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the diamond’s ace, of Indian race,

      Led him a sair faux pas, man;

      The Saxon lads, wi’ loud placads,

      On Chatham’s boy did ca’, man;

      An’ Scotland drew her pipe, an’ blew,

      “Up, Willie, waur them a’, man!”

      VIII.

      Behind the throne then Grenville’s gone,

      A secret word or twa, man;

      While slee Dundas arous’d the class,

      Be-north the Roman wa’, man:

      An’ Chatham’s wraith, in heavenly graith,

      (Inspired Bardies saw, man)

      Wi’ kindling eyes cry’d “Willie, rise!

      Would I hae fear’d them a’, man?”

      IX.

      But, word an’ blow, North, Fox, and Co.,

      Gowff’d Willie like a ba’, man,

      Till Suthron raise, and coost their claise

      Behind him in a raw, man;

      An’ Caledon threw by the drone,

      An’ did her whittle draw, man;

      An’ swoor fu’ rude, thro’ dirt an’ blood

      To make it guid in law, man.

      LXXVI. THE DEAN OF FACULTY. A NEW BALLAD

      [The Hal and Bob of these satiric lines were Henry Erskine, and Robert Dundas: and their contention was, as the verses intimate, for the place of Dean of the Faculty of Advocates: Erskine was successful. It is supposed that in characterizing Dundas, the poet remembered “the incurable wound which his pride had got” in the affair of the elegiac verses on the death of the elder Dundas. The poem first appeared in the Reliques of Burns.]

      I.

      Dire was the hate at old Harlaw,

      That Scot to Scot did carry;

      And dire the discord Langside saw,

      For beauteous, hapless Mary:

      But Scot with Scot ne’er met so hot,

      Or were more in fury seen, Sir,

      Than ’twixt Hal and Bob for the famous job—

      Who should be Faculty’s Dean, Sir.—

      II.

      This Hal for genius, wit, and lore,

      Among the first was number’d;

      But pious Bob, ‘mid learning’s store,

      Commandment tenth remember’d.—

      Yet simple Bob the victory got,

      And won his heart’s desire;

      Which shows that heaven can boil the pot,

      Though the devil p—s in the fire.—

      III.

      Squire Hal besides had in this case

      Pretensions rather brassy,

      For talents to deserve a place

      Are qualifications saucy;

      So, their worships of the Faculty,

      Quite sick of merit’s rudeness,

      Chose one who should owe it all, d’ye see,

      To their gratis grace and goodness.—

      IV.

      As once on Pisgah purg’d was the sight

      Of a son of Circumcision,

      So may be, on this Pisgah height,

      Bob’s purblind, mental vision:

      Nay, Bobby’s mouth may be open’d yet

      Till for eloquence you hail him,

      And swear he has the angel met

      That met the Ass of Balaam.

      LXXVII. TO A LADY, WITH A PRESENT OF A PAIR OF DRINKING-GLASSES

      [To Mrs. M’Lehose, of Edinburgh, the poet presented the drinking-glasses alluded to in the verses: they are, it seems, still preserved, and the lady on occasions of high festival, indulges, it is said, favourite visiters with a draught from them of “The blood of Shiraz’ scorched vine.”]

      Fair Empress of the Poet’s soul,

      And Queen of Poetesses;

      Clarinda, take this little boon,

      This humble pair of glasses.

      And fill them high with generous juice,

      As generous as your mind;

      And pledge me in the generous toast—

      “The whole of human kind!”

      “To those who love us!”—second fill;

      But not to those whom we love;

      Lest we love those who love not us!—

      A third—“to thee and me, love!”

      LXXVIII. TO CLARINDA

      [This is the lady of the drinking-glasses; the Mrs. Mac of many a toast among the poet’s acquaintances. She was, in those days, young and beautiful, and we fear a little giddy, since she indulged in that sentimental and platonic flirtation with the poet, contained in the well-known letters to Clarinda. The letters, after the poet’s death, appeared in print without her permission: she obtained an injunction against the publication, which still remains in force, but her anger seems to have been less a matter of taste than of whim, for the injunction has been allowed to slumber in the case of some editors, though it has been enforced against others.]

      Clarinda, mistress of my soul,

      The measur’d time is run!

      The wretch beneath the dreary pole

      So marks his latest sun.

      To what dark cave of frozen night

      Shall poor Sylvander hie;

      Depriv’d of thee, his life and light,

      The sun of all his joy.

      We part—but, by these precious drops

      That fill thy lovely eyes!

      No other light shall guide my steps

      Till thy bright beams arise.

      She, the fair sun of all her sex,

      Has blest my glorious day;

      And shall a glimmering planet fix

      My worship to its ray?

      LXXIX. VERSES WRITTEN UNDER THE PORTRAIT OF FERGUSSON, THE POET, IN A COPY OF THAT AUTHOR’S WORKS PRESENTED TO A YOUNG LADY

      [Who the young lady was to whom the poet presented the portrait and Poems of the ill-fated Fergusson, we have not been told. The verses are dated Edinburgh, March 19th, 1787.]

      Curse on ungrateful man, that can be pleas’d,

      And yet can starve the author of the pleasure!

      O thou my elder brother in misfortune,

      By far my elder brother in the muses,

      With tears I pity thy unhappy fate!

      Why is the bard unpitied by the world,

      Yet has so keen a relish of its pleasures?

      LXXX. PROLOGUE SPOKEN BY MR. WOODS ON HIS BENEFIT NIGHT, MONDAY, 16 April, 1787.

      [The Woods for whom this Prologue was written, was in those days a popular actor in Edinburgh. He had other claims on Burns: he had been

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