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WHEN deceased, to the devil went down, 'Twas nothing would serve him but Satan's own
crown; Thy fool's head,' quoth Satan, 'that crown shall
wear never, I grant thou’rt as wicked, but not quite so clever.'
LINES INSCRIBED ON A PLATTER.
My blessings on ye, honest wife,
I ne'er was here before :
Heart could not wish for more.
Heaven keep you clear of sturt and strife,
Till far ayont four score,
I'll ne'er gae by your door!
Your billet, sir, I grant receipt ;
ON MR. M'MURDO.
BLEST be M‘Murdo to his latest day,
TO A LADY
WHO WAS LOOKING UP THE TEXT DURING
Fair maid, you need not take the hint,
Nor idle texts pursue :
Not angels such as you !
How daur ye ca' me howlet-faced,
Ye ugly, glowering spectre?
An' there ye saw your picture.
FRIDAY first's the day appointed
To hold our grand procession ;
l' the way of our profession.
The Master and the Brotherhood
Would a' be glad to see you ;
Some mortal heart is hechtin',
ROBERT BURNS. Mossgiel, An. M. 5790.
TO A PAINTER.
You'll tak it no uncivil :
But try and paint the devil.
Wi' auld Nick there's less danger ;
But no sae weel a stranger.
LINES WRITTEN ON A TUMBLER.
YOU'RE welcome, Willie Stewart ;
You're welcome, Willie Stewart ;
That's half sae welcome's thou art.
Come, bumpers high, express your joy,
The bowl we maun renew it;
To welcome Willie Stewart.
May foes be strang, and friends be slack,
Ilk action may he rue it ;
That wrangs thee, Willie Stewart !
ON MR. W. CRUIKSHANK,
OF THE HIGH SCHOOL, EDINBURGH.
And mony shall lament him ;
In English nane e'er kent them.
'Twas even—the dewy fields were green,
On every blade the pearls hang ;
And bore its fragrant sweets alang :
All nature listening seem'd the while :
Amang the braes o' Ballochmyle.
With careless step I onward stray'd,
My heart rejoic'd in nature's joy,
A maiden fair I chanc'd to spy ;
Her air like nature's vernal smile,
Behold the lass o' Ballochmyle !
Fair is the morn in flowery May,
And sweet is night in Autumn mild,
Or wandering in a lonely wild :