Miscellanies in prose and verse on several occasions, by Claudero [i.e. James Wilson], son of Nimrod the Mighty Hunter. The Fourth Edition with large Additions |
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Claudero's Farewell to the Muses and Auld-Reikie.
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 | Miscellanies in prose and verse |  |
Claudero's Farewell to the Muses and Auld-Reikie.
Pellucid ale us'd to inspire
The British bards with poets fire,
By taxes now reduc'd so weak,
Can hardly prompt my muse to squeak:
So Claud at last hath wisely chose
To drop his verse for humble prose:
No more he'll foibles stigmatize,
Rogue, whore, or madman satirize.
To mad Jack too he bids adieu:
His frolicks now he may pursue;
Brandish his cudgel, shake his chair;
And fill the town with dread domain:
No more Claudero will gainsay:
He safely now may act his play;
Resume his wonted course of life,
To vex his children and his wife;
From satire free, the wicked loun
May play his old game thro' the town:
Debauching, corping, beating down.
The British bards with poets fire,
By taxes now reduc'd so weak,
Can hardly prompt my muse to squeak:
So Claud at last hath wisely chose
To drop his verse for humble prose:
No more he'll foibles stigmatize,
Rogue, whore, or madman satirize.
To mad Jack too he bids adieu:
His frolicks now he may pursue;
Brandish his cudgel, shake his chair;
And fill the town with dread domain:
No more Claudero will gainsay:
He safely now may act his play;
Resume his wonted course of life,
To vex his children and his wife;
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May play his old game thro' the town:
Debauching, corping, beating down.
To shun the fate of Pennecuik,
Who starving dy'd in turnpike-nuik,
(Tho' sweet he sung with wit and sense,
He, like poor Claud, was short of pence)
I'll change my manner with the clime,
And never more be heard to rhime.
Who starving dy'd in turnpike-nuik,
(Tho' sweet he sung with wit and sense,
He, like poor Claud, was short of pence)
I'll change my manner with the clime,
And never more be heard to rhime.
For pastime oft'ner than for pelf
I've crambo'd jokes and hurt myself,
And, for diversion to the mob,
I lodg'd six weeks with Captain Rob,
Whose usage good forbids me fear
To be his guest all round the year;
For while the stormy winds did blow,
Accompany'd with hail and snow,
I anchor'd snugly in his ark,
Where dunning creditors ne'er bark;
There pity'd men by sea and land,
Expos'd to storms and dang'rous sand,
And thought myself more happy far
Than those engag'd in German war.
But hail to Armstrong and to Hay,
Who kindness to me did display,
And did suspend the sentence odd,
For which I'm ever at their nod:
Strong may their arms for ever be,
To bind madmen, set pris'ners free:
Unto my latest breath and day,
My grateful thanks to them I'll pay.
But here these thanks I might have spar'd
For virtue hath its own reward.
I've crambo'd jokes and hurt myself,
And, for diversion to the mob,
I lodg'd six weeks with Captain Rob,
Whose usage good forbids me fear
To be his guest all round the year;
For while the stormy winds did blow,
Accompany'd with hail and snow,
I anchor'd snugly in his ark,
Where dunning creditors ne'er bark;
There pity'd men by sea and land,
Expos'd to storms and dang'rous sand,
And thought myself more happy far
Than those engag'd in German war.
But hail to Armstrong and to Hay,
Who kindness to me did display,
And did suspend the sentence odd,
For which I'm ever at their nod:
Strong may their arms for ever be,
To bind madmen, set pris'ners free:
Unto my latest breath and day,
My grateful thanks to them I'll pay.
But here these thanks I might have spar'd
For virtue hath its own reward.
Hail, glorious Justice! hail, O Judge!
May pow'r with good men always lodge,
And may madmen of each degree
Grow wiser, Tam, than thee or me.
May pow'r with good men always lodge,
And may madmen of each degree
Grow wiser, Tam, than thee or me.
No more town fool, no more, I swear,
I'll write to grate a madman's ear;
No more the laugh I will afford,
That does not clothe my back and board.
I'll write to grate a madman's ear;
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That does not clothe my back and board.
Let puny scribblers fill my place,
But sink their rhime in deep disgrace,
With fun'ral dirge on the deceast,
Void or of grammar, verse or taste;
The Printer does not mend the matter,
Because, poor man, he knows no better,
But sends his hawkers out aloud,
Deceives the town, and swears 'tis Claud.
Let candid critics me excuse,
Distinguish well Claudero's muse,
And vindicate this gross abuse.
But sink their rhime in deep disgrace,
With fun'ral dirge on the deceast,
Void or of grammar, verse or taste;
The Printer does not mend the matter,
Because, poor man, he knows no better,
But sends his hawkers out aloud,
Deceives the town, and swears 'tis Claud.
Let candid critics me excuse,
Distinguish well Claudero's muse,
And vindicate this gross abuse.
For ever thrive, illustrious town!
And Scotia's kingdom all around,
May peace and freedom always grace,
And plenty bless the Scottish race.
Thus spoke my muse, and off she flew,
And bade Auld-Reikie long Adieu.
And Scotia's kingdom all around,
May peace and freedom always grace,
And plenty bless the Scottish race.
Thus spoke my muse, and off she flew,
And bade Auld-Reikie long Adieu.
CLAUDERO.
| Miscellanies in prose and verse | |