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But facts are chiels that winna ding, fellows, be beaten

And downa be disputed:

Is e'en right reft and clouted,

cannot

Your royal nest, beneath your wing,

broken, patched (American colonies)

go one

from

And now the third part of the string,
And less, will gang about it

Than did ae day.

Far be't frae me that I aspire
To blame your legislation,

Or say ye wisdom want, or fire,
To rule this mighty nation!

But faith! I muckle doubt, my sire,

Ye've trusted ministration

To chaps, wha, in a barn or byre,

Wad better filled their station

much

who

would have

And now ye've gien auld Britain peace;
Her broken shins to plaister;

given old

Your sair taxation does her fleece,

80re

Than courts yon day.

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Thae bonnie bairn-time, Heaven has lent, those children

Still higher may they heeze ye

In bliss, till fate some day is sent,

For ever to release ye

raise

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too

bashful, succumb

o'er, sorrow

drop

A BARD'S EPITAPH.

Is there a whim-inspired fool,

Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule,

Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool,

Let him draw near;

And owre this grassy heap sing dool,
And drap a tear.

Is there a bard of rustic song,

Who, noteless, steals the crowds among,

That weekly this area throng,

Oh, pass not by !

But, with a frater-feeling strong,
Here, heave a sigh.

Is there a man, whose judgment clear,
Can others teach the course to steer,
Yet runs himself life's mad career,
Wild as the wave;

Herc pause-and, through the starting tear,
Survey this grave.

The poor inhabitant below,

Was quick to learn, and wise to know,
And keenly felt the friendly glow,
And softer flame;

But thoughtless follies laid him low.
And stained his name!

Reader, attend-whether thy soul
Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole,
Or darkling grubs this earthly hole,
In low pursuit.

Know, prudent, cautious self-control
Is wisdom's root.

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