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For what? to gie their malice skouth

On some puir wight,

An' hunt him down, o'er right an' ruth,
To ruin streight.

All hail, religion! maid divine!
Pardon a muse sae mean as mine,
Who in her rough imperfect line

Thus daurs to name thee;

To stigmatize false friends of thine

Can ne'er defame thee.

Tho' blotch't an' foul wi' mony a stain,
An' far unworthy of thy train,

With trembling voice I tune my strain

To join with those,

Who boldly dare thy cause maintain

In spite of foes:

In spite o' crowds, in spite o' mobs,
In spite of undermining jobs,

In spite o' dark banditti stabs

At worth an' merit,

By scoundrels even wi' holy robes,

But hellish spirit.

O Ayr. my dear, my native ground,
Within thy presbytereal bound
A candid lib'ral band is found

Of public teachers,

As men, as Christians too renown'd,

An' manly preachers.

Sir, in that circle you are nam'd;

Sir, in that circle you are fam'd;

An' some, by whom your doctrine's blam'd,

Even, sir, by them your heart's esteem'd

(Which gies you honour,)

An' winning manner.

Pardon this freedom I have ta’en,

An' if impertinent I've been,

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Impute it not, good sir, in ane

Whase heart ne'er wrang'd ye,

But to his utmost would befriend

Ought that belang'd ye.

To GAVIN HAMILTON, Esq. Mauchline.

(Recommending a boy.)

Morgaville, May 3, 1786.

I hold it, sir, my bounden duty,
To warn you how that master Tootie,
Alias, laird M'Gaun*,

Was here to hire yon lad away

'Bout whom ye spak the tither day,

An' wad hae don't aff han':

But lest he learn the callan tricks,

As faith I muckle doubt him,

Like scrapin' out auld Crummie's nicks,
An' tellin' lies about them:

As tieve then I'd have then,

Your clerkship he should sair,
If sae be, ye may be,

Not fitted otherwhere.

Altho' I say't it, he's gleg enough,
An' bout a house that's rude an' rough,

The boy might learn to swear';

* Master Tootie then lived in Mauchline; a dealer in cows. It was his common practice to cut the nicks or markings from the horns of cattle, to disguise their age.-He was an artful, trickcontriving character; hence he is called a snickdrawer. In the poet's In the poet's "Address to the Diel," he styles that august personage an auld, snick drawing dog!

E.

But then wi' you, he'll be sae taught,
An' get sic fair example straught,

I hae na ony fear.

Ye'll catechise him every quirk,

An' shore him weel wi' hell;

An' gar him follow to the kirk

-Aye when ye gang yoursel.
If ye, then, maun be then

Frae home this comin' Friday,
Then please, sir, to lea'e, sir,
The orders wi' your lady.

My word of honour I hae gien,
In Paisley John's, that night at e'en,

To meet the warld's worm;

To try to get the twa to gree,
An' name the airles" an' the fee,

In legal mode an' form:
I ken he well a snick can draw,

When simple bodies let him;

An' if a Devil be at a',

In faith he's sure to get him.
To phrase you an' praise you,
Ye ken your laureat scorns:
The pray'r still, you share still,
Of grateful minstrel Burns.

To Mr. M'ADAM, of Craigen-Gillan,

In answer to an obliging letter he sent in the commencement of my poetic career.

Sir, o'er a gill I gat your card,

I trow it made me proud;

See wha taks notice o' the bard!
I lap and cry'd fu' loud.

Now deil-ma-care about their jaw,
The senseless, gawky million;

The airlee-earnest-money.

I'll cock my nose aboon them a',
I'm roos'd by Craigen-Gillan!

"Twas noble, sir; 'twas like yoursel,
To grant your high protection:
A great man's smile, ye ken fu' well,
Is aye a blest infection.

Tho', by his banes wha in a tub
Match'd Macedonian Sandy!
On my ain legs thro' dirt and dub,
I independent stand aye.-

And when those legs to gude, warm kail,

Wi' welcome canna bear me;

A lee dyke side, a sybow-tail,

A barley-scone shall cheer me.

Heaven spare you lang to kiss the breath
O' mony flow'ry simmers!

And bless your bonnie lasses baith,
I'm taid they're loosome kimmers!

And God bless young Dunaskin's laird,
The blossoma of our gentry!

And may he wear an auld man's beard,
A credit to his country.

To CAPTAIN RIDDEL, Glenriddel.

(Extempore Lines on returning a Newspaper.)

Ellisland, Monday evening.

Your news and review, sir, I've read through and

through, sir,

With little admiring or blaming :

The papers are barren of home-news or foreign, No murders or rapes worth the naming.

Diogenes,

Our friends the reviewers, those chippers and

hewers,

Are judges of mortar and stone, sir;

But of meet, or unmeet. in a fabric complete,
I'll boldly pronounce they are none, sir.

My goose-quill too rude is to tell all your goodness,
Bestowed on your servant, the poet;

Would to God I had one like a beam of the sun,
And then all the world, sir, should know it!

To TERRAUGHTY",

On his Birth-Day.

Health to the Maxwell's vet'ran chief!
Health, aye unsour'd by care or grief!
Inspir'd I turn'd Fate's sybil leaf,

This natal morn,

I see thy life is stuff o' prief,

Searce quite half worn.

This day thou metes threescore eleven,
And I can tell that bounteous Heaven
(The second sight, ye ken, is given

To ilka poet)

On thee a tack o' seven mes seven
Will yet bestow it.

If envious buckies view wi' sorrow

Thy lengthen'd days on this blest morrow,
May desolation's lang-teeth'd harrow,

Nine miles an hour,

Rake them, like Sodom and Gomorrah,

In brunstane stoure!

But for thy friends, and they are mony,
Baith honest men and lasses bonnie,

fries.

Mr. Maxwell, of Terraughty, near Dum

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