| |
| EXPECT na, sir, in this narration, | |
| A fleechin, fleth’rin Dedication, | |
| To roose you up, an’ ca’ you guid, | |
| An’ sprung o’ great an’ noble bluid, | |
| Because ye’re surnam’d like His Grace— | 5 |
| Perhaps related to the race: | |
| Then, when I’m tir’d-and sae are ye, | |
| Wi’ mony a fulsome, sinfu’ lie, | |
| Set up a face how I stop short, | |
| For fear your modesty be hurt. | 10 |
| |
| This may do—maun do, sir, wi’ them wha | |
| Maun please the great folk for a wamefou; | |
| For me! sae laigh I need na bow, | |
| For, Lord be thankit, I can plough; | |
| And when I downa yoke a naig, | 15 |
| Then, Lord be thankit, I can beg; | |
| Sae I shall say—an’ that’s nae flatt’rin— | |
| It’s just sic Poet an’ sic Patron. | |
| |
| The Poet, some guid angel help him, | |
| Or else, I fear, some ill ane skelp him! | 20 |
| He may do weel for a’ he’s done yet, | |
| But only—he’s no just begun yet. | |
| |
| The Patron (sir, ye maun forgie me; | |
| I winna lie, come what will o’ me), | |
| On ev’ry hand it will allow’d be, | 25 |
| He’s just—nae better than he should be. | |
| |
| I readily and freely grant, | |
| He downa see a poor man want; | |
| What’s no his ain, he winna tak it; | |
| What ance he says, he winna break it; | 30 |
| Ought he can lend he’ll no refus’t, | |
| Till aft his guidness is abus’d; | |
| And rascals whiles that do him wrang, | |
| Ev’n that, he does na mind it lang; | |
| As master, landlord, husband, father, | 35 |
| He does na fail his part in either. | |
| |
| But then, nae thanks to him for a’that; | |
| Nae godly symptom ye can ca’ that; | |
| It’s naething but a milder feature | |
| Of our poor, sinfu’ corrupt nature: | 40 |
| Ye’ll get the best o’ moral works, | |
| ’Mang black Gentoos, and pagan Turks, | |
| Or hunters wild on Ponotaxi, | |
| Wha never heard of orthodoxy. | |
| That he’s the poor man’s friend in need, | 45 |
| The gentleman in word and deed, | |
| It’s no thro’ terror of damnation; | |
| It’s just a carnal inclination. | |
| |
| Morality, thou deadly bane, | |
| Thy tens o’ thousands thou hast slain! | 50 |
| Vain is his hope, whase stay an’ trust is | |
| In moral mercy, truth, and justice! | |
| |
| No—stretch a point to catch a plack: | |
| Abuse a brother to his back; | |
| Steal through the winnock frae a whore, | 55 |
| But point the rake that taks the door; | |
| Be to the poor like ony whunstane, | |
| And haud their noses to the grunstane; | |
| Ply ev’ry art o’ legal thieving; | |
| No matter—stick to sound believing. | 60 |
| |
| Learn three-mile pray’rs, an’ half-mile graces, | |
| Wi’ weel-spread looves, an’ lang, wry faces; | |
| Grunt up a solemn, lengthen’d groan, | |
| And damn a’ parties but your own; | |
| I’ll warrant they ye’re nae deceiver, | 65 |
| A steady, sturdy, staunch believer. | |
| |
| O ye wha leave the springs o’ Calvin, | |
| For gumlie dubs of your ain delvin! | |
| Ye sons of Heresy and Error, | |
| Ye’ll some day squeel in quaking terror, | 70 |
| When Vengeance draws the sword in wrath. | |
| And in the fire throws the sheath; | |
| When Ruin, with his sweeping besom, | |
| Just frets till Heav’n commission gies him; | |
| While o’er the harp pale Misery moans, | 75 |
| And strikes the ever-deep’ning tones, | |
| Still louder shrieks, and heavier groans! | |
| |
| Your pardon, sir, for this digression: | |
| I maist forgat my Dedication; | |
| But when divinity comes ’cross me, | 80 |
| My readers still are sure to lose me. | |
| |
| So, sir, you see ’twas nae daft vapour; | |
| But I maturely thought it proper, | |
| When a’ my works I did review, | |
| To dedicate them, sir, to you: | 85 |
| Because (ye need na tak it ill), | |
| I thought them something like yoursel’. | |
| |
| Then patronize them wi’ your favor, | |
| And your petitioner shall ever—— | |
| I had amaist said, ever pray, | 90 |
| But that’s a word I need na say; | |
| For prayin, I hae little skill o’t, | |
| I’m baith dead-sweer, an’ wretched ill o’t; | |
| But I’se repeat each poor man’s pray’r, | |
| That kens or hears about you, sir.—— | 95 |
| |
| “May ne’er Misfortune’s gowling bark, | |
| Howl thro’ the dwelling o’ the clerk! | |
| May ne’er his genrous, honest heart, | |
| For that same gen’rous spirit smart! | |
| May Kennedy’s far-honour’d name | 100 |
| Lang beet his hymeneal flame, | |
| Till Hamiltons, at least a dizzen, | |
| Are frae their nuptial labours risen: | |
| Five bonie lasses round their table, | |
| And sev’n braw fellows, stout an’ able, | 105 |
| To serve their king an’ country weel, | |
| By word, or pen, or pointed steel! | |
| May health and peace, with mutual rays, | |
| Shine on the ev’ning o’ his days; | |
| Till his wee, curlie John’s ier-oe, | 110 |
| When ebbing life nae mair shall flow, | |
| The last, sad, mournful rites bestow!” | |
| |
| I will not wind a lang conclusion, | |
| With complimentary effusion; | |
| But, whilst your wishes and endeavours | 115 |
| Are blest with Fortune’s smiles and favours, | |
| I am, dear sir, with zeal most fervent, | |
| Your much indebted, humble servant. | |
| |
| But if (which Pow’rs above prevent) | |
| That iron-hearted carl, Want, | 120 |
| Attended, in his grim advances, | |
| By sad mistakes, and black mischances, | |
| While hopes, and joys, and pleasures fly him, | |
| Make you as poor a dog as I am, | |
| Your humble servant then no more; | 125 |
| For who would humbly serve the poor? | |
| But, by a poor man’s hopes in Heav’n! | |
| While recollection’s pow’r is giv’n— | |
| If, in the vale of humble life, | |
| The victim sad of fortune’s strife, | 130 |
| I, thro’ the tender-gushing tear, | |
| Should recognise my master dear; | |
| If friendless, low, we meet together, | |
| Then, sir, your hand—my Friend and Brother! | |
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