SCOTS PROLOGUE,

FOR MR. SUTHERLAND'S BENEFit night, dumFRIES.

WHAT needs this din about the town of Lon❜on,
How this new play an' that new sang is comin?
Why is outlandish stuff sae meikle courted?
Does nonsense mend like whisky, when imported?
Is there nae poet, burning keen for fame,
Will try to gie us sangs and plays at hame?
For comedy abroad he need na toil,

A fool and knave are plants of every soil;
Nor need he hunt as far as Rome and Greece
To gather matter for a serious piece;
There's themes enough in Caledonian story,
Would show the tragic muse in a' her glory.-

Is there no daring bard will rise, and tell
How glorious Wallace stood, how hapless fell?
Where are the muses fled that could produce
A drama worthy o' the name o' Bruce;

How here, even here, he first unsheath'd the sword

'Gainst mighty England, and her guilty lord;
And after mony a bloody, deathless doing,
Wrench'd his dear country from the jaws of ruin?
O for a Shakspeare or an Otway scene,
To draw the lovely, hapless Scottish Queen!
Vain all the' omnipotence of female charms
'Gainst headlong, ruthless, mad Rebellion's arms.
She fell, but fell with spirit truly Roman,
To glut the vengeance of a rival woman :

A woman, tho' the phrase may seem uncivil,
As able and as cruel as the Devil!

One Douglas lives in Home's immortal page,
But Douglases were heroes every age:
And tho' your fathers, prodigal of life,
A Douglas followed to the martial strife,
Perhaps if bowls row right, and Right succeeds,
Ye yet may follow where a Douglas leads!

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 ;
But-what'll ye say!

These muvin' things ca'd wives and weans
Wad muve the very hearts o' stanes!

On Seeing the beautiful Seat of Lord G.

WHAT dost thou in that mansion fair?
Flit G, and find

Some narrow, dirty, dungeon cave,
The picture of thy mind!

On the Same.

No Stewart art thou G―,
The Stewarts all were brave;
Besides, the Stewarts were but fools,
Not one of them a knave.

On the Same.

BRIGHT ran thy line, O G,
Thro' many a far-fam'd sire;
So ran the far-fam'd Roman way,
So ended in a mire.

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,
For thou hast none to give.

THE DEAN OF FACULTY.

A NEW BALLAD,

Tune, The Dragon of Wantley.'

DIRE was the hate at old Harlaw,
That Scot to Scot did carry;
And dire the discord Langside saw,

For beauteous, hapless Mary:
But Scot with Scot ne'er met so hot,
Or were more in fury seen, Sir,

Than 'twixt Hal and Bob for the famous job-
Who should be Faculty's Dean, Sir.-

This Hal for genius, wit, and lore,
Among the first was number'd;
But pious Bob, 'mid learning's store,
Commandment tenth remember'd.-
Yet simple Bob the victory got,
And wan his heart's desire;

Which shews that heaven can boil the pot,
Though the devil p-s in the fire.-

Squire Hal besides had, in this case,
Pretensions rather brassy,
For talents to deserve a place
Are qualifications saucy;
So their worships of the Faculty,

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
Of a sun of Circumcision,

So may be, on this Pisgah height,
Bob's purblind, mental vision:

Nay, Bobby's mouth may be open'd yet,
Till for eloquence you hail him,
And swear he has the Angel met
That met the Ass of Balaam.-