University of Virginia Library

EPIGRAMS

EXTEMPORE IN THE COURT OF SESSION

LORD ADVOCATE
He clench'd his pamphlets in his fist,
He quoted and he hinted,
Till in a declamation-mist
His argument, he tint it:
He gapèd for 't, he grapèd for 't,
He fand it was awa, man;
But what his common sense came short,
He ekèd out wi' law, man.

MR. ERSKINE
Collected, Harry stood awee,
Then open'd out his arm, man;
His lordship sat wi' ruefu' e'e,
And ey'd the gathering storm, man;
Like wind-driv'n hail it did assail,
Or torrents owre a linn, man;
The Bench sae wise lift up their eyes,
Hauf-wauken'd wi' the din, man.

AT ROSLIN INN

My blessings on ye, honest wife!
I ne'er was here before;
Ye've wealth o' gear for spoon and knife:
Heart could not wish for more.
Heav'n keep you clear o' sturt and strife,
Till far ayont fourscore,
And by the Lord o' death and life,
I'll ne'er gae by your door!

TO AN ARTIST

Dear ------, I'll gie ye some advice,
You'll tak it no uncivil:
You shouldna paint at angels, man,
But try and paint the Devil.
To paint an angel's kittle wark,
Wi' Nick there's little danger:
You'll easy draw a lang-kent face,
But no sae weel a stranger.

THE BOOK-WORMS

Through and through th'inspirèd leaves,
Ye maggots, make your windings;
But O, respect his lordship's taste,
And spare the golden bindings!

ON ELPHINSTONE'S TRANSLATION OF MARTIAL

O thou whom Poesy abhors,
Whom Prose has turnèd out of doors,
Heard'st thou yon groan?—Proceed no further!
'Twas laurel'd Martial calling ‘Murther!’

ON JOHNSON'S OPINION OF HAMPDEN

For shame!
Let Folly and Knavery
Freedom oppose:
'Tis suicide, Genius,
To mix with her foes.

UNDER THE PORTRAIT OF MISS BURNS

Cease, ye prudes, your envious railing!
Lovely Burns has charms: confess!
True it is she had ae failing:
Had ae woman ever less?

ON MISS AINSLIE IN CHURCH

Fair maid, you need not take the hint,
Nor idle texts pursue;
'Twas guilty sinners that he meant,
Not angels such as you.

AT INVERARAY

AT CARRON IRONWORKS

We cam na here to view your warks
In hopes to be mair wise,
But only, lest we gang to Hell,
It may be nae surprise.
But when we tirl'd at your door
Your porter dought na bear us:
Sae may, should we to Hell's yetts come,
Your billie Satan sair us.

ON SEEING THE ROYAL PALACE AT STIRLING IN RUINS

Here Stewarts once in glory reign'd,
And laws for Scotland's weal ordain'd;
But now unroof'd their palace stands,
Their sceptre fallen to other hands:
Fallen indeed, and to the earth,
Whence grovelling reptiles take their birth!
The injured Stewart line is gone,
A race outlandish fills their throne:
An idiot race, to honour lost—
Who know them best despise them most.

ADDITIONAL LINES AT STIRLING

Rash mortal, and slanderous poet, thy name
Shall no longer appear in the records of Fame!
Dost not know that old Mansfield, who writes like the Bible,
Says, the more 'tis a truth, Sir, the more 'tis a libel?

REPLY TO THE THREAT OF A CENSORIOUS CRITIC

With Æsop's lion, Burns says:—‘Sore I feel
Each other blow: but damn that ass's heel!’

A HIGHLAND WELCOME

When Death's dark stream I ferry o'er
(A time that surely shall come),
In Heaven itself I'll ask no more
Than just a Highland welcome.

AT WHIGHAM'S INN SANQUHAR

Envy, if thy jaundiced eye
Through this window chance to spy,
To thy sorrow thou shalt find,
All that's generous, all that's kind.
Friendship, virtue, every grace,
Dwelling in this happy place.

VERSICLES ON SIGN-POSTS

ON MISS JEAN SCOTT

O, had each Scot of ancient times
Been, Jeanie Scott, as thou art,
The bravest heart on English ground
Had yielded like a coward.

