Compliments Of John Syme Of Ryedale
O had the malt thy strength of mind, Orhops the flavour of thy wit, 'Twere drink for first of human kind, A gift that e'enfor Syme were fit.
Crowdie Ever Mair
O that I had ne'er been married, I wadnever had naecare, Now I've gottenwife an' weans, An'they cry "Crowdie" evermair. Chorus-Ance crowdie, twice crowdie, Three times crowdie in a day Ginye crowdie ony mair, Ye'll crowdiea'my meal away. Waefu' Want and Hunger fleyme, Glowrin' bythe hallanen'; SairI fechtthem at the door, Butaye I'm eeriethey come
Does Haughty Gaul Invasion Threat?
Does haughty Gaul invasion threat? Then let the louns beware, Sir; There's wooden walls upon our seas, And volunteers on shore, Sir: The Nith shall run to Corsincon, And Criffel sink in Solway, Erewe permit a Foreign Foe On British ground to rally! We'll ne'er permit a Foreign Foe On British ground to rally! O
Epigram On Mr. James Gracie
Gracie, thou art a man of worth, O be thou Dean for ever! May he be damned to hell henceforth, Who fauts thy weight ormeasure!
Epitaph For Mr. Gabriel Richardson
Here Brewer Gabriel's fire's extinct, And empty all his barrels: He's blest-if, as he brew'd, he drink, In upright, honest morals.
Forlorn, My Love, No Comfort Near
Forlorn, my Love, nocomfort near, Far, far from thee, I wander here; Far, far from thee, the fate severe, At which I most repine, Love. Chorus-O wert thou, Love, but near me! Butnear, near, near me, How kindly thou wouldst cheer me, And mingle sighs with mine, Love. Around me scowls a wintry sky, Blasting
The Epitaph
Here lies, now a prey to insulting neglect, What once was a butterfly, gay in life's beam: Want only of wisdom denied her respect, Want only of goodness denied her esteem.
On Hearing It Asserted Falsehood
That there is a falsehood in his looks, I must and will deny: They tell their Master is a knave, And sure they do not lie.
On John Bushby, Esq., Tinwald Downs
Here lies John Bushby-honest man, Cheat him, Devil-if you can!
On Seeing Mrs. Kemble In Yarico
Kemble, thou cur'st my unbelief For Moses and his rod; At Yarico's sweet nor of grief The rockwith tears had flow'd.