Sketch In Verse
How wisdom and Folly meet, mix, and unite, How Virtue and Vice blend their black and their white, How Genius, th' illustrious father of fiction, Confounds rule and law, reconciles contradiction, I sing: If these mortals, the critics, should bustle, I care not, not I-let the Critics go whistle! But now for a Patron whose
Sappho Redivivus
By all I lov'd, neglected and forgot, Nofriendly face e'erlights my squalid cot; Shunn'd, hated, wrong'd, unpitied, unredrest, The mock'd quotation of the scorner's jest! Ev'n the poor support of my wretched life, Snatched by the violence of legal strife. Oft grateful for my very daily bread To those my family's once large bounty fed;
Robin Shure In Hairst
Chorus.-Robin shure in hairst, I shurewi'him. Fient aheukhad I, Yet I stack byhim. I gaedup to Dunse, To warp a wabo'plaiden, At his daddie's yett, Whamet me but Robin: Robin shure, &c. Was naRobin bauld, Tho' I was a cotter, Play'd me sica trick, An'me the El'er's dochter! Robin shure, &c. Robin promis'd me A'my
On The Late Captain Grose’s Peregrinations Thro’ Scotland
Hear, Land o' Cakes, and britherScots, FraeMaidenkirk to Johnie Groat's;- If there's a hole in a'your coats, I redeyou tentit: A chield's amangyou takin notes, And, faith, he'll prentit: If in your bounds ye chance to light Upon a fine, fat fodgelwight, O' stature short, but genius bright, That's he, markweel; And wow! he has
Presentation Stanzas To Correspondents
Factor John! Factor John, whom the Lord made alone, And ne'er made anither, thy peer, Thy poor servant, the Bard, in respectful regard, He presents thee this token sincere, Factor John! He presents thee this token sincere. Afton's Laird! Afton's Laird, when your pen can be spared, A copy of this I bequeath, On the
Epigram On Francis Grose The Antiquary
The Devil got notice that Grose was a-dying So whip! at the summons, old Satan came flying; Butwhen he approached where poor Francis lay moaning, And saweach bed-post with its burthen a-groaning, Astonish'd, confounded, cries Satan-"By God, I'll want him, ereI take such a damnable load!"
On A Bank Of Flowers
On a bank of flowers, in a summer day, For summer lightlydrest, The youthful, blooming Nelly lay, With love and sleep opprest; When Willie, wand'ring thro' the wood, Who for her favour oft had sued; He gaz'd, he wish'd He fear'd, he blush'd, And trembled where he stood. Her closed eyes, like weapons sheath'd, Were