Be to the poor like onie whunstane,1
And haud their noses to the grunstane,
Ply every art o' legal thieving;
Nae matter, stick to sound believing.
Learn three-mile pray'rs, and half-mile graces,
Wi' weel-spread looves, an' lang, wry faces;
Grunt up a solemn, lengthen'd groan,
And damn a' parties but your own;
I'll warrant then, ye're nae deceiver,
A steady, sturdy, staunch believer.
O ye wha leave the springs of Calvin,
For gumlie3 dubs of your ain delvin!
Ye sons of heresy and error,
Ye'll some day squeel in quaking terror!
When Vengeance draws the sword in wrath,
And in the fire throws the sheath;
When Ruin, with his sweeping besom,
Just frets till Heav'n commission gies him:
While o'er the harp pale Mis'ry moans,
And strikes the ever-deep'ning tones,
Still louder shrieks, and heavier groans!
Your pardon, Sir, for this digression,
I maist forgat my Dedication;
But when divinity comes cross me,
My readers still are sure to lose me.
So, Sir, ye see 'twas nae daft vapour,
But I maturely thought it proper,
When a' my works I did review,
To dedicate them, Sir, to you:
Because (you need na tak it ill)
I thought them something like yoursel.
Then patronize them wi' your
And your petitioner shall ever-
I had amaist said, ever pray :
But that's a word I need na say:
For prayin I hae little skill o't;
I'm baith dead-sweer,5 an' wretched ill o't;"
But I'se repeat each poor man's pray'r,
That kens or hears about you, Sir,-
"May ne'er misfortune's gowling bark
Howl thro' the dwelling o' the Clerk !
Whinstone. Hands. 3 Muddy. 4 Ponds. 5 Extremely averse.
May ne'er his gen'rous, honest heart,
For that same gen'rous spirit smart!
May Kennedy's far honoured name
Lang beet' his hymeneal flame;
Till Hamiltons, at least a dizen,
Are frae their nuptial labours risen:
Five bonnie lasses round their table,
And seven braw fellows, stout and able,
To serve their King and Country weel,
By word, or pen, or pointed steel!
May health and peace, with mutual rays,
Shine on the evening o' his days;
Till his wee, curlie John's ier-oe,2
When ebbing life nae mair shall flow,
The last sad mournful rites bestow!"
I will not wind a lang conclusion,
Wi' complimentary effusion:
But whilst your wishes and endeavours,
Are blest with Fortune's smiles and favours,
I am, dear Sir, with zeal most fervent,
Your much indebted, humble servant.
But if (which Pow'rs above prevent)
That iron-hearted carl, Want,
Attended in his grim advances,
By sad mistakes, and black mischances,
While hopes, and joys, and pleasures fly him,
Make you as poor a dog as I am,
Your humble servant then no more;
For who would humbly serve the poor?
But, by a poor man's hopes in Heav'n!
While recollection's pow'r is given,
If, in the vale of humble life,
The victim sad of fortune's strife,
I, thro' the tender gushing tear,
Should recognise my Master dear,
If friendless, low, we meet together,
Then, Sir, your hand-my Friend and Brother!
ON SEEING ONE ON A LADY'S BONNET
AT CHURCH.
HA! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlic!1
Your impudence protects you sairly:
strunt rarely,
Owre gauze and lace;
Tho' faith, I fear ye dine but sparely
On sic a place.
Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner,
Detested, shunn'd by saunt an' sinner,
How dare ye set your fit3
upon her, Sae fine a lady!
Gae somewhere else, and seek your dinner
On some poor body.
Swith, in some beggar's haffet squattle;
There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle
Wi' ither kindred, jumping cattle,
In shoals and nations;
Whare horn nor bane ne'er dare unsettle
Your thick plantations.
Now haud ye there, ye're out o' sight,
Below the fatt'rils, snug an' tight;
Na, faith ye yet! ye'll no be right
Till ye've got on it,
The vera tapmost, tow'ring height
O' Miss's bonnet.
My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose out,
As plump and gray as onie grozet:8
O for some rank, mercurial rozet,
Or fell, red smeddum,'
I'd gie you sic a hearty doze o't,
Wad dress your droddum !10
I wad na been surpris'd to spy
You on an auld wife's flainen toy ;11
Or aiblins some bit duddie boy,
On 's wyliecoat:
But Miss's fine Lunardi !13 fie,
How daur ye do't ?
5 Temple. 6 Scramble. 7 Ribbon-ends. 8 Gooseberry.
10 Breech. 11 An old-fashioned head-dress. 12 Flannel vest. 13 A bonnet, named after Lunardi, whose balloon made him notorious in Scotland about 1785.
O Jenny, dinna toss your head,
An' set your beauties a' abread!
Ye little ken what cursed speed
The blastie's1 makin! Thae winks and finger-ends, I dread, Are notice takin!
O wad some Pow'r the giftie gie us
To see oursels as others see us!
It wad frae monie a blunder free us
And foolish notion:
What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us,
And ev'n Devotion!
ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH. EDINA! Scotia's darling seat! All hail thy palaces and tow'rs, Where once beneath a monarch's feet Sat Legislation's sov'reign pow'rs! From marking wildly-scatter'd flow'rs, As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd, And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours, I shelter in thy honour'd shade. Here wealth still swells the golden tide, As busy Trade his labours plies; There Architecture's noble pride
Bids elegance and splendour rise; Here Justice, from her native skies, High wields her balance and her rod; There Learning, with his eagle eyes, Seeks Science in her coy abode.
Thy sons, Edina, social, kind,
With open arms the stranger hail; Their views enlarg'd, their lib'ral mind, Above the narrow, rural vale; Attentive still to sorrow's wail,
Or modest merit's silent claim : And never may their sources fail! And never envy blot their name ! Thy daughters bright thy walks adorn, Gay as the gilded summer sky, Sweet as the dewy milk-white thorn, Dear as the raptur'd thrill of joy!
Fair Burnet' strikes th' adoring eye,
Heav'n's beauties on my fancy shine;
I see the Sire of Love on high,
And own his work indeed divine!
There watching high the least alarms,
Thy rough rude fortress gleams afar:
Like some bold vet'ran, gray in arms,
And mark'd with many a seamy scar:
The pond'rous wall and massy bar,
Grim-rising o'er the rugged rock,
Have oft withstood assailing war,
And oft repell'd th' invader's shock.
With awe-struck thought, and pitying tears,
I view that noble, stately dome,
Where Scotia's kings of other years,
Fam'd heroes, had their royal home:
Alas, how chang'd the times to come!
Their royal name low in the dust !
Their hapless race wild-wand'ring roam!
Tho' rigid law cries out, 'twas just!
Wild beats my heart, to trace your steps,
Whose ancestors, in days of yore,
Thro' hostile ranks and ruin'd gaps
Old Scotia's bloody lion bore:
Ev'n I who sing in rustic lore,
Haply my sires have left their shed,
And fac'd grim danger's loudest roar,
Bold-following where your fathers led!
Edina! Scotia's darling seat!
All hail thy palaces and towr's,
Where once beneath a monarch's feet
Sat Legislation's sov'reign pow'rs!
From marking wildly-scatter'd flowr's,
As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd,
And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours,
I shelter in thy honour'd shade.
1 Daughter of Lord Monboddo. Burns said there had not been anything like her, in beauty, grace, and goodness, since Eve on the first day of her existence.
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