Page:The poetical works of Robert Burns.djvu/53

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THE POEMS OF BURNS.
9
When wanting thee, what tuneless cranksAre my poor verses!Thou comes ——— they rattle i' their ranksAt ither's a—s!
Thee, Ferintosh! O sadly lost!Scotland, lament frae coast to coast!Now colic-grips, an' barkin hoast,May kill us a';For loyal Forbes' charter'd boastIs ta'en awa!
Thae curst horse-leeches o' th' Excise,Wha mak the Whisky Stells their prize!Haud up thy han', Deil! ance, twice, thrice!There, seize the blinkers!An' bake them up in brunstane piesFor poor damn'd drinkers.
Fortune! if thou'll but gie me stillHale breeks, a scone, an' Whisky gill,An' rowth o' rhyme to rave at will,Tak' a' the rest,An' deal't about as thy blind skillDirects thee best.

THE AUTHOR'S EARNEST CRY AND PRAYER.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE AND HONOURABLE THE SCOTCH REPRESENTATIVES IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS.

Dearest of Distillation! last and best————How art thou lost!Parody on Milton.
Ye Irish Lords, ye Knights an' Squires,Wha represent our brughs an' shires,An' doucely manage our affairsIn Parliament,To you a simple Bardie's prayersAre humbly sent.
Alas! my roupet Muse is hearse;Your Honours' heart wi' grief 'twad pierce,To see her sitten on her a—Low i' the dust,An' scriechin out prosaic verse,An' like to brust!
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