Stanzas On Naething
stanzas ohing extempore epistle to gavin hamilton, esq. to you, sir, this summons i've sent, pray, whip till the pownie is freathing; but if you demand what i want, i holy answer you—hing. ne'er s a poor poet like me, for idly just living and breathing, while people of every degree are busy employed about—hing. poor tum-per-tum may fast, and grumble his hurdies their claithing, he'll find, when the balance is cast, he's gao the devil for-hing. the courtier ges and bows, ambition has likewise its plaything; a et beams on his brows; and what is a et-hing. some quarrel the presbyter gown, some quarrel episcopal graithing; but every good fellow will own their quarrel is a' about—hing. the lover may sparkle and glow, approag his bo gay thing: but marriage will soo him know he's gotten—a buskit up hing. the poet may jingle and rhyme, in hopes of a laureate wreathing, and when he has wasted his time, he's kindly rewarded wi'—hing. the thundering bully may rage, and swagger and swear like a heathen; but collar him fast, i'll engage, you'll find that his ce is—hing. last night wi' a feminine whig— a poet she couldna put faith in; but soon we grew lovingly big, i taught her, her terrors were hing. her whigship was wonderful pleased, but charmingly tickled wi' ae thing, her fingers i lovingly squeezed, and kissed her, and promised her—hing. the priest anathemas may threat— predit, sir, that we're baith in; but when honour's reveille is beat, the holy artillery's hing. and now i must mount on the wave— my voyage perhaps there is death in; but what is a watery grave? the drowning a poet is hing. and now, as grim death's in my thought, to you, sir, i make this bequeathing; my service as long as ye've ought, and my friendship, by god, when ye've hing.