If thou hast wit, and fun, and fire,
And ne'er guid wine did fear, man;
This was thy billie, dam, and sire
For Matthew was a queer man.

If onie whiggish, whingin sot,

To blame poor Matthew dare, man;
May dool and sorrow be his lot,
For Matthew was a rare man

ON A SCOTCH BARD,

GONE TO THE WEST INDIES.

A'YE wha live by soups o' drink,
A' ye wha live by crambo-clink,
A' ye wha live, and never think,
Come mourn wi' me!
Our billie's gien us a' the jink,
An' owre the sea.

Lament him, a' ye rantin' core,
Wha dearly like a random splore,
Nae mair he'll join the merry roar,
In social key;

For now he's taen anither shore,

An' owre the sea.

The bonie lasses weel may wiss him,
And in their dear petitions place him

The widows, wives, an' a' may bless him,
Wi' tearfu' e'e;

For weel I wat they'll sairly miss him
That's owre the sea.

O Fortune! they hae room to grumble!
Hadst thou taen aff some drowsy bummle,
Wha can do nought but fyke ar' fumble,
"Twad been nae plea;

But he was gleg as onie wumble,
That's owre the sea.

Auld, cantie Kyle may weepers wear,
An' stain them wi' the saut, saut tear;
"Twill make her poor auld heart, I fear,
In flinders flee;

He was her laureate monie a year,
That's owre the sea.

He saw misfortune's cauld nor-west
Lang must'ring up a bitter blast;
A jillet brak his heart at last,
Ill may she be!

So, took a birth afore the mast,
An' owre the sea.

To tremble under Fortune's cummock,
On scarce a belly-fu' o' drummock,
Wi' his proud, independent stomach,
Could ill agree;

So, row't his hurdies in a hammock,
An' owre the sea.

He ne'er was gien to great misguiding, Yet coin his pouches wan na bide in;

Wi' him it ne'er was under hiding
He dealt it free:

The Muse was a' that he took pride in,
That's owre the sca.

Jamaica bodies, use him weel,
An' hap him in a cozie biel:
Ye'll find him ay a dainty chiel,
An' fou o' glce;

He wad na wrang'd the vera Deil,
That's owre the sea.

Fareweel, my rhyme-composing billie!
Your native soil was right ill-willie,
But may ye flourish like a lily,
Now bonilie!

I'll toast ye in my hindmost gillie,
Tho' o'er the sca.

ON PASTORAL POETRY.

HAIL, Poesie! thou nymph reserv'd! In chase o' thee, what crowds hae swerv'd Frae common sense, or sunk enerv'd 'Mang heaps o' clavers; And och! o'er aft thy joes hae starv'd, 'Mid a' thy favors!

Say, Lassie, why thy train amang,
While loud the trump's heroic clang

And sock or buskin skelp alang
To death or marriage;

Scarce ane has tried the shepherd-sang
But wi' miscarriage?

In Homer's craft Jock Milton thrives,
Eschylus' pen Will Shakspeare drives;
Wee Pope, the knurlin till him rives
Horatian fame:

In thy sweet sang, Barbauld, survives
Ev'n Sappho's flame.

But thee, Theocritus! wha matches?
They're no herd's ballats, Maro's catches:
Squire Pope but busks his skinlin patches
O' heathen tatters:

I pass by hunders, nameless wretches,
That ape their betters.

In this braw age o' wit and lear,
Will nane the Shepherd's whistle mair
Blaw sweetly in its native air,

And rural grace;

And wi' the far-fam'd Grecian, share
A rival place?

Yes! there is ane, a Scottish callan!
There's ane;come forrit, honest Allan!
Thou need na jouk behint the hallan,
A chiel sae clever;

The teeth o' Time may gnaw Tamtallan,
But thou's for ever.

Thou paints auld Nature to the nines,
I thy sweet Caledonian lines;

Nae gowden stream thro' myrtles twines,
Where Philomel,

While nightly breezes sweep the vines,
Her griefs will tell!

In gowany glens thy Ernie strays,
Where bome lasses bleach their claes;
Or trots by haz'lly shaws and braes,
Wi' hawthorns gray,

Where blackbirds join the shepherd's lays,
At close o' day.

Thy rural loves are Nature's sel';
Nae bombast spates o' nonsense swell;
Nae snap conceits, but that sweet spell
O' witchin' love,

That charm that can the strongest quell,
The sternest move.

PROLOGUE,

SPOKEN AT THE THEATRE, ELLISLAND, ON NEW-YEAR DAY EVENING.

No song nor dance I bring from yon great city That queens it o'er our taste the more's the pity!

Tho', by the by, abroad why will you roam?

Good sense and taste are natives here at home.

But not for panegyric I appear,

I come to wish you all a good new-year!