Elegy on the Year 1788

FOR Lords or kings I dinna mourn,
E'en let them die--------for that they 're born!
But oh! prodigious to reflect,
A Towmont, Sirs, is gane to wreck!
O Eighty-eight, in thy sma' space
What dire events hae taken place!
Of what enjoyments thou hast reft us!
In what a pickle thou has left us!

The Spanish empire's tint a head,
And my auld teethless, Bawtie's dead;
The tulyie's teugh 'tween Pitt and Fox,
An’ our gudewife’s wee birdy cocks;
The tane is game, a bluidy devil,
But to the hen-birds unco civil;
The tither 's dour, has nae sic breedin’,
But better stuff ne'er claw'd a middin.

Ye ministers, come mount the poupit,
An' cry till ye be hearse an' roupit;
For Eighty-eight he wished you weel,
An' gied ye a' baith gear an' meal;
E'en mony a plack, and mony a peck,
Ye ken yoursels, for little feck!

Ye bonie lasses, dight your e'en,
For some o' you hae tint a frien';
In Eighty-eight, ye ken, was taen
What ye'll ne'er hae to gie again.

Observe the very nowt an' sheep,
How dowff an' dowie now they creep;
Nay, even the yirth itsel' does cry,
For Embro’ wells are grutten dry.

O Eighty-nine, thou's but a bairn,
An' no owre auld, I hope, to learn!
Thou beardless boy, I pray tak care,
Thou now hast got thy Daddy's chair,
Nae hand-cuff'd, mizl'd, haff-shackl'd Regent,
But, like himsel’, a full free agent,
Be sure ye follow out the plan
Nae war than he did, honest man!
As muckle better as you can.
January 1, 1789.