hither cast,
For Matthew was a poor man.

If thou a noble sodger art,
That passest by this grave, man;
There moulders here a gallant heart,
For Matthew was a brave man.

If thou on men, their works and ways,
Canst throw uncommon light, man;
Here lies wha weel had won thy praise,
For Matthew was a bright man.

If thou, at Friendship's sacred ca',
Wad life itself resign, man:
Thy sympathetic tear maun fa',
For Matthew was a kind man.

If thou art staunch, without a stain,
Like the unchanging blue, man;
This was a kinsman o' thy ain,
For Matthew was a true man.

If thou hast wit, and fun, and fire,
And ne'er guid wine did fear, man;
This was thy billie, dam, and sire,
For Matthew was a queer man.

If ony whiggish, whingin' sot,
To blame poor Matthew dare, man;
May dool and sorrow be his lot,
For Matthew was a rare man.

But now, his radiant course is run,
For Matthew's was a bright one!
His soul was like the glorious sun,
A matchless, Heavenly light, man.

Verses On Captain Grose

Written on an Envelope, enclosing a Letter to Him.

Ken ye aught o' Captain Grose?--Igo, and ago,
If he's amang his friends or foes?--Iram, coram, dago.

Is he to Abra'm's bosom gane?--Igo, and ago,
Or haudin Sarah by the wame?--Iram, coram dago.

Is he south or is he north?--Igo, and ago,
Or drowned in the river Forth?--Iram, coram dago.

Is he slain by Hielan' bodies?--Igo, and ago,
And eaten like a wether haggis?--Iram, coram, dago.

Where'er he be, the Lord be near him!--Igo, and ago,
As for the deil, he daur na steer him.--Iram, coram, dago.

But please transmit th' enclosed letter,--Igo, and ago,
Which will oblige your humble debtor.--Iram, coram, dago.

So may ye hae auld stanes in store,--Igo, and ago,
The very stanes that Adam bore.--Iram, coram, dago,

So may ye get in glad possession,--Igo, and ago,
The coins o' Satan's coronation!--Iram coram dago.

Tam O' Shanter

A Tale.

"Of Brownyis and of Bogillis full is this Buke."

Gawin Douglas.

When chapman billies leave the street,
And drouthy neibors, neibors, meet;
As market days are wearing late,
And folk begin to tak the gate,
While we sit bousing at the nappy,