An' Auchenbay, I wish him joy ;
If he's a parent, lass or boy,
May he be dad, and Meg the mither,
Just five-and-forty years thegither!
An' no forgetting wabster Charlie,
I'm tauld he offers very fairly.

An' L-d, remember singing Sannock,
Wi' hale-breeks, saxpence, an' a bannock.
An' next, my auld acquaintance, Nancy,
Since she is fitted to her fancy;
An' her kind stars hae airted till her,
A guid chiel wi' a pickle siller.
My kindest, best respects I sen' it,
To cousin Kate an' sister Janet ;

Tell them frae me, wi' chiels be cautious,
For, faith, they'll aiblins fin' them fashious:
To grant a heart is fairly civil,

But to grant a maidenhead's the devil!-
An' lastly, Jamie, for yoursel,

May guardian angels tak a spell,

An' steer you seven miles south o' hell;
But first, before you see heav'ns glory,
May ye get mony a merry story,
Mony a laugh, and mony a drink,
An' ay eneugh o' neeedfu' clink.

Now fare ye weel, an' joy be wi' you,
For my sake this I beg it o' you,
Assist poor Simson a' ye can,

Ye'll fin' him just an honest man;

Sae I conclude and quat my chanter,
Your's, saint or sinner,

SONG.

WRITTEN AND SUNG AT A GENERAL MEETING OF THE EXCISE OFFICERS IN SCOTLAND.

THE deil cam' fiddling thro' the town,
And danc'd awa' wi' the Exciseman ;
And ilk auld wife cry'd, “ Auld Mahoun,
"We wish you luck o' the prize man.

CHORUS.

"We'll mak our maut, and brew our drink,
"We'll dance and sing and rejoice man ;
"And mony thanks to the muckle black deil,
"That danc'd awa' wi' the Exciseman.

"There's threesome reels, and foursome reels,
"There's hornpipes and strathspeys, man;
"But the ae best dance e'er cam to our lan',
"Was the deil's awa' wi' the Exciseman.

"We'll mak our maut, &c."

EXTEMPORE.

Written in answer to a Card from an intimate of BURNS' wish ing 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.

LINES

Written extempore in a Lady's Pocket-book.

GRANT me, indulgent Heav'n, that I may live
To see the miscreants feel the pains they give;
Deal Freedom's sacred treasures free as air,
Till slave and despot be but things which were.

LINES

ADDRESSED TO MR JOHN RANKEN.

[The person to whom his Poem on shooting the Partridge is addressed, while he occupied the Farm of Adamhill in Ayrshire.]

AE day as Death, that grusome carl,
Was driving to the tither warl',
A mixtie-maxtie motely 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 himself to see the wretches,

He mutters, glow'ring at the b-es,
"By G- I'll not be seen behint them,
"Nor 'mang the sp'ritual corps present them
"Without, at least ae honest man,

"To grace this damn'd infernal clan."

By Adamhill a glance he threw,
"L-d, G-d!" quoth he, "I have it now,,
"There's just the man I want, in faith,"
And quickly stopped Ranken's breath.

LINES

WRITTEN AND PRESENTED TO MRS KEMBLE, ON SEEING HER IN THE CHARACTER OF YARICO.

Dumfries Theatre, 1794

KEMBLE, thou cur'st my unbelief

Of Moses and his rod;

At Yarico's sweet notes of grief,
The rock with tears had flow'd.

LINES

Written on Windows of the Globe Tavern Dumfries.

THE greybeard, Old Wisdom, may boast of his trea

sures,

Give me with gay Folly to live;

I grant him his calm-blooded, time-settled pleasures, But Folly has raptures to give.

I MURDER hate by field or flood,
Tho' glory's name may screen us;
In wars at hame I'll spend my blood,
Life-giving war of Venus.

The deities that I adore,

Are social Peace and Plenty,

I'm better pleased to make one more,
Than be the death of twenty.

My bottle is my holy pool,

That heals the wounds o' care an' dool;

And pleasure is a wanton trout,

An' ye drink it, ye'll find him out.

In politics if thou would'st mix,
And mean thy fortunes be;
Bear this in mind, be deaf and blind,
Let great folks hear and see.

LINES

Written on a Window, at the King's Arms Tavern, Dumfries.

Ye men of wit and wealth, why all this sneering 'Gainst poor Excisemen? give the cause a hearing: What are your landlords' rent-rolls? taxing ledgers: What premiers, what? even Monarchs' mighty gaugers:

Nay, what are priests? those seeming godly wise

men;

What are they pray? but spiritual Excisemen,