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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| A POEM ON THE Lamentable Destruction of the Sign-posts in Edinburgh, Leith and Canongate, 1771. |
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| II. |
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 | Ars catchpolaria, or the art of destroying mankind |  |
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A POEM ON THE Lamentable Destruction of the Sign-posts in Edinburgh, Leith and Canongate, 1771.
Number I.
The Innovations of our day
Deserve the Poets song,
Melpomene come join the spray,
And all the tuneful throng.
Deserve the Poets song,
Melpomene come join the spray,
And all the tuneful throng.
Lament the Lyon of Will Hall,
As also Omon's Bear;
Now pinion'd fast unto the wall,
No more they rear in Air.
As also Omon's Bear;
Now pinion'd fast unto the wall,
No more they rear in Air.
The Horse, the Bull, the Pugg, the Dog,
The Eagle and the Swan;
Let Hope now mourn his Golden Hog,
And Young his Pelican.
The Eagle and the Swan;
Let Hope now mourn his Golden Hog,
And Young his Pelican.
Neal's pretty Pigeons, harmless things,
They now have flown away,
And Binny's Beaver from his Rings,
Alas! has gone astray.
They now have flown away,
And Binny's Beaver from his Rings,
Alas! has gone astray.
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The Fox and scourge, the reaping Scythe,
And eke the Lemon Tree,
No longer make their owners blythe
But fall to destiny.
And eke the Lemon Tree,
No longer make their owners blythe
But fall to destiny.
Craigillechin, that ancient rock,
No more hangs over head
Town Council Acts, like powder's stroke
Will rend huge stones indeed.
No more hangs over head
Town Council Acts, like powder's stroke
Will rend huge stones indeed.
M'Dermid's Fir Tree ever green,
Is blasted from its link;
The best strong Ale that e're was seen
We often there did drink.
Is blasted from its link;
The best strong Ale that e're was seen
We often there did drink.
Now Pandœmonium is its name,
For good Ale needs no bush;
Both Saint and Sinner love the same,
And to his Temple rush.
For good Ale needs no bush;
Both Saint and Sinner love the same,
And to his Temple rush.
The Sun, the Moon and sparkling Stars,
O strange! are pulled down,
And batted to the Walls with Spars,
With many a Regal Crown.
O strange! are pulled down,
And batted to the Walls with Spars,
With many a Regal Crown.
Orlando's Black with Boot in hand
Has made a nice retreat;
The pretty Boy yet makes his stand,
Nor dreads the Council's hate
Has made a nice retreat;
The pretty Boy yet makes his stand,
Nor dreads the Council's hate
The Turk's head too, where Lordly fare
Did Nobles entertain,
Is lopped off from Tavern rare
Kept by the civil Bain.
Did Nobles entertain,
Is lopped off from Tavern rare
Kept by the civil Bain.
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Wild's Ram, ridic'lous sign of Snuff,
Hath too retrench'd his horn;
Reid's Indian Queen too, wild enough,
Is likewise backward born.
Hath too retrench'd his horn;
Reid's Indian Queen too, wild enough,
Is likewise backward born.
Scot's Cock who stood for many years
In wanton Lasses view,
No more our Hens the Cockie cheers,
For to his Roost he flew.
In wanton Lasses view,
No more our Hens the Cockie cheers,
For to his Roost he flew.
Brave Brown's Hussar on Horse back rode,
Well mounted Cap a pee;
In Air no longer makes abode,
At manger now is he.
Well mounted Cap a pee;
In Air no longer makes abode,
At manger now is he.
Like Jona's Gourd, thy Dial plate,
O Skirven took its flight,
For Time and Tide none will abide
The morning flies to night.
O Skirven took its flight,
For Time and Tide none will abide
The morning flies to night.
The great Gun too, from Airy field
Is spik'd to yonder Wall;
All you who wear the Sword and Shield,
Lament this Cannon's fall.
Is spik'd to yonder Wall;
All you who wear the Sword and Shield,
Lament this Cannon's fall.
Great George the third, his Regal Bust,
Is likewise pulled down,
Dumbreck, at Treason now thou must
Wear on thy brow a frown.
Is likewise pulled down,
Dumbreck, at Treason now thou must
Wear on thy brow a frown.
In Niddry's wynd, Buchanan's head
Points out a Dunces Shop,
No science in his skull but greed,
The learn'd head now must drop.
Points out a Dunces Shop,
No science in his skull but greed,
The learn'd head now must drop.
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Old barber Blair, thy antique Sign
Must fall before thyself;
Thy razor now thou may resign
Which wont to bring thee Pelf.
