So stet pro ratione voluntas be tractile, Stand forth, arch deceiver, and tell us Invade not, I say, my own dear little in truth, dactyl ;

Are you handsome or ugly, in age If you do, you'll occasion a breach or in youth? in our intercourse.

Man, woman, or child-a dog or To-morrow will see me in town for

a mouse? the winter-course,

Or are you, at once, each live thing But not at your door, at the usual

in the house? hour, sir,

Each live thing, did I ask ?-each dead My own pye-house (pious!) daughter's implement, too,

good prog to devour, sir. A workshop in your person,-saw, Ergo-peace !--on your duty, your chisel, and screw!

squeamishness throttle, Above all, are you one individual ? And we'll soothe Priscian's spleen

I know with a canny third bottle. You must be at least Alexandre and Co. A fig for all dactyls, a fig for all But I think you're a troop-an assemspondees,

blage-a mob, A fig for all dunces and dominie And that I, as the Sheriff, should take Grundys;

up the job; A fig for dry thrapples, south, north, And insteadofrehearsing your wonders

east, and west, sir, Speates and raxes' ere five for a Must read you the Riot Act, and famishing guest, sir;

bid you disperse. And as Fatsman ? and I have some ABBOTSFORD, 23rd April.

topics for haver, he 'll Be invited, I hope, to meet me and

Dame Peveril, Upon whom, to say nothing of Oury and Anne, you a

EPILOGUE Dog shall be deemed if you fasten your janua.



in verse,


(1824.) LINES

Enter Meg Dodds, encircled by a crowd ADDRESSED TO MONSIEUR ALEXANDRE,

of unruly boys, whom a town's-officer THE CELEBRATED VENTRILOQUIST.

is driving off. (1824.)

That's right, friend-drive the gaitOf yore, in old England, it was not

lings' back, thought good

And lend yon muckle ane a whack; To carry two visages under one hood; Your Embro’ bairns are grown a pack, What should folk say to you? who

Sae proud and saucy, have faces such plenty,

They scarce will let an auld wife That, from under one hood, last

walk night show'd us twenty !

Upon your causey. I Spits and ranges. 2 James Ballantyre.


I've seen the day they would been The deevil hottle them for Meg ! scaur’d,

They are sae greedy and sae gleg, Wi' the Tolbooth, or wi' the Guard, That if ye’re served but wi' an egg, Or maybe wud hae some regard

(And that's puir pickin',) For Jamie Laing

In comes a chiel and makes a leg, The Water-hole was right weel wared

And charges chicken !
On sic a gang.

• And wha may ye be,' gin ye speer, But whar's the gude Tolbooth gane

'That brings your auld-warld clavers

here?' now? Whar's the auld Claught", wi' red and Troth, if there's onybody near

That kens the roads, blue?

I'll haud ye Burgundy to beer,
Whar's Jamie Laing?? and whar's

He kens Meg Dodds.
John Doo3 ?
And whar's the Weigh- I came a piece frae west o’ Currie" ;

And, since I see you 're in a hurry, Deil hae't I see but what is new, Your patience I'll nae langer worry, Except the Playhouse!

But be sae crouse

As speak a word for ane Will Murray', Yoursells are changed frae head to

That keeps this house. heel, There's some that gar the causeway Playsare auld-fashion'dthings, in truth, reel

And ye've seen wonders mair unWith clashing hufe and rattling wheel,

couth; And horses canterin',

Yet actors shouldna suffer drouth, Wha's fathers daunder'd hame as

Or want of dramock?, weel

Although they speak but wi' their Wi' lass and lantern.


Not with their stamock. Mysell being in the public line,

But ye tak care of a' folk's pantry; I look for howfs I kenn'd lang syne, And surely to hae stooden sentry Whar gentles used to drink gude wine, Ower this big house (that 's far frae And eat cheap dinners ;

rent-free), But deil a soul gangs there to dine,

For a lone sister,
Of saints or sinners!

Is claims as gude's to be a ventri--

How 'st ca'd- loquister. Fortune's' and Hunter's' gane, alace! And Bayle'st is lost in empty space;

Weel, sirs, gude'en, and have a care

The bairns mak fun o' Meg nae mair; And now if folk would splice a brace, Or crack a bottle,

For gin they do, she tells you fair,

And without failzie,
They gang to a new fangled place

As şure as ever ye sit there,
They ca' a Hottle.

She 'll tell the Bailie.

1 The Town Guard, or city police; the Clutchers.]
(2 An infuential police official.]
ja One of the Town Guard.)
(4 All noted taverns.)

(5 Village near Edinburgh )
[6 Lessee of the Theatre.)
[ Food; meal and water.)


Of ev'ry ill on beauty that attendsEPILOGUE.

False ministers, false lovers, and false

friends, (1824.)

