Epigram On The Laird Of Laggan
When Morine, deceas'd, to the Devil went down, 'Twas nothing would serve him but Satan's own crown; "Thy fool's head," quoth Satan, "that crown shall wear never, I grant thou'rt as wicked, butnot quite so clever."
Kirk and State Excisemen
Ye men of wit and wealth, why all this sneering 'Gainst poor Excisemen? Give the cause a hearing: What are your Landlord's rent-rolls? Taxing ledgers! What Premiers? What ev'n Monarchs? Mighty Gaugers! Nay, what are Priests? (those seeming godly wise-men,) What are they, pray, butSpiritual Excisemen!
Impromptu On General Dumourier’s Desertion From The French Republican Army
You're welcome to Despots, Dumourier; You're welcome to Despots, Dumourier: How does Dampiere do? Ay, and Bournonville too? Why did they not come along with you, Dumourier? I will fight France with you, Dumourier; I will fight France with you, Dumourier; I will fight France with you, I will take my chance with you; Bymy
Grace Before And After Meat
O Lord, when hunger pinches sore, Do thou stand us in stead, And send us, from thy bounteous store, A tup orwether head! Amen. O Lord, since we have feasted thus, Which we so little merit, Let Meg now take away the flesh, And Jock bring in the spirit! Amen.
Grace After Meat
Lord, we thank, and thee adore, For temporal gifts we little merit; At present we will ask nomore- Let William Hislop give the spirit.
Extempore Reply To An Invitation
The King's most humble servant, I Can scarcely spare a minute; ButI'll be wi'you byan'by; Orelse the Deil's be in it.
Epitaph On A Lap-Dog Named Echo
In wood and wild, ye warbling throng, Your heavy loss deplore; Now, half extinct your powers of song, Sweet Echo is nomore. Ye jarring, screeching things around, Scream your discordant joys; Now, half your dinof tuneless sound With Echo silent lies.
Epigrams Against The Earl Of Galloway
What dost thou in that mansion fair? Flit, Galloway, and find Some narrow, dirty, dungeon cave, The picture of thy mind. No Stewart art thou, Galloway, The Stewarts 'll were brave; Besides, the Stewarts were butfools, Not one of them a knave. Bright ran thy line, O Galloway, Thro' many a far-fam'd sire! So ran
Deluded Swain, The Pleasure
Deluded swain, the pleasure The fickle Fair can give thee, Is but a fairy treasure, Thy hopes will soon deceive thee: The billows on the ocean, The breezes idly roaming, The cloud's uncertain motion, They are buttypes of Woman. O art thou not asham'd To doat upon a feature? If Man thou wouldst be nam'd,