LINES

Written under the picture of the celebrated Miss Burm.

CEASE, ye prudes, your envious railing,
Lovely Burns has charms-confess;

True it is, she had one failing, -
Had a woman ever less?

EPIGRAM

ON.

CAPTAIN FRANCIS GROSE,

THE CELEBRATED ANTIQUARY.

[The following Epigram, written in a moment of festivity by Burns, was so much relished by Grose, that he made it serve as an excuse for prolonging the convivial occasion that gave it birth to a very late hour.]*

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! cry'd Satan, by G-d,
I'll want 'im, ere I take such a d- -ble load.

Mr Grose was exceedingly corpulent, and used to rally himself, with the greatest good humour, on the singular rotundity of his figure.

EPIGRAM

ON ELPHINSTONE'S TRANSLATION OF MARTIAL'S EPIGRAMS.

O THOU whom Poetry abhors,

Whom Prose has turned out of doors, Heard'st thou that groan-proceed no further, 'Twas laurell'd Martial roaring murder.

EPITAPH

ON A WAG IN MAUCHLINE.

LAMENT him Mauchline husbands a',
He aften did assist ye;

For had

ye staid whole weeks awa',

Your wives they ne'er had miss'd ye.

Ye Mauchline bairns, as on ye pass
To school in bands thegither,

O tread ye lightly on his grass,
Perhaps he was your father.

EPITAPH

ON J. -N B- -Y, WRITER IN DUMFRIES.

HERE lies J-n By, honest man!
Cheat him, Devil, if you can.

EPITAPH ON JOHN DOVE,

INNKEEPER, MAUCHLINE.

HERE lies Johnny Pidgeon,

What was his religion,

Whae'er desires to ken,

To some other warl

Maun follow the carl,

For here Johnny Pidgeon had nane.

Strong ale was ablution,

Small beer persecution,
A dram was momento mori ;
But a full flowing bowl

Was the saving his soul,
And port was celestial glory,

EPITAPH

ON WALTER S

Sic a reptile was Wat,

Sic a miscreant slave, That the worms ev'n dd him, When laid in his grave.

In his flesh there's a famine,'

A starv'd reptile cries;

‹ An' his heart is rank poison

Another replies.

EPITAPH

ON A PERSON NICKNAMED THE MARQUIS,

WHO DESIRED BURNS TO WRITE ONE ON HIM.

HERE lies a mock Marquis whose titles were shamm'd If ever he rise, it will be to be d-'d.

ON PASTORAL POETRY.

HAIL Poesie! thou Nymph reserv'd !
In chase o' thee, what crowds hae swerv'd
Frae common sense, or sunk enerv'd

'Mang heaps o' clavers;
And och! owre aft thy joes hae starv'd,
'Mid a' thy favours!

Say, Lassie, why thy train amang,
While loud the trump's heroic clang,
And sock or buskin skelp alang

To death or marriage;

Scarce ane has tried the shepherd-sang

But wi' miscarriage?

In Homer's craft Jock Milton thrives
Eschylus' pen Will Shakespeare drives ;
Wee Pope, the knurlin, 'till him rives
Horatian fame;

In thy sweet sang, Barbauld, survives
Even Sappho's flame..

But thee, Theocritus, wha matches? They're no herd's ballats Maro's catches; Squire Pope but busks his skinkiin patches O' heathen tatters:

I pass by hunders, nameless wretches,

That ape their betters.

In this braw age o' wit and lear,
Will nane the shepherds whistle mair
Blaw sweetly in its native air

And rural grace ;·

And wi' the far fam'd Grecian share-
A rival place?

Yes!" there is ane; a Scottish callan ! There's ane; come forrit, honest Allan ! Thou need na jouk behint the hallan,

A chiel sae clever;

The teeth o' time may gnaw Tamtallan,

But thou's for ever.

Thou paints auld nature to the nines,
In thy sweet Caledonian lines;

Nae gowden stream thro' myrtles twines,

Where Philomel,

While nightly breezes sweep the vines,

Her griefs will tell!

In gowany glens thy burnie strays,
Where bonnie lasses bleach their claes :

Or trots by hazzelly shaws and braes,

Wi' hawthorns gray,