ΤΟ

J. S****

Friendship! mysterious cement of the fout!
Sweetner of Life and folder of Society?
I owe thee much.

DEAR

SLAIK.

S****, the fleeeft, paukie thief,

That e'er attempted stealth or rief,
Ye furely hae fome warlock breef

Owre human hearis ;

For ne'er a bofom yet was prief

For me, I fwear by fun an' recon, And every flar that blinks aboon, Ye've coft me twenty pair of hoon

Juit gaun to fee you;

And every ither pair that's done,

Mair ta'en I'm wi' you.

That auld capricious carlin, Nature, To mak amends for ferimpet ftature, She's turn'd you off, a human creature

On her firft plan,

And in her freaks, on every feature,

She's wrote, the Man.

VOL. I.

E

Juft now I've tae'n the fit o' rhyme, My barmie noddle's working prime,

My fancy yerket up

fublime

Wi' hafty fummon;

Hae ye a leisure moment's time

To hear what's comin?

Some rhyme a neebor's name to lash; Some rhyme (vain thought!) for needfu' cash, Some rhyme to court the countra clash,

An' raise a din;

For me, an aim I never fah;

I rhyme for fun.

The ftar that rules

my

lucklefs lot,

Has fated me the ruffet coat,

An' damn'd my fortune to the groat;

But in requit,

Has bleft me with a random shot

O' countra wit,

This while my notion's ta'en afklent, To try my fate in guid black prent ; But ftill the mair I'm that way bent,

Something cries, Hoolie!

I red

you, honeft man, tak tent!

Ye'll fhaw your folly.

There's ither Poets, much your betters, Far feen in Greek, deep men o' letters,

Hae thought they had enfur'd their debtors, A' future ages;

Now moths deform in fhapelefs tatters

Their unknown pages.'

Then farewell hopes o' laurel boughs, To garland my poetic brows!

Henceforth I'll rove where bufy ploughs,

Are whistling thrang,

An' teach the lanely heights an' howes
My ruftic fang.

I'll wander on with tentlefs heed, How never-halting moments fpeed, Till fate fhall fnap the brittle thread:

Then, all unknown,

I'll lay me with the inglorious dead,

Forgot and gone!

But why, o' death, begin a tale? Juft now we're living found an' hale! Then top and main-top croud the fail,

Heave Care o'erfide!

And large, before enjoyment's gale,

Let's tak the tide.

This life, fae far's I understand,

Is a' inchanted fairy-land,

Where pleafure is the magic wand,

That, wielded right,

Maks Hours like Minutes, hand in hand,
Dance by fu' light.

The magic wand then let us wield; For, ance that five-an'-forty's fpeeld, See, crazy, weary, joyless Eild,

Wi' wrinkl'd face,

Comes hoftin, hirplin owre the field,

Wi' creeping pace.

When ance life's day draws near the gloamin Then fareweel vacant, carelefs roamin;

An' fareweel chearfu' tankards foamin,

An' focial noife;

An' fareweel dear deluding woman,

The joy of joys!

O Life! how pleasant is thy morning, Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning 1 Cold-paufing Caution's leffon fcorning,

We frisk away,

Like fchool-boys, at th' expected warning,

To joy and play.

We wander there, we wander here, and t

We

e eye the rofe upon the brier,

Unmindful that the thorn is near,

Among the leaves';

And tho' the puny wound appear,

Short while it grieves.

Some, lucky, find a flow'ry fpot, For which they never toil'd nor fwat; They drink the fweet and eat the fat,

No care or pain;

And, happy, eye the barren hut

With high difdain.

With steady aim, fome Fortune chase; Keen Hope does ev'ry finew brace;

Thro' fair, thro' foul, they urge the race,

And feize the prey:

Then canie, in fome cozie place,

They clofe the day.

And others, like your humble fervan', Poor wights! nae rules nor roads obfervin; To right or left, eternal fwervin,"

They zig-zag on;

Till curft with age, obfcure an' ftarvin,

They after groan.

Alas! what bitter toil an' ftrainingBut truce with peevish, poor complaining! Is Fortune's fickle Luna waining?

E'en let her gang!

Beneath what light fhe has remaining,

Let's fing our fang.