On Elphinstone’s Translation Of Martial’s Epigrams
O Thou whom Poetry abhors, Whom Prose has turned out of doors, Heard'st thou yongroan?-proceed nofurther, 'Twas laurel'd Martial calling murther.
On Scaring Some Water-Fowl In Loch-Turit
Why, ye tenants of the lake, For me your wat'ry haunt forsake? Tell me, fellow-creatures, why At my presence thus you fly? Why disturb your social joys, Parent, filial, kindred ties?- Common friend to you and me, yature's gifts to all are free: Peaceful keep your dimpling wave, Busy feed, orwanton lave; Or, beneath the
Epigram At Roslin Inn
My blessings on ye, honest wife! I ne'er was here before; Ye've wealth o' gearfor spoon and knife- Heart could not wish for more. Heav'n keep you clear o'sturtand strife, Tillfar ayontfourscore, And while I toddle on thro' life, I'll ne'er gaebyyour door!
Epigram On Parting With A Kind Host In The Highlands
When Death's dark stream I ferry o'er, A time that surely shall come, In Heav'n itself I'll ask nomore, Than just a Highland welcome.
Extempore In The Court Of Session
Lord Advocate He clenched his pamphlet in his fist, He quoted and he hinted, Till, in a declamation-mist, His argument he tintit: He gaped for't, he graped for't, He fandit was awa, man; Butwhat his common sense came short, He eked out wi' law, man. Mr. Erskine Collected, Harry stood awee, Then open'd out his
Epitaph For William Nicol, Of The High School, Edinburgh
Ye maggots, feed on Nicol's brain, For few sicfeasts you've gotten; And fix your claws in Nicol's heart, For deila bito't's rotten.
Epitaph For Mr. William Michie
Here lie Willie Michie's banes; O Satan, when ye takhim, Giehim the schulin o'your weans, For clever deils he'll makthem!
Epitaph For Mr. W. Cruikshank^1
Honest Will to Heaven's away And mony shall lament him; His fau'ts they a'in Latin lay, In English nanee'erkent them.
Epistle To Mrs. Scott
Gudewife, I Mind it weelin early date, When I was bardless, young, and blate, An' first could thresh the barn, Or hauda yokin' at the pleugh; An, tho' forfoughtensaireneugh, Yet uncoproud to learn: When first amang the yellow corn A man I reckon'd was, An' wi' the laveilk merry morn Could rank my rigand lass,