SCOTS PROLOGUE, FOR MR. SUTHERLAND'S BENEFit night, dumFRIES. WHAT needs this din about the town of Lon❜on, A fool and knave are plants of every soil; Is there no daring bard will rise, and tell How here, even here, he first unsheath'd the sword 'Gainst mighty England, and her guilty lord; A woman, tho' the phrase may seem uncivil, One Douglas lives in Home's immortal page, As ye hae generous done, if a' the land Would take the muses' servants by the hand; Not only hear, but patronize, befriend them, And where ye justly can commend, commend them; And aiblins when they winna stand the test, Wink hard and say, the folks hae done their best! Would a' the land do this, then I'll be caution Ye'll soon hae poets o' the Scottish nation, Will gar fame blaw until her trumpet crack, And warsle time an' lay him on his back! For us and for our stage should ony spier, 'Whose aught thae chiels maks a' this bustle here?' My best leg foremost, I'll set up my brow, We have the honour to belong to you! We're your ain bairns, e'en guide us as ye like, But like good mithers, shore before ye strike.And gratefu' still I hope ye'll ever find us, For a' the patronage and meikle kindness We've got frae a' professions, sets, and ranks: God help us! we're but poor-ye'se get but thanks. Extemporaneous Effusion on being appointed to the Excise. SEARCHING auld wives' barrels Och, ho! the day! That clarty barm should stain my laurels ; These muvin' things ca'd wives and weans On Seeing the beautiful Seat of Lord G. WHAT dost thou in that mansion fair? Some narrow, dirty, dungeon cave, On the Same. No Stewart art thou G―, On the Same. BRIGHT ran thy line, O G, To the Same, on the Author being threatened with his Resentment. SPARE me thy vengeance, G In quiet let me live: I ask no kindness at thy hand, THE DEAN OF FACULTY. A NEW BALLAD, Tune, The Dragon of Wantley.' DIRE was the hate at old Harlaw, For beauteous, hapless Mary: Than 'twixt Hal and Bob for the famous job- This Hal for genius, wit, and lore, Which shews that heaven can boil the pot, Squire Hal besides had, in this case, Quite sick of merit's rudeness, Chose one who should owe it all, d'ye see, To their gratis grace and goodness.— As once on Pisgah purg'd was the sight So may be, on this Pisgah height, Nay, Bobby's mouth may be open'd yet, |