ON CAPTAIN FRANCIS GROSE

The Devil got notice that Grose was a-dying,
So whip! at the summons, old Satan came flying;
But when he approach'd where poor Francis lay moaning,
And saw each bed-post with its burthen a-groaning,
Astonish'd, confounded, cries Satan:—‘By God,
I'd want him ere take such a damnable load!’

ON BEING APPOINTED TO AN EXCISE DIVISION

Searching auld wives' barrels,
Ochon, the day
That clarty barm should stain my laurels!
But what'll ye say?
These movin' things ca'd wives an' weans
Wad move the very hearts o' stanes.

ON MISS DAVIES

Ask why God made the gem so small,
And why so huge the granite?
Because God meant mankind should set
That higher value on it.

ON A BEAUTIFUL COUNTRY SEAT

We grant they're thine, those beauties all,
So lovely in our eye:
Keep them, thou eunuch, Cardoness,
For others to enjoy.

THE TYRANT WIFE

Curs'd be the man, the poorest wretch in life,
The crouching vassal to the tyrant wife!
Who has no will but by her high permission;
Who has not sixpence but in her possession;
Who must to her his dear friend's secret tell;
Who dreads a curtain lecture worse than hell!
Were such the wife had fallen to my part,
I'd break her spirit, or I'd break her heart:
I'd charm her with the magic of a switch,
I'd kiss her maids, and kick the perverse bitch.

AT BROWNHILL INN

At Brownhill we always get dainty good cheer
And plenty of bacon each day in the year;
We've a' thing that's nice, and mostly in season:
But why always bacon?—come, tell me the reason?

THE TOADEATER

Of Lordly acquaintance you boast,
And the Dukes that you dined with yestreen,
Yet an insect's an insect at most,
Tho' it crawl on the curl of a Queen!

IN LAMINGTON KIRK

As cauld a wind as ever blew,
A cauld kirk, and in't but few,
As cauld a minister's ever spak—
Ye'se a' be het or I come back!

THE KEEKIN GLASS

How daur ye ca'me ‘Howlet-face,’
Ye blear-e'ed, wither'd spectre?
Ye only spied the keekin-glass,
An' there ye saw your picture.

AT THE GLOBE TAVERN, DUMFRIES

YE TRUE LOYAL NATIVES

Ye true ‘Loyal Natives’ attend to my song:
In uproar and riot rejoice the night long!
From Envy and Hatred your core is exempt,
But where is your shield from the darts of Contempt?

ON COMMISSARY GOLDIE'S BRAINS

Lord, to account who does Thee call,
Or e'er dispute Thy pleasure?
Else why within so thick a wall
Enclose so poor a treasure?

IN A LADY'S POCKET BOOK

Grant me, indulgent Heaven, that I may live
To see the miscreants feel the pains they give!
Deal Freedom's sacred treasures free as air,
Till Slave and Despot be but things that were!

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.

ON THE SAME

No Stewart art thou, Galloway:
The Stewarts all were brave.
Besides, the Stewarts were but fools,
Not one of them a knave.

ON THE SAME

Bright ran thy line, O Galloway,
Thro' many a far-famed sire!
So ran the far-famed Roman way,
And ended in a mire.

ON THE SAME, ON THE AUTHOR BEING THREATENED WITH VENGEANCE

Spare me thy vengeance, Galloway!
In quiet let me live:
I ask no kindness at thy hand,
For thou hast none to give.

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, but not quite so clever.’

ON MARIA RIDDELL

‘Praise Woman still,’ his lordship roars,
‘Deserv'd or not, no matter!’
But thee whom all my soul adores,
There Flattery cannot flatter!
Maria, all my thought and dream,
Inspires my vocal shell:
The more I praise my lovely theme,
The more the truth I tell.

ON MISS FONTENELLE

Sweet näiveté of feature,
Simple, wild, enchanting elf,
Not to thee, but thanks to Nature
Thou art acting but thyself.
Wert thou awkward, stiff, affected,
Spurning Nature, torturing art,
Loves and Graces all rejected,
Then indeed thou 'dst act a part.

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 wisemen)?
What are they, pray, but Spiritual Excisemen!

ON THANKSGIVING FOR A NATIONAL VICTORY

Ye hypocrites! are these your pranks?
To murder men, and give God thanks?
Desist for shame! Proceed no further:
God won't accept your thanks for Murther.

