Yet ne'er with wits profane to range,
Be complaisance extended;

An Atheist's laugh 's a poor exchange
For Deity offended!

Χ.

When ranting round in pleasure's ring,
Religion may be blinded;

Or if she gie a random sting,

It may be little minded;

But when on life we're tempest-driv'n,
- A conscience but a canker-

A correspondence fix'd wi' Heav'n,
Is sure a noble anchor!

ΧΙ.

Adieu, dear, amiable youth!

Your heart can ne'er be wanting:
May prudence, fortitude, and truth,
Erect your brow undaunting!
In ploughman phrase, 'God send you speed,'
Still daily to grow wiser!

And may you better reck the rede,
Than ever did th' adviser!

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' a jink,

An' owre the sea.'

Lament

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 bonnie 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 an' fumble,

'Twad been nae plea;

But he was gleg as ony wumble,

That's owre the sea.

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

He was her laureat monie a year,

That's owre the sea.

He

He saw misfortune's cauld nor-west

Lang mustering 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 bellyfu' 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 wad 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 sea.

Jamaica bodies, use him weel,

An' hap him in a cozie biel:

Ye'll find him ay a dainty chiel,

And fou' o' glee;

He wad na wrang'd the vera deil,

That's owre the sea.

Fareweel, Fareweel, my rhyme-composing billie!

Your native soil was right ill-willie;
But may ye flourish like a lily,

Now bonnilie!

I'll toast ye in my hindmost gillie,

Tho' owre the sea.

TO

!