Ars catchpolaria, or the art of destroying mankind Intended as a Vade-mecum or Pocket Companion to Messengers and other executors of the Law [by James Wilson] |
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Number II.
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 | Ars catchpolaria, or the art of destroying mankind |  |
Number II.
Readers, indulge me this third time,
Sometimes in prose, sometimes in rhime
To say or sing as suits me best,
My tale of sign-posts now at rest.
Sometimes in prose, sometimes in rhime
To say or sing as suits me best,
My tale of sign-posts now at rest.
George Mackie's ship with full spread sail,
Has suffer'd by this violent gale.
His wife she was a princess born,
Her father never wore a horn;
He manufactur'd booots and shoes,
And by assistance of his spouse,
Fair tenements in portsburgh rear'd,
Was both a poet and a laird.
Right wonderfull was this same case,
For poets seldom have such grace;
But in top stories not their own,
Like Claud, spue nonsense thro' the town.
A specimen of Crispin's verse,
In his own words I shall rehearse;
Wrote underneath the knife and crown,
Which shows he was a witty lown.
Has suffer'd by this violent gale.
His wife she was a princess born,
Her father never wore a horn;
He manufactur'd booots and shoes,
And by assistance of his spouse,
Fair tenements in portsburgh rear'd,
Was both a poet and a laird.
Right wonderfull was this same case,
For poets seldom have such grace;
But in top stories not their own,
Like Claud, spue nonsense thro' the town.
A specimen of Crispin's verse,
In his own words I shall rehearse;
Wrote underneath the knife and crown,
Which shows he was a witty lown.
“I John Rammage wi' my ain hands
Wan the Siller that bigget thir lands,
And Elspet Black, my sweet-heart,
Span the thread, and plaid her part.”
Wan the Siller that bigget thir lands,
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Span the thread, and plaid her part.”
Blackwood in Calton, how unfit
To match his merit, craft, or wit,
At best thou'rt a seceding elf;
And lasts thy conscience for the pelf.
To match his merit, craft, or wit,
At best thou'rt a seceding elf;
And lasts thy conscience for the pelf.
The Calton Vulcans can no more
Hang ecce signums o'er each door,
For them my muse bore great regard,
And wish'd such plunder had been spar'd,
For labour's theirs, and decent worth,
Each Wednesday sets their merit forth:
Their works bear witness on the street,
That they are vulcan's sons compleat.
Hang ecce signums o'er each door,
For them my muse bore great regard,
And wish'd such plunder had been spar'd,
For labour's theirs, and decent worth,
Each Wednesday sets their merit forth:
Their works bear witness on the street,
That they are vulcan's sons compleat.
Cam'ron and Carol just and true,
In Canongate their trade pursue;
For upholstry work, they London brave,
And call none of their bus'ness knave,
Nor go about like Lupus Lamb,
Their brothers work to court or damn.
No crown or cushion or death train,
But all is simple neat and plain.
Matchless assurance is thy own,
Thy impudence even scorns a frown;
How much unlike to brother Russel,
Who acts upright despising bustle.
In Canongate their trade pursue;
For upholstry work, they London brave,
And call none of their bus'ness knave,
Nor go about like Lupus Lamb,
Their brothers work to court or damn.
No crown or cushion or death train,
But all is simple neat and plain.
Matchless assurance is thy own,
Thy impudence even scorns a frown;
How much unlike to brother Russel,
Who acts upright despising bustle.
You taylors now in potter-row,
Whose signs, once proud, are now laid low;
For shame your funds no more devour,
But give subsistence to your poor;
Lest Egypt's plagues attack your borders,
And fill your bosoms with disorders.
Whose signs, once proud, are now laid low;
For shame your funds no more devour,
But give subsistence to your poor;
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And fill your bosoms with disorders.
Great Granby's bust has gone to pot,
From Duncan's door receiv'd a shot;
We mourn in vain this fatal deed,
For laurels should have crown'd his head.
From Duncan's door receiv'd a shot;
We mourn in vain this fatal deed,
For laurels should have crown'd his head.
The knives, the scissars and the saw,
Which lately in Leith wynd did fa',
Shall never wound, far less o'erthrow,
Boog's edge tools please both high and low.
Which lately in Leith wynd did fa',
Shall never wound, far less o'erthrow,
Boog's edge tools please both high and low.
Bad ale in new street's on a door,
Design'd for wit you may be sure,
Yet true it is as I'm alive,
How can this house expect to thrive?
Design'd for wit you may be sure,
Yet true it is as I'm alive,
How can this house expect to thrive?
Drunk Pate Stev'n upon the walk,
Now cease I beg, thy beastly talk,
Thy gallows sign is pulled down,
Before the gallows got its own.
A rope is an informers due,
Pray Pate does it belong to you?
Now cease I beg, thy beastly talk,
Thy gallows sign is pulled down,
Before the gallows got its own.
A rope is an informers due,
Pray Pate does it belong to you?
A Leghorn nose becomes thee Steel
On shore of Leith squeez'd cash you feel,
And damns all those for want of sense,
Whose cabinets are scarce of pence.
My son get money is the rule,
And he who wants it is a fool.
On shore of Leith squeez'd cash you feel,
And damns all those for want of sense,
Whose cabinets are scarce of pence.
My son get money is the rule,
And he who wants it is a fool.
Tom Soot forgive and be forgiv'n,
Or else thy arms will ne'er reach Heav'n,
Claud was provok'd, the fault was thine,
Hail welcome Tom to thy propine.
Or else thy arms will ne'er reach Heav'n,
Claud was provok'd, the fault was thine,
Hail welcome Tom to thy propine.
| Ars catchpolaria, or the art of destroying mankind | |