cold cautious rules
Warm fervour may o'erlook;

But spare poor sensibility

The ungentle, harsh rebuke.