Or give the least offence or pain,
If we can hae't restor❜d again.
Wherefore, my Lords, I humbly pray
Our lads may be allowed to play,
At least till new-house debts be paid off,
The cause that 'I'm the maist afraid off;
Which laide lies on my single back,
And I maun pay it ilka plack.

Now, 'tis but just the legislature Shou'd either say that I'm a fauter, Or thole me to employ my bigging, Or of the burden ease my rigging, By ordering, frae the public fund, A sum to pay for what I'm bound Syne, for amends for what I've lost, Edge me into some canny post, With the good liking of our king,

A. R.

No. IV.

A POEM by the Reverend Mr Bradfute, referred to in the Illustrations: From the Seventeenth Volume of the Statistical History, entitled

A MORNING WALK

At New Hall, in Mid-Lothian,

The Seat of Robert Brown, Esq. Advocate.

Written in 1784,

By the Reverend Mr BRADFUTE, author of the Statistical Account of Dunsyre in Clydesdale; of an Essay on the Fisheries, in the Transactions of the Highland Society of Scotland; and the intimate friend of Sir James Clerk of Pennecuik.

WAKED by the morning rays from fleeting dreams, I leave the couch inviting to repose,

To trace the SCENES which Nature spreads around; To please the eye or animate the soul,

With recollections drawn from ancient times.

We enter first the Glen, adorned with trees,
Where varied shades and pleasing groves delight
The warbling birds that perch on every spray.
The lulling murmurs of the distant Esk,

At bottom of the woods salute the ear;
Beyond, the rising heights covered with woods,
And interspersed with jutting rocks, invite

For as auld-fashioned as I look,
May be I am the better book.

"O heavens! I canna thole the clash
Of this impertinent auld hash;

I winna stay ae moment langer.”

My Lord, please to command your anger;
Pray let me only tell you that

"What wad this insolent be at?

Rot out your tongue-pray, Master Symmer,
Remove me frae this dinsome rhymer:

If you regard your reputation,
And us of a distinguished station,

Hence frae this beast let me be hurried,
For with his stour and stink I'm worried."

"Scarce had he shook his paughty crap, When in a customer did pap;

He up douse Stanza lifts, and eyes him,
Turns o'er his leaves, admires, and buys him:
"This book," said he, " is good and scarce,
The saul of sense in sweetest verse."
But reading title of gilt cleathing,

Cries, "Gods! wha buys this bonny naithing?
Nought duller e'er was put in print:
Wow! what a deal of Turkey's tint!"

Now, Sir, to apply what we've invented,
You are the buyer represented;

And, may your servant hope

My lay shall merit your regard,
I'll thank the gods for my reward,

And smile at ka fop.

ODE to the Memory of Mrs FoRBES, the late Lady Nex Hall.

Written in 1728.

The same year in which his second quarto issued from the press with the Pastoral Comedy completed, and the first scene reprinted as part of the drama, having a Nose, by Ramsay, subjoined to it, informing his readers that he had, now, " carried the Pastoral the length of free acts at the desire of some persons of distinction."

An life! thou short uncertain blaze,
Scarce worthy to be wish'd or lov'd,
When by strict death so many ways
So soon the sweetest are remov'd.

In prime of life and lovely glow,
The dear Brucina must submit;
Nor could ward off the fatal blow,
With every beauty, grace, and wit.

If outward charms, and temper sweet,
The cheerful smile, and thought sublime,
Could have preserv'd, she ne'er had met

For as auld-fashioned as I look,
May be I am the better book.

"O heavens! I canna thole the clash
Of this impertinent auld hash;

I winna stay ae moment langer."

My Lord, please to command your anger ;
Pray let me only tell you that-
"What wad this insolent be at?

Rot out your tongue-pray, Master Symmer,
Remove me frae this dinsome rhymer:
If you regard your reputation,

And us of a distinguished station,

Hence frae this beast let me be hurried,

For with his stour and stink I'm worried."

"Scarce had he shook his paughty crap, When in a customer did pap;

He up douse Stanza lifts, and eyes him, Turns o'er his leaves, admires, and buys him : "This book," said he, " is good and scarce,

The saul of sense in sweetest verse."

But reading title of gilt cleathing,

Cries, "Gods! wha buys this bonny naithing?
Nought duller e'er was put in print:
Wow! what a deal of Turkey's tint!"

Now, Sir, to apply what we've invented,
You are the buyer represented;

And, may your servant hope