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 |
 |
On the bloody Massacre of the Dogs in Edinburgh;
wrote for the Consolation of their sorrowful Owners, Summer 1763.
|
|
|
 | Miscellanies in prose and verse |  |
61
On the bloody Massacre of the Dogs in Edinburgh; wrote for the Consolation of their sorrowful Owners, Summer 1763.
Old
Homer blind, in lofty strains,
Sung Ilium and its scarlet plains;
Yet did not travel to our land
To picturesque the bloody band;
Nor shall I soar to Rome or Greece,
For images to deck my piece;
But where the tragedy was wrought,
From thence my matter shall be brought.
Sung Ilium and its scarlet plains;
Yet did not travel to our land
To picturesque the bloody band;
Nor shall I soar to Rome or Greece,
For images to deck my piece;
But where the tragedy was wrought,
From thence my matter shall be brought.
To magistrates, my grateful song
Shall never attribute a wrong;
Their wholesome edict, pass'd of late,
My muse approves, good for the state,
And dire examples plainly show,
What mischief may from mad dogs flow.
But oh! that horrid barb'rous gang,
Who're fit to murder, stab or hang:
Give them command, they'll cut our throats,
Altho' they cost us many groats.
With cruel sport, for greed of gain,
How many sober dogs they've slain,
Who thoughtless ventur'd on the street,
And did their savage butchers meet;
Who, primo loco, gave the blows,
The curs, when slain, they did cognosce;
Contrair to law or social act,
They perpetrate the murd'ring fact;
So folks at Jedburgh us'd of old
To hang men first, then judge them cold.
Shall never attribute a wrong;
Their wholesome edict, pass'd of late,
My muse approves, good for the state,
And dire examples plainly show,
What mischief may from mad dogs flow.
But oh! that horrid barb'rous gang,
Who're fit to murder, stab or hang:
Give them command, they'll cut our throats,
Altho' they cost us many groats.
With cruel sport, for greed of gain,
How many sober dogs they've slain,
Who thoughtless ventur'd on the street,
And did their savage butchers meet;
Who, primo loco, gave the blows,
The curs, when slain, they did cognosce;
Contrair to law or social act,
They perpetrate the murd'ring fact;
So folks at Jedburgh us'd of old
To hang men first, then judge them cold.
Some chairmen too here lent a hand,
And join'd for pelf the bloody band;
But better could not be expected,
As they're to brutes so near connected;
And heav'n has form'd these Christian horse,
For purpose good, void of remorse.
To murder cats and dogs unruly,
Who sweat not in the month of July;
And who's so fit for slaughter's task,
As those who never mercy ask?
Who ne'er to heav'n preferr'd their pray'r,
Or wants or wishes to be there.
Rapacious, greedy, fierce, and wild,
They're merciless ev'n to a child;
Quite destitute of human grace,
Like Greenland bears, fit for the chace.
And join'd for pelf the bloody band;
But better could not be expected,
As they're to brutes so near connected;
62
For purpose good, void of remorse.
To murder cats and dogs unruly,
Who sweat not in the month of July;
And who's so fit for slaughter's task,
As those who never mercy ask?
Who ne'er to heav'n preferr'd their pray'r,
Or wants or wishes to be there.
Rapacious, greedy, fierce, and wild,
They're merciless ev'n to a child;
Quite destitute of human grace,
Like Greenland bears, fit for the chace.
Who'll now guard Crispin's
awls and thread,
Since his three jolly dogs are dead?
Like lions fierce they stood without,
Protectors of his whoring bout:
His love for them did far surpass,
The love he bore to Yarrow's lass;
Yet nothing could the poor tykes save,
And now their skins the tanners have.
Some Crispin, of a harder heart,
May work them up with skill and art;
But for his part, he'll ne'er more stitch,
The skin of water-dog or bitch.
Since his three jolly dogs are dead?
Like lions fierce they stood without,
Protectors of his whoring bout:
His love for them did far surpass,
The love he bore to Yarrow's lass;
Yet nothing could the poor tykes save,
And now their skins the tanners have.
Some Crispin, of a harder heart,
May work them up with skill and art;
But for his part, he'll ne'er more stitch,
The skin of water-dog or bitch.
We wish the canine generation
May never give us more vexation;
For, ever faithful to their masters,
They stand our friends in all disasters:
Tho' father, mother, sister, brother,
Should all forsake, your dog will never.
Let pity fill the human breast,
And dogs from persecution rest,
Is what we wish and what we want,
And thus I end my canine cant.
May never give us more vexation;
For, ever faithful to their masters,
They stand our friends in all disasters:
Tho' father, mother, sister, brother,
Should all forsake, your dog will never.
Let pity fill the human breast,
And dogs from persecution rest,
Is what we wish and what we want,
And thus I end my canine cant.
| Miscellanies in prose and verse | |