No-stretch a point to catch a plack ;
Abuse a brother to his back;
Steal through a winnock frae a w-
But point the rake that taks the door;
Be to the poor like ony whunstane,
And haud their noses to the grunstane;
Ply every art o' legal thieving;
No matter-stick to sound believing!
Learn three-mile prayers, and half-mile graces,
Wi' weel-spread looves, and lang wry faces;
Grunt up a solemn, lengthened groan,
And d- a' parties but your own;
I'll warrant, then, ye 're nae deceiver -
A steady, sturdy, stanch believer.
wha leave the springs o' Calvin, For gumlie dubs of your ain delvin'! Ye sons of heresy and error,
Ye'll some day squeal 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 Heaven commission gies him:
While o'er the harp pale Misery moans,
And strikes the ever-deepening tones,
Still louder shrieks, and heavier groans!
Your pardon, sir, for this digression,
I maist forgot my dedication;
But when divinity comes 'cross me,
My readers still are sure to lose me.
So, sir, ye see 't was nae daft vapour,
But I maturely thought it proper,
When a' my works I did review,
To dedicate them, sir, to you:
Because (ye need na tak it ill)
I thought them something like yoursel'.
Then patronise them wi' your favour,
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, and wretched ill o''t;
But I'se repeat each poor man's prayer
That kens or hears about you, sir: —
May ne'er Misfortune's gowling bark
Howl through the dwelling o' the Clerk!
May ne'er his generous, honest heart,
For that same generous spirit smart!
May Kennedy's far-honoured name
Lang beat his hymeneal flame,
Till Hamiltons, at least a dizzen,
Are by their canty fireside risen:
Five bonny 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,
When ebbing life nae mair shall flow,
The last, sad mournful rites bestow."
I will not wind a lang conclusion
With complimentary effusion:
But whilst your wishes and endeavours
Are blest wi' fortune's smiles and favours,
I am, dear sir, with zeal most fervent,
Your much indebted, humble servant.
But if (which powers 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 Heaven!
While recollection's power is given,
If, in the vale of humble life,
The victim sad of fortune's strife,
I, through the tender-gushing tear,
Should recognise my master dear,
If friendless, low, we meet together,
Then, sir, your hand-my friend and brother!
FAREWELL TO THE BRETHREN OF ST. JAMES'S LODGE, TORBOLTON.
TUNE- Good-night, and Joy be wi' you a'.
ADIEU! a heart-warm, fond adieu!
Dear brothers of the mystic tie!
Ye favoured, ye enlightened few,
Companions of my social joy.
Though I to foreign lands must hie,
Pursuing Fortune's slidd'ry ba',
With melting heart, and brimful eye,
I'll mind you still, though far awa'.
Oft have I met your social band,
And spent the cheerful, festive night; Oft, honoured with supreme command, Presided o'er the Sons of Light : And by that hieroglyphic bright
Which none but Craftsmen ever saw ! Strong Memory on my heart shall write Those happy scenes when far awa'.
May Freedom, Harmony, and Love,
Unite you in the grand design,
Beneath the Omniscient Eye above,
The glorious Architect Divine!
That you may keep the unerring line,
Still rising by the plummet's law,
Till Order bright completely shine,
Shall be my prayer when far awa'.
And you, farewell! whose merits claim,
Justly, that highest badge to wear!
Heaven bless your honoured, noble name,
To masonry and Scotia dear!
A last request permit me here,
When yearly ye assemble a',
One round-I ask it with a tear·
To him, the Bard that's far awa'.
ON A PROCESSION OF THE ST. JAMES'S LODGE.
FRIDAY first's the day appointed
By the Right Worshipful anointed,
To hold our grand procession;
To get a blad o' Johnnie's morals,
And taste a swatch o' Manson's barrels,
I' the way of our profession.
The Master and the Brotherhood
Would a' be glad to see you;
For me I would be mair than proud
To share the mercies wi' you.
If Death, then, wi' skaith, then,
Some mortal heart is hechtin',
Inform him, and storm him,
That Saturday you'll fecht him.
ROBERT BURNS.
E sons of old Killie, assembled by Willie,
To follow the noble vocation;
Your thrifty old mother has scarce such another
To sit in that honoured station.
I've little to say, but only to pray,
As praying 's the ton of your fashion;
A prayer from the Muse you well may excuse, "T is seldom her favourite passion.
powers who preside o'er the wind and the tide, Who marked each element's border;
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