A DEDICATION. ΤΟ G***** H*******, Esq. EXPECT na, Sir, in this narration, A fleechin, fleth'rin Dedication, Because Because ye're firnam'd like His Grace, Then when I'm tir'd-and fae are ye, Set up a face, how I ftop short, For fear your modefty be hurt. This may do-maun do, Sir, wi' them wha Maun please the Great Folk for a wamefou; For me! fae laigh I needna bow, For, Lord be thankit, I can plough ; And when I downa yoke a naig, Then, Lord be thankit, I can beg; The Poet, fome guid Angel help him, Or elfe, I fear fome ill ane skelp him! He may do weel for a' he's done yet, But only he's no juft begun yet. The The Patron (Sir, ye maun forgie me, I winna lie, come what will o' me) On ev'ry hand it will allow'd be, He's juft-nae better than he should be. I readily and freely grant, He downa fee a poor man want; What ance he says he winna break it; And rafcals whyles that do him wrang, But then, nae thanks to him for a' that; Nae godly Symptom ye can ca' that; It's naething but a milder feature, Of our poor, finfu', corrupt Nature: Ye'll Ye'll get the best o' moral works, 'Mang black Gentoos and Pagan Turks, Or hunters wild on Ponotaxi, Wha never heard of Orth-d-xy. That's he's the poor man's friend in need, It's no thro' terror of D-mn-t--n; It's just a carnal inclination. Morality, thou deadly bane, Thy tens o' thousands thou haft slain ! No-stretch a point to catch a plack; Steal thro' a winnock frae a wh-re, Ply Ply ev'ry art o' legal thieving; No matter, ftick to found believing. Learn three-mile pray'rs, an' half-mile graces, Wi' weel-fpread looves, an' lahg, wry faces; O ye wha leave the fprings of C-lv-n; Ye'll fome day fqueel in quaking terror! When Vengeance draws the fword in wrath, And in the fire throws the fheath; When Ruin, with his fweeping befom, Juft frets till Heav'n commiffion gies him: While |