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of a theory of the earth, furnish me with a notable practical specimen of the characteristic manners of our booksellers here; and as I have set down nought in malice, I hope they will be flattered with this view of their general portraits, and I doubt not but they will readily recognise themselves.
SCOTS MAGAZINE, Vol. LXV.
Edinburgh, Feb. 12, 1802.
THE TWA BOTTLES, BY HECTOR M'NIELL, ESQ. A Dialogue on a late Parliamentary Decision.
HEH! neighbour, but you're wond'rous crouse!
What's a' the news that's steering?
Has ony thing come late frae France,
France! deil than France was in a low!
That wadna try to trick her;
Has owre lang join'd wi' browsts o' thine,..
Aye, man! it sets you weel, I trow!
I fain wad ken what turn o' late
I thought fast bound in fetters?
Ask my dumb doup! if lugs ye've nane, Gae read, the news will gar ye grane! They've plaid a bonny plisky!
Our PARLIAMENT (God bless them a'!) Has gi'en, at last, proud chiels a fa', And hoiz'd up honest whisky!
I'm sorry for❜t, wi' a' my heart!
Gin a' be true that now ye tell,
Ha ha! I kent 'twad mak' ye wae!
Ye'd better leave off preaching
Hearts that are happy ken few fears, De'il haet ye'll get but taunts and jeers For a' your thankless teaching.
Alas! for ance ye've spoke owre true! When madness reigns, calm thought adieu! Yet hark ye, friend, ere parting;
Though for a day fools mount in air, When mirk night comes, in dumb despair, Sa't tears will then be starting.
Tears! tears for what?
Strong Ale-For follies past;
For ruin hurl'd in thriftless waste ;
For friends and kindred scattered wide;
The picture's waefu', we confess;
But for the cause, the learn'd may guess,
Weel, weel, ye ken! tho' laith to speak,
Weel, weel ye ken! five years and mair
The wounds that bled are scarce skinn'd o'er, The wretch that mourn'd frae door to door, Is hardly yet done weeping.
Pugh! what the sorrow was't I did?
Did ye ne'er do the same now
Drunk, ay is drunk, what maks the sin?
That brings the skaith or shame now?
When drunk wi' ale, fools dose to rest ;
They taste health's recreation;
Madd'ning wi' you, the sage turns fool;
Affection flees the parent's heart!
O' slight and want before him!
Poison'd by thee wi' knawing pain,
To save the stem that's dowin;
Fast, fast the blooming blossoms fly!
Tutor❜d by thee, infernal guide!
Vice spreads his crime-stain'd banners wide
Dark rapine prowls in midnight death;
These are thy blessings! reptile vile !
Upstarted now, forsooth, and crouse!
There, blackguard! there ye'll had your reign,
O' thieves, and hell-fir'd fallows;
Scar'd at the speech, aff in a fright