And mony a ane that I could tell, I doubt he's but a grey nick quill, There's S-h for ane, And that ye'll fin'. O! a' ye flocks, o'er a' the hills, By mosses, meadows, moors, and fells, And get the brutes the power themsels, To choose their herds. Then orthodoxy yet may prance, And learning in a woody dance, And that fell cur ca'd common sense, That bites sae sair, Be banish'd o'er the sea to France, Let him bark there. Then Shaw's and Dalrymple's eloquence, M-ll's close nervous excellence, M'Q-e's pathetic manly sense, And guid Mh, Wi' S-th wha thro' the heart can glance, May a' pack aff. LETTER то JOHN GOUDIE, KILMARNOCK: ON THE PUBLICATION OF HIS ESSAYS. O GOUDIE! terror of the Whigs, Sour Bigotry, on her last legs, Girnin' looks back, Wishin' the ten Egyptian plagues Wad seize you quick. Poor gapin', glowrin' Superstition, Waes me! she 's in a sad condition; Fy, bring Black Jock, her state physician, To see her w-t-er; Alas! there's ground o' great suspicion She'll ne'er get better. Auld Orthodoxy lang did grapple, Nigh unto death; See how she fetches at the thrapple, An' gasps for breath. Enthusiasm's past redemption, Gaen in a galloping consumption, Not a' the quacks, wi' a' their gumption, Will ever mend her, Her feeble pulse gies strong presumption Death soon will end her. 'Tis you and Taylor* are the chief, Wha are to blame for this mischief; But gin the Lord's ain focks gat leave, A toom tar barrel, An' twa red peats wad send relief, An' end the quarrel. * Dr Taylor of Norwich. THE INVENTORY: IN ANSWER TO A MANDATE BY THE SURVEYOR OF THE TAXES. [This Poem has been printed in the Liverpool Edition, but is here given with additions from a manuscript of the Author. The lines added are printed in Italics.] SIR, as your mandate did request, Imprimis, then, for carriage cattle, My Lan-afore's a gude auld has-been, If he be spar'd to be a beast, The fore horse on the left-hand in the plough. + The hindmost on the left-hand in the plough. Kilmarnock. The same on the right-hand in the plough. |