PINNED TO MRS. WALTER RIDDELL'S CARRIAGE

If you rattle along like your mistress's tongue,
Your speed will out-rival the dart;
But, a fly for your load, you'll break down on the road,
If your stuff be as rotten's her heart.

TO DR. MAXWELL

ON MISS JESSY STAIG'S RECOVERY

Maxwell, if merit here you crave,
That merit I deny:
You save fair Jessie from the grave!—
An Angel could not die!

TO THE BEAUTIFUL MISS ELIZA J---N

ON HER PRINCIPLES OF LIBERTY AND EQUALITY

How, ‘Liberty!’ Girl, can it be by thee nam'd?
‘Equality,’ too! Hussey, art not asham'd?
Free and Equal indeed, while mankind thou enchainest,
And over their hearts a proud Despot so reignest

ON CHLORIS

REQUESTING ME TO GIVE HER A SPRIG OF BLOSSOMED THORN

From the white-blossom'd sloe my dear Chloris requested
A sprig, her fair breast to adorn:
‘No, by Heaven!’ I exclaim'd, ‘let me perish for ever,
Ere I plant in that bosom a thorn!’

TO THE HON. WM. R. MAULE OF PANMURE

Thou Fool, in thy phaeton towering,
Art proud when that phaeton's prais'd?
'Tis the pride of a Thief's exhibition
When higher his pillory's rais'd.

ON SEEING MRS. KEMBLE IN YARICO

Kemble, thou cur'st my unbelief
Of Moses and his rod:
At Yarico's sweet notes of grief
The rock with tears had flow'd.

ON DR. BABINGTON'S LOOKS

That there is a falsehood in his looks
I must and will deny:
They say their Master is a knave,
And sure they do not lie.

ON ANDREW TURNER

In Se'enteen Hunder 'n Forty-Nine
The Deil gat stuff to mak a swine,
An' coost it in a corner;
But wilily he chang'd his plan,
An' shap'd it something like a man,
An' ca'd it Andrew Turner.

THE SOLEMN LEAGUE AND COVENANT

The Solemn League and Covenant
Now brings a smile, now brings a tear.
But sacred Freedom, too, was theirs:
If thou'rt a slave, indulge thy sneer.

TO JOHN SYME OF RYEDALE

WITH A PRESENT OF A DOZEN OF PORTER

O had the malt thy strength of mind,
Or hops the flavour of thy wit,
'Twere drink for first of human kind—
A gift that ev'n for Syme were fit.

ON A GOBLET

There's Death in the cup, so beware!
Nay, more—there is danger in touching!
But who can avoid the fell snare?
The man and his wine's so bewitching!

APOLOGY TO JOHN SYME

No more of your guests, be they titled or not,
And cookery the first in the nation:
Who is proof to thy personal converse and wit
Is proof to all other temptation.

ON MR. JAMES GRACIE

Gracie, thou art a man of worth,
O, be thou Dean for ever!
May he be damn'd to Hell henceforth,
Who fauts thy weight or measure!

AT FRIARS CARSE HERMITAGE

To Riddell, much-lamented man,
This ivied cot was dear:
Wand'rer, dost value matchless worth?
This ivied cot revere.

FOR AN ALTAR OF INDEPENDENCE

AT KERROUGHTRIE, THE SEAT OF MR. HERON

Thou of an independent mind,
With soul resolv'd, with soul resign'd,
Prepar'd Power's proudest frown to brave,
Who wilt not be, nor have a slave,
Virtue alone who dost revere,
Thy own reproach alone dost fear:
Approach this shrine, and worship here.

VERSICLES TO JESSIE LEWARS

THE TOAST

Fill me with the rosy wine;
Call a toast, a toast divine;
Give the Poet's darling flame;
Lovely Jessie be her name:
Then thou mayest freely boast
Thou hast given a peerless toast.

THE MENAGERIE

JESSIE'S ILLNESS

Say, sages, what's the charm on earth
Can turn Death's dart aside?
It is not purity and worth,
Else Jessie had not died!

HER RECOVERY

But rarely seen since Nature's birth
The natives of the sky!
Yet still one seraph's left on earth,
For Jessie did not die.

ON MARRIAGE

That hackney'd judge of human life,
The Preacher and the King,
Observes:—‘The man that gets a wife
He gets a noble thing.’
But how capricious are mankind,
Now loathing, now desirous!
We married men, how oft we find
The best of things will tire us!