THE DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS.

Tune, Push about the Jorum.'

APRIL, 1795.

Does haughty Gaul invasion threat ?

Then let the loons beware, Sir, There's wooden walls upon our seas,

And volunteers on shore, Sir. The Nith shall run to Corsincon,

And Criffel sink in Solway, Ere we permit a foreign foe On British ground to rally!

Full de rall, &c.

O let us not like snarling tykes

In wrangling be divided ;
Till slap come in an unco loon

And wi' a rung decide it.
Be Britain still to Britain true,

Amang oursels united ;
For never but by British hands
Maun British wrangs he righted.

Fall, de rall, &c.

The kettle o' the kirk and state,

Perhaps a claut may fail in't; But deil a foreigo tinkler loun

Shall ever ca' a nail in't.

Our fathers' bluid the kettle bought,

And wha wad dare to spoil it;
By heaven the sacrilegious dog
Shall fuel be to boil it.

Fall de rall, &c.

The wretch that wad a tyrant own,

And the wretch his true-born brother,
Who would set the mob aboon the throne,

May they be damned together!
Who will not sing, ‘God save the King,'

Shall hang as high's the steeple ;
But while we sing, 'God save the King;'

We'll ne'er forget the People.

РОЕМ,

ADDRESSED TO MR. MITCHELL, COLLECTOR OF EXCISE,

DUMFRIES, 1796.

FRIEND of the poet, tried and leal,
Wha wanting thee, might beg or steal ;
Alake, alake, the meikle deil

Wi a' his witches
Are at it, skelpin! jig and reel,

In my poor pouches.

I modestly fu' fain wad hint it,
That one pound one, I sairly want it:
If wi' the hizzie down ye sent it,

It would be kind;

And while my heart wi' life-blood dunted,

I'd bear't in mind.

So may the auld year gang out moaning
To see the new come laden, groaning,
Wi' double plenty o'er the loanin

To thee and thine ;
Domestic peace and comforts crowning

The hale design.

POSTSCRIPT.
Ye've heard this while how I've been licket,
And by fell death was nearly nicket:
Grim loun! he gat me by the fecket,

And sair me sheuk;
But by guid luck I lap a wicket,

And turn'd a neuk.

But by that health, I've got a share o't,
And by that life, I'm promis'd mair o't,
My hale and weel I'll take a care o't

A tentier way :
Then farewell folly, hide and hair o't,

For ance and aye.

Sent to a gentleman whom he had offended.

The friend whom wild from wisdom's way,

The fumes of wine infuriate send ; (Not moony madness more astray ;)

Who but deplores that hapless friend?

Mine was the’ insensate frenzied part,

Ah why should I such scenes outlive! Scenes so abhorrent to my heart!

'Tis thine to pity and forgive.

POEM ON LIFE.

ADDRESSED TO COLONEL DE PEYSTER, DUMFRIES, 1796.

My honour'd colonel, deep I feel
Your interest in the Poet's weal;
Ah! now sma' heart hae I to speel

The steep Parnassus,
Surrounded thus by bolus pill,

And potion glasses.

O what a canty warld were it;
Would pain and care, and sickness spare it;
And fortune favour worth and merit,

As they deserve:
(And aye a rowth, roast beef and claret;

Syne wha wad starve?)

Dame Life, tho' fiction out may trick her,
And in paste gems and frippery deck her ;
Oh! fickering, feeble, and unsicker

I've found her still,
Ay wavering like the willow wicker,

'Tween good and ill.

Then that curst carmagnole, auld Satan,
Watches, like baudrans by a rattan,
Our sinfu' saul to get a claut on

Wi’ felon ire;
Syne, whip! his tail ye'll ne'er cast saut on,

He's off like fire.

Ah Nick! ah Nick! it is na fair,
First shewing us the tempting ware,
Bright wines and bonnie lasses rare,

To put us daft;
Syne weave, unseen, thy spider snare

O'hell's damn'd waft.

Poor man, the flie, aft bizzes by,
And aft as chance he comes thee nigh,
Thy auld damn'd elbow yeuks wi' joy,

And hellish pleasure ;
Already in thy fancy's eye,

Thy sicker treasure.

Soon heels o'er gowdie! in he gangs,
And like a sheep-head on a tangs,
Thy girning laugh enjoys his pangs

And murdering wrestle,
As dangling in the wind, he hangs

A gibbet's tassel.

But lest you think I am uncivil,
To plague you with this draunting drivel,
Abjuring a' intentions evil,

1 quat my pen: The Lord preserve us frae the devil!

Amen! amen!