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The Poems of Robert Fergusson

Edited by Matthew P. McDiarmid

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ELEGY, On the Death of Mr David Gregory, late Professor of Mathematics in the University of St Andrews.
  
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1

ELEGY, On the Death of Mr David Gregory, late Professor of Mathematics in the University of St Andrews.

Now mourn, ye college masters a'!
And frae your ein a tear lat fa',
Fam'd Gregory death has taen awa'
Without remeid;
The skaith ye've met wi's nae that sma',
Sin Gregory's dead.
The students too will miss him sair,
To school them weel his eident care,
Now they may mourn for ever mair,
They hae great need;
They'll hip the maist fek o' their lear,
Sin Gregory's dead.
He could, by Euclid, prove lang sine
A ganging point compos'd a line;
By numbers too he cou'd divine,
Whan he did read,
That three times three just made up nine;
But now he's dead.
In Algebra weel skill'd he was,
An' kent fu' well proportion's laws;
He cou'd make clear baith B's and A's
Wi' his lang head;
Rin owr surd roots, but cracks or flaws;
But now he's dead.

2

Weel vers'd was he in architecture,
An' kent the nature o' the sector,
Upon baith globes he weel cou'd lecture,
An' gar's tak heid;
Of geometry he was the hector;
But now he's dead.
Sae weel's he'd fley the students a',
Whan they war skelpin at the ba',
They took leg bail and ran awa',
Wi' pith and speid;
We winna get a sport sae braw
Sin Gregory's dead.
Great 'casion hae we a' to weep,
An' cleed our skins in mourning deep,
For Gregory death will fairly keep
To take his nap;
He'll till the resurrection sleep
As sound's a tap.