While o'er the Harp pale Mis'ry moans,
And ftrikes the ever-deep'ning tones,

Still louder fhrieks, and heavier groans!

Your pardon, Sir, for this digreffion,
I maift forgat my Dedication;
But when Divinity comes cross me,
My readers ftill are fure to lofe me.

So, Sir, you fee 'twas 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 a tak it ill)

I thought them something like yoursel.

Then patronize them wi' your favor, And your petitioner fhall ever

I had amaift faid, ever pray.

But that's a word I need na fay:

For

For prayin I hae little skill o't;

I'm baith dead-fweer, an' wretched ill o't;
But I'fe 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! 'May ne'er his gen'rous, honeft heart, 'For that fame gen'rous fpirit fmart! 'May K******'s far-honoured name 'Lang beet his hymeneal flame, 'Till H*******s, at leaft a dizen,

'Are frae their nuptial labours rifen:

Five bonie laffes round their table,

'And seven braw Fellows, ftout an' able, To ferve their King and Country weel, By word, or pen, or pointed steel!

May Health and Peace, with mutual rays, Shine on the ev❜ning o' his days;

Till

Till his wee, curlie John's ier-oe, 'When ebbing life nae mair fhall flow, The laft, fad, mournful rites bestow?

I will not wind a lang conclufion,
Wi' complimentary effufion:

But whilft your wishes and endeavours,
Are bleft with Fortune's fmiles and favours,
I am, Dear Sir, with zeal most fervent,
Your much indebted, humble fervant.

But if (which Pow'rs above prevent) That iron-hearted carl, Want,

Attended in his grim advances,

By fad mistakes, and black mifchances,
While hopes, and joys, and pleasures fly him,
Make
you as poor a dog as I am,

Your bumble fervant then no more;
For who would bumbly ferve 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 fad of Fortune's ftrife,
I, thro' the tender gushing tear,
Should recognize my Mafter dear,
If friendlefs, low, we meet together,

Then, Sir, your hand, my Friend and Bro

ther!

VOL. II.

D

ΤΟ

TO A

LOUSE,

On feeing one on a Lady's Bonnet at Church.

HA! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie!
Your impudence protects you fairly:
I canna fay but ye ftrunt rarely,

Owre gauze and lace;

Tho' faith, I fear, ye dine but fparely.

On fic a place.

Ye