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Thoughts, words, and deeds, the statute blames with reason; But surely dieams were ne'er indicted treason.

[On reading, in the public papers, the Laureat's Ode,

with the other parade of June 4, 1786, the author was no sooner dropt asleep, than he imagin’d himself transported to the birth-day levee; and in his dreaming fancy,

; made the following Address.]


GUID-MÖRNIN to your Majesty!

May heav'n augment your blisses,
On ev'ry new birth-day ye see,

A humble poet wishes!


My bardship here, at your levee,

On sic a day as this is,
Is sure an uncouth sight to see,
Amang thae birth-day dresses

Sae fine this day.



I see ye're complimented thrang,

By mony a lord and lady, · God save the king !''s a cuckoo sang That's unco easy


ay; The poets, too, a venal gang,

Wi' rhymes weel-turn'd and ready, Wad gar you



ne'er do wrang, But ay unerring steady,

On sic a day.


For me! before a monarch's face,

Ev’n there I winna flatter; For neither pension, post, nor place, Am I your

humble debtor: So, nae reflection on your grace,

Your kingship to bespatter; There's monie waur been o' the race, And aiblins ane been better


this day


'Tis very true, my sovereign king,

My skill may weel be doubted:
But facts are cheels that winna ding,

An' downa be disputed:
Your royal nest, beneath your wing,

Is e'en right reft an' clouted,
And now the third part of the string,
An' less, will gang about it

Than did ae day.


Far be't frae me that I aspire

To blame your legislation,
Or say, ye wisdom want, or fire,

To rule this mighty nation!
But, faith! I muckle doubt, my Sire,

Ye've trusted ministration
To chaps, wha, in a barn or byre
Wad better fill'd their station

Than courts yon day.



And now ye’ve gien auld Britain peace,

Her broken shins to plajster; Your sair taxation does her fleece,

Till she has scarce a tester ;


For me, thank God, my life's a lease,

Nae bargain wearing faster, Or, faith! I fear, that wi' the geese, 1 shortly boost to pasture

l' the craft some day.


I'm no mistrusting Willie Pitt,

When taxes he enlarges,
(An' Will's a true guid fallow's get,

A name not envy spairges)
That he intends to pay your debt,

An' lessen a' your charges ;
But, G-d-sake! let nae saving-fit
Abridge your bonie barges

An' boats this day.


Adieu, my Liege! may freedom geck

Beneath your high protection ;
An' may ye rax Corruption's neck,

And gie her for dissection!
But since I'm here, I'll no neglect,

In loyal, true affection,

pay your Queen, with due respect, My fealty an' subjection

This great birth-day.


Hail, Majesty Most Excellent !

While nobles strive to please ye, Will

ye accept a compliment A simple poet gies ye? Thae bonie bairntime, Heav'n has lent,

Still higher may they heeze ye In bliss, till fate some day is sent, For ever to release ye

Frae care that day.



you, young potentate o' W-
I tell your Highness fairly,
Down Pleasure's stream, wi' swelling sails,

I'm tauld ye're driving rarely ;
But some day ye may gnaw your nails,

An' curse your folly sairly,
That e'er ye brak Diana's pales,
Or rattl'd dice wi' Charlie,

By night or day.


Yet aft a ragged cowle's been known

To mak a noble aiver ;
So, ye may doucely fill a throne,

For a' their clish-ma-claver:


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