GRACE AFTER MEAT.

O THOU, in whom we live and move
Who mad'st the sea and shore;
Thy goodness constantly we prove,
And grateful would adore.

And if it please thee, Pow'r above,
Still grant us, with such store,
The friend we trust, the fair we love,
And we desire no more.

ANOTHER.

LORD, we thank an' thee adore
For temp'ral gifts we little merit;
At present we will ask no more,
Let William Hyslop give the spirit.

ANOTHER.

O LORD, since we have feasted thus,
Which we so little merit,

Let Meg now take away the flesh
And Jock bring in the spirit!

EXTEMPORE LINES,

IN ANSWER TO A CARD FROM AN INTIMATE FRIEND OF BURNS, WISHING HIM TO SPEND AN HOUR AT A TAVERN.

THE King's most humble servant, I

Can scarcely spare a minute;
But I'll be wi' ye by an' bye;

Or else the Deil's be in it.

MY BOTTLE.

My bottle is my holy pool,

That heals the wounds o' care an' dool,
And pleasure is a wanton trout,
An' ye drink it a' ye'll find him out.

ON A SWEARING COXCOMB.

HERE cursing swearing Burton lies,
A buck, a bean, or Dem-my-eyes!
Who in this life did little good,
And whose last words were Dem-my-blood!

ON ANDREW TURNER.

IN se'enteen hunder an' forty-nine,
The dei gat stuff to mak a swine,
An' cuist it in a corner;

But by and by he changed his plan,
An' made it something like a man,
An' ca'd it Andrew Turner.

ON JAMES GRACIE

DEAN OF GUILD FOR DUMFRIES.

GRACIE, thou art a man of worth,
O be thou dean for ever!

May he be damned to hell henceforth

Who fauts thy weight or measure.

LINES

WRITTEN UNDER THE PICTURE OF MISS BURNS.

CEASE, ye prudes, your envious railing,
Lovely Burns has charms-confess :
True it is, she had one failing,

Had a woman ever less?

ON MISS J. SCOTT, OF AYR.

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

EPIGRAM ON CAPTAIN FRANCIS GROSE,

THE CELEBRATED ANTIQUARY.

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 burden a-groaning,
Astonish'd, confounded, cried Satan, 'By God,
I'll want 'im, ere I take such a damnable load.'

EPIGRAM ON ELPHINSTONE'S TRANSLATION OF MARTIAL'S EPIGRAMS.

○ THOU Wпom Poetry abhors,

Whom Prose has turned out of doors,

Heard'st thou yon groan ?-proceed no further.

'Twas laurel'd Martial calling murther.

REPLY TO A NOTE FROM CAPT. RIDDELL.

DEAR Sir, at ony time or tide,
I'd rather sit with you than ride,
Tho' 'twere wi' royal Geordie ;
And troth! your kindness, soon and late,
Aft gars me to mysel look blate;
The Lord in Heaven reward ye!

ON A COUNTRY LAIRD.

BLESS Jesus Christ, O Cardoness,
With grateful lifted eyes,
Who said that not the soul alone,
But body too, shall rise:
For had he said 'The soul alone
From death I will deliver,'

Alas, alas! O Cardoness,

Then hadst thou lain for ever!

ON BEING SHEWN 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!

ON SEEING THE BEAUTIFUL SEAT OF

LORD 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-fam'd sire;
So ran the far-fam'd Roman way,
So ended in a mire!

TO THE SAME,

ON THE AUTHOR BEING THREATENED WITH HIS RESENTMENT.

SPARE me thy vengeance, Galloway,

In quiet let me live:

I ask no kindness at thy hand,

For thou hast none to give.

VERSES TO J. RANKINE.

AE day, as Death, that grusome carl,
Was driving to the tither warl'
A mixtie-maxtie motley squad,
And mony a guilt-bespotted lad;
Black gowns of each denomination,
And thieves of every rank and station,

From him that wears the star and garter,
To him that wintles in a halter;
Asham'd himsel to see the wretches,
He mutters, glowrin' at the bitches,

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