Must fall before thyself;
Thy razor now thou may resign
Which wont to bring thee Pelf.
The Masons Arms of Him in Leith
Are torn from off the shore,
No wonder then he gnash his Teeth
And give a brutal roar.
Are torn from off the shore,
No wonder then he gnash his Teeth
And give a brutal roar.
No more he'll Judge the swift of foot
Upon a Pillar's top,
His visage black now as the soot
Prognsticates a rope.
Upon a Pillar's top,
His visage black now as the soot
Prognsticates a rope.
Such havock in the Seventy one
Was made in the good Town
As made some laugh and others groan
For Public weal we own.
Was made in the good Town
As made some laugh and others groan
For Public weal we own.
[Number II.]
In doleful strains the theme pursue,
Condole each plunder'd street,
From port to port, O muse review,
the havock now compleat.
Condole each plunder'd street,
From port to port, O muse review,
the havock now compleat.
But spare to scourge the drown'd in Grief,
And softly slide along;
Lament the Tinsel of my Chief,
Let Gavin grace my song.
And softly slide along;
Lament the Tinsel of my Chief,
Let Gavin grace my song.
The Patentee can ne'er compare
The leather works of thine,
Tho' now thy boot hangs not in Air,
Thy science needs no sign.
The leather works of thine,
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Thy science needs no sign.
Our Cousin James, his gilded key
Must fall too by this doom,
The chief of Vulcan's pedegree
May he for ever bloom.
Must fall too by this doom,
The chief of Vulcan's pedegree
May he for ever bloom.
Cockburn's dragon and St. George
No more attracts our eye,
St. Andrew too has got the scourge:
O strange impiety!
No more attracts our eye,
St. Andrew too has got the scourge:
O strange impiety!
Thou Ceres Goddess of the sheaf,
Which grac'd Ralph Hardie's shop,
Thy fall beforc Autumnal leaf
Fled with Clark's Telescope.
Which grac'd Ralph Hardie's shop,
Thy fall beforc Autumnal leaf
Fled with Clark's Telescope.
Oe'rwhelm'd in Grief we mortals view
The Gods descend to fate,
Old Adam's fall our guild renew,
While Richmond tears his Pate.
The Gods descend to fate,
Old Adam's fall our guild renew,
While Richmond tears his Pate.
The Barbers Poles and Dyers too,
No longer shall appear;
M'Bain's Star is ecclipsed now,
In this destructive year.
No longer shall appear;
M'Bain's Star is ecclipsed now,
In this destructive year.
Now Bremner's Harp shall point no more
Appolo's Sons the way,
Nor Ossian's head the loyal Shore
Where honesty bore sway.
Appolo's Sons the way,
Nor Ossian's head the loyal Shore
Where honesty bore sway.
Ill Fortune snatch'd the Cross Keys too,
The Anchor left its hold,
Miln's candlesticks to patmos flew,
Where they were seen of old.
The Anchor left its hold,
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Where they were seen of old.
The Whale no longer leads the way
To Bacchus sons of joy,
The golden horse has gone astray;
Great pity to destroy.
To Bacchus sons of joy,
The golden horse has gone astray;
Great pity to destroy.
The pine apple is swallow'd down
The sugar loaves are gone,
The Black's head sold best snuff in town;
Is likewise overthrown.
The sugar loaves are gone,
The Black's head sold best snuff in town;
Is likewise overthrown.
M'kell has wreck'd his fishing boat,
His salmon is no more,
His cages now as lumber rot,
On the destructive shore.
His salmon is no more,
His cages now as lumber rot,
On the destructive shore.
The Black bull stood for seventy years,
At last has turn'd his tail;
The lion red, yet still appears,
As old behind the jail.
At last has turn'd his tail;
The lion red, yet still appears,
As old behind the jail.
The lanthorns and the trumpets loud,
No favour could obtain:
No quarter giv'n to rich or proud,
To save them was in vain.
No favour could obtain:
No quarter giv'n to rich or proud,
To save them was in vain.
Such hurly burly and such din,
By this sad devastation,
Some said such havock was a sin
And scandal in our nation.
By this sad devastation,
Some said such havock was a sin
And scandal in our nation.
Dumbreck to London sent express,
For grace and for reprive,
His Majesty cannot do less;
May regal busts long thrive.
For grace and for reprive,
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May regal busts long thrive.
May Heav'n preserve our Weather-cocks,
Onr steeples and our spires;
Our royal statues keep from strokes,
From Thunder and from fires.
Onr steeples and our spires;
Our royal statues keep from strokes,
From Thunder and from fires.
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.
FINIS.
| Ars catchpolaria, or the art of destroying mankind | |