O' a' the num'rous human dools,
I'll har'sts, daft bargaius, cutty-stools,
Or worthy friends rak'd i̇' the mools,
Sad sight to see!

The tricks o' knaves, or fash o' fools,
Thou bear'st the gree.

Where'er that place be priests ca' hell,
Whence a' the tones o' mis'ry yell,
And ranked plagues their numbers tell,
In dreadfu' raw,

Thou, TOOTH-ACHE, surely bear'st the bell
Amang them a'!

O thou grim mischief-making chiel, That gars the notes of discord squeel, 'Till daft mankind aft dance a reel

In gore a shoe-thick ;

Gie a' the faes o' SCOTLAND'S weal

A towmond's Tooth-Ache!

ΤΟ

то

ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ.

OF FINTRA,

ON RECEIVING A FAVOR.

I CALL no goddess to inspire my strains,
A fabled Muse may suit a bard that feigns;
Friend of my life! my ardent spirit burns,
And all the tribute of my heart returns,
For boons accorded, goodness ever new,
The gift still dearer, as the giver you.

Thou orb of day! thou other paler light!
And all ye many sparkling stars of night;
If aught that giver from my mind efface;
If I that giver's bounty e'er disgrace;

Then roll to me, along your wandering spheres,
Only to number out a villain's years!

VOL. III.

2 B

EPITAPH

EPITAPH

ON

A FRIEND.

An honest man here lies at rest,
As e'er God with his Image blest,
The friend of man, the friend of truth;
The friend of age, and guide of youth:
Few hearts like his, with virtue warm'd,
Few heads with knowledge so inform'd:
If there's another world, he lives in bliss;
If there is none, he made the best of this.

A GRACE

A

GRACE BEFORE DINNER.

THOU, who kindly dost provide
For every creature's want!

We bless thee, God of Nature wide,
For all thy goodness lent:

And, if it please thee, Heavenly Guide,
May never worse be sent;

But whether granted, or denied,

Lord bless us with content!

ΤΟ

MY DEAR AND MUCH HONOURED friend,

MRS. DUNLOP, of DUNLOP.

ON SENSIBILITY.

SENSIBILITY how charming,

Thou, my friend, canst truly tell: But distress with horrors arming, Thou hast also known too well!

Fairest flower, behold the lily,
Blooming in the sunny ray:
Let the blast sweep o'er the valley,
See it prostrate on the clay.

Hear the wood-lark charm the forest,

Telling o'er his little joys: Hapless bird! a prey the surest, To each pirate of the skies.

Dearly