For bonny Bell for Thomas burns,
Tho' Mary slights his passion;
So strangely freakish are the turns
Of human inclination.
As much as Mary, Thomas grieves ;
Proud Hall despises Mary;
And all the flouts that Bell receives
From Tom, she vents on Harry.
Thus all, by turns, are woo'd and woo,
No turtles can be truer ;
Each love the object they pursue,
But hate the kind pursuer.
Molly gave Hall a wreath of flowers,
Which he, in amorous folly,
Consign'd to Bell, and, in few hours,
It came again to Molly.
If one of all the four has frown'd,
You ne'er saw people grummer;
If one has smil'd, it catches round,
And all are in good humour.
The pipe, with solemn interposing puff,
Makes half a sentence at a time enough;
The dozing sages drop the drowsy strain,
Then pause, and puff-and speak, and pause again;
Such often, like the tube they so admire,
Important triflers! have more smoke than fire;
Pernicious weed! whose scent the fair annoys,
Unfriendly to society's chief joys;
Thy worst effect is banishing for hours
The sex, whose presence civilizes ours:
Thou art, indeed, the drug a gard'ner wants,
To poison vermin that infest his plants;
But are we so to wit and beauty blind,
As to despise the glory of our kind,
And shew the softest minds and fairest forms
As little mercy as the grubs and worms?
To a Welsh 'Squire, who had promised a hure.
"Tell me, thou son of great CADWALLADER ! "Hast sent the hare? or hast thou swallowed her?"
ON A MISER, AND A SPENDTHRIFT.
Rich Gripe does all his thoughts and cunning bend,
T'encrease that wealth he wants a soul to spend ;
Poor Shifter does his whole contrivance set
To spend that wealth he wants the sense to get;
How happy wou'd to each appear his fate,
Had Gripe his humour, or he Gripe's estate,
Kind Fate and Fortune! blend 'em if ye can!
And, of two wretches, make one happy man.
ON AN ANCIENT LADY, WHO PAINTED
VERY MUCH.
Cosmelia's charms inspire my lays,
Who, fair in nature's scorn,
Blooms in the winter of her days,
Like Glastonbury thorn.
Cosmelia, cruel, at three-score;
Like bards in murdering plays;
Four acts of life pass guiltless o'er,
But in the fifth she flays.
If e'er impatient of the bliss,
Into her arms I fall,
The plaistered fair returns the kiss,
Like Thisbe, through a wall.
THE LAWYER AND THE FARMER.
A lawyer quits the jarring courts
For rural ease and rural sports,
Surveys his newly-bought estate,
And, like all those that wealth makes great,
Thus plied an honest farmer's ear:
Behold what spacious grounds are here!
Yon park extensive mocks the eye,
Yon house with palaces might vie;
Rich by industry I have grown,
And all thou seest I call my own.'
The clown, who very seldom made
A speech of length, in answer said,
I'd fancy, Sir, you'd change your tone,
If ev'ry one possess'd his own.'
GRACE AFTER DINNER, AT A MISER'S.
Thanks for this miracle; it is no less
Than finding manna in the wilderness :
In midst of famine we have found relief,
And seen the wonder of a chine of beef:
Chimnies have smok'd that never smok'd before,
And we have din'd where we shall dine no more.
A man of Wales, betwixt St. David's day and Easter,
Ran in his hostess's score for cheese a tester,
His hostess chalks it up behind the door,
And says, for cheese, Come, Sir, discharge this
'Cot zounds!' quoth he,' what meaneth these? 'D'ye think hur knows not shalk from sheese.'
Written on a pane of glass, by Burns.
Curst be the man, the poorest wretch in life,
The crouching vassal to the tyrant wife,
Who has no will but by her permission,
Who has not sixpence but in her possession,
Who must to her his dear friend's secrets tell,
Who dreads a curtain lecture worse than h―ll.
Were such the wife had fallen to my part,
I'd break her spirit or I'd break her heart,
I'd charm her with the magic of a switch,
I'd kiss her maids and curse the perverse b-h
Married! 'tis well! a mighty blessing!
But poor's the joy, no coin possessing.
In ancient time, when fok did wed,
'Twas to be one at board and bed,
But hard's his case, who can't afford,
His charmer either bed or board.
Peter White will ne'er go right,
Wou'd you know the reason why?
Where'er he goes he follows his nose,
And that stands all awry.
Under this hedge, in stormy weather,
I joined this whore and rogue together;
And none but him who made the thunder,
Can put this whore and rogue asunder.
As Quin and Foote one day walk'd out
To view the country round,
In merry mood they chatting stood,
Hard by the village pound.
Foote from his pocket a shilling took,
And said, 'I'll bet a penny,
In a short space, within this place,
I'll make this piece a guinea.'
Upon the ground, within the pound,
The shilling soon was thrown :
Behold,' said Foote, 'the thing's made out,
For there is one pound one.'
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