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Nae hair-brain'd sentimental traces In
your unletter'd, nameless faces ! In arioso trills and graces
Ye never stray, But gravissimo, solemn basses
Ye hum away.
Ye are sae grave, nae doubt ye're wise, Nae ferly tho' ye do despise The hairum-scairum, ram-stam boys,
The rattlin squad : I see you upward cast your eyes
Ye ken the road.
Whilst l...but I shall haud me there Wi you I'll scarce gang ony
whereThen, Jamie, I shall say nae mair,
But quat my sang,
to mak a pair,
ADRE A M.
Thoughts, words, and deeds, the statute blames with reasen ; But surely dreams were ne'er. indicted treason.
[On reading, in the public papers, the Laureat's Ode, with the
other parade of June 4, 1786, the author was no sooner dropt asleep, than he imagined hiinself transported to the birthday levee ; and in his dreaming fancy, made the following Address.]
May Heav'n augment your blisses,
A humble poet wishes !
On sic a day as this is,
Sae fine this day.
By mony a lord and lady,
That's unco easy said ay ;
Wi' rhymes weel-turn'd and ready,
Wad gar you trow ye ne'er do wrang, But ay unerring steady,
On sic a day.
Ev’n there I winna flatter ;
Am I your humble debtor :
Your kingship to bespatter;
Than you this day.
IV. 'Tis very true, my sovereign king,
My skill may weel be doubted :
An' downa be disputed :
Is e'en right rett an' çlouted,
Than did ae day,
To blame your legislation,
To rule this mighty nation !
But, faith! I muckle doubt, my Site,
Ye've trusted ministration
Than courts yon day."
And now ye've gien auld Britain peace,
Her broken shins to plaster ;
Till she has searce a tester ;
Nae bargain wearing faster,
l' the craft some day.
When taxes he enlarges,
A name not envy spairges)
An' lessen a' your charges ;
An' boats this day.
Beneath your high protection ;
And may ye rax Corruption's neck,
And gie her for dissection!
In loyal, true affection,
This great birth-daya
While nobles strive to please ye,
A simple poet gies ye? Thae bonnie bairn time, Heav'n has lent,
Still higher may they heeze ye In bliss, till fate some day is sent, For ever to release ye
Frae care thst day..
For you, young potentate o? W
I tell your Highness fairly,
I'm tauld ye're driving rarely;
An' curse your folly sairly,
By night or day.
To mak a noble aiver;