An' Auchenbay, I wish him joy ; An' L-d, remember singing Sannock, Tell them frae me, wi' chiels be cautious, But to grant a maidenhead's the devil!- May guardian angels tak a spell, An' steer you seven miles south o' hell; Now fare ye weel, an' joy be wi' you, Ye'll fin' him just an honest man; Sae I conclude and quat my chanter, SONG. WRITTEN AND SUNG AT A GENERAL MEETING OF THE EXCISE OFFICERS IN SCOTLAND. THE deil cam' fiddling thro' the town, CHORUS. "We'll mak our maut, and brew our drink, "There's threesome reels, and foursome reels, "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 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, And mony a guilt-bespotted lad; He mutters, glow'ring at the b-es, "To grace this damn'd infernal clan." By Adamhill a glance he threw, 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, 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, The deities that I adore, Are social Peace and Plenty, I'm better pleased to make one more, 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, 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, |