I am, Dear Sir, with zeal moft 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 mischances,
While hopes, and joys, and pleasures fly him,
Make you as poor a dog as I am,

Your humble fervant then no more ;
For who would humbly serve the Poor?
But by a poor man's hopes in Heav'n!
While recollection's pow'r is giv'n,
If, in the vale of humble life,
The victim fad of Fortune's ftrife,
I, through the tender-gushing tear,
Should recognise my Mafter dear,
If friendless, low, we meet together,
Then, Sir, your hand-my FRIEND and
BROTHER.

TOA

LOUSE,

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

H

A! whare ye gaun, ye crowlan ferlie!
Your impudence protects you fairly :

Ye ugly, creepan, blastet wonner,

Detefted, fhunn'd, by faunt an' finner,

How daur

ye fet your fit upon her,

Sae fine a Lady!

Gae fomewhere else and feek your dinner,

On fome poor body.

Swith, in fome beggar's haffet fquattle; There ye may creep, and sprawl, and fprattle, Wi' ither kindred, jumping cattle,

In fhoals and nations;

Whare born nor bane ne'er daur unsettle,

Your thick plantations.

Now haud you there, ye're out o' fight,

Below the fatt'rels, fnug and tight,

Na faith ye yet! ye'll no be right,

Till ye've got on it,

The vera tapmost, towrin height

O' Mifs's bonnet.

My footh! right bauld ye fet your nofe out,

As plump an' gray as onie grozet:

O for fome rank, mercurial rozet,

Or fell, red fmeddum,

A a

I'd gie you fic a hearty dose o't,

Wad dress your droddum!

I wad na been surpriz'd to spy You on an auld wife's flainen toy;

Or aiblins fome bit duddie boy,

On's wylecoat;

But Mifs's fine Lunardi, fye!

How daur ye do't?

O Jenny dinna tofs

your head,

An' fet your beauties a' abread!

Ye little ken what cursed speed

The blaftie's makin!

Thae winks and finger-ends, I dread,

Are notice takin!

O wad fome Pow'r the giftie gie us

To fee ourfels as others fee us!

It wad frae monie a blunder free us

An' foolish notion :

What airs in dress an' gait wad lea’e us,

And ev'n Devotion !

An' Paitricks fcraichan loud at e'en,

And morning Pooffie whiddan seen,

Inspire my Muse,

This freedom, in an unknown frien',

I

pray excufe.

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