Spite of three wedlocks so completely The sages-for authority, pray look

curst, Seneca's morals, or the copy-book They rose in ill from bad to worse, The sages to disparage woman's

and worst ; power,

In spite of errors- I dare not say more. Say, beauty is a fair, but fading For Duncan Targe lays hand on his flower;

claymoreI cannot tell—I've small philosophy-In spite of all, however humours Yet, if it fades, it does not surely die,

vary, But, like the violet, when decay'd | There is a talisman in that word Mary, in bloom,

That unto Scottish bosoms all and Survives through many a year in rich perfume.

Is found the genuine open sesamum ! Witness our theme to-night, two ages In history, ballad, poetry, or novel, gone,

It charms alike the castle and the hovel, A third wanes fast, since Mary fill'd Even you—forgive me—who, demure the throne.

and shy, Brief was her bloom, with scarce one

Gorge not each bait, nor stir at every sunny day,

fly, 'Twixt Pinkie's field and fatal Fother Must rise to this, else in her ancient ingay :

reign But when, while Scottish hearts and The Rose of Scotland has survived blood you boast,

in vain. Shall sympathy with Mary's woes

be lost? O'er Mary's memory the learned

quarrel, By Mary's grave the poet plants his


FOR HIS LIFE OF NAPOLEON.' Time's echo, old tradition, makes her

(June, 1825.) The constant burden of his falt'ring theme;

When with Poetry dealing, In each old hall his grey-hair'd heralds Room enough in a shieling : tell

Neither cabin nor hovel
Of Mary's picture, and of Mary's cell, Too small for a novel :
And show—my fingers tingle at the Though my back I should rub

On Diogenes' tub,
The loads of tapestry which that poor How my fancy could prance
Queen wrought.

In a dance of romance !
In vain did fate bestow a double | But my house I must swap

With some Brobdingnag chap, Of ev'ry ill that waits on rank and Ere I grapple, God bless me! with pow'r,

Emperor Nap.




Man, hound, or horse, of higher fame,

To wake the wild deer never came, TO SIR CUTHBERT SHARP, SUNDERLAND, Since Alnwick's Earl pursued the game TO ASSURE HIM THAT HE WAS NOI On Cheviot's rueful day;

Keeldar was matchless in his speed, (1827)

Than Tarras, ne'er was stancher steed,

A peerless archer, Percy Rede: Forget thee? No! my worthy fere !

And right dear friends were they. Forget blithe mirth and gallant cheer? Death sooner stretch me on my bier ! The chase engross'd their joys and Forget thee? No.

woes, Forget the universal shout

Together at the dawn they rose, When canny Sunderland'spokeout, Together shared the noon's repose, A truth which knaves affect to doubt

By fountain or by stream ; Forget thee? No. And oft, when evening skies were red

The heather was their common bed, Forget you? No--though nowaday

Where each, as wildering fancy led, I've heard your knowing people say, Still hunted in his dream. Disown the debt you cannot pay, You'll find it far the thriftiest way Now is the thrilling moment near, But I?-O no. Of sylvan hope and sylvan fear,

Yon thicket holds the harbour'd deer, Forget your kindness found for all

The signs the hunters know ;room,

With eyes of flame, and quivering ears In what, though large, seem'd still a small room,

The brake sagacious Keeldar nears ;

The restless palfrey paws and rears; Forget my Surtees in a ball-roomForget you? No.

The archer strings his bow. Forget your sprightly dumpty-diddles, The game's afoot !-Halloo! Halloo ! And beauty tripping to the fiddles, Hunter, and horse, and hound purForget my lovely friends the Liddells

sue; —
Forget you? No. But woe the shaft that erring flew,-

That e'er it left the string !
And ill betide the faithless yew !

The stag bounds scatheless o'er the

dew, (1828.)

And gallant Keeldar's life-blood true (Suggested by Cooper's painting.)

Has drench'd the grey-goose

wing Up rose the sun, o'er moor and mead; Up with the sun rose Percy Rede;

The noble hound-he dies, he dies, Brave Keeldar, from his couples freed, Death, death has glazed his fixed eyes, Career'd along the lea;

Stiff on the bloody heath he lies, The palfrey sprung with sprightly Without a groan or quiver. bound,

Now day may break and bugle sound, As if to match the gamesome hound; And whoop and hollow ring around, His horn the gallant huntsman wound; Ando'er his couch the stag may bound, They were a jovial three !

But Keeldar sleeps for ever.

with ours,

Dilated nostrils, staring eyes,

Mark the poor palfrey's mute surprise;
He knows not that his comrade dies,

Nor what is death-but still
His aspect hath expression drear The last of our steers on the board
Of grief and wonder, mix'd with fear,

has been spread, Like startled children when they hear And the last flask of wine in our Some mystic tale of ill.

goblet is red;

Up, up, my brave kinsmen! belt But he that bent the fatal bow,

swords and begone, Can well the sum of evil know,

There are dangers to dare, and there's And o'er his favourite, bending low,

spoil to be won. In speechless grief recline;

The eyes, that so lately mix'd glances Can think he hears the senseless clay, In unreproachful accents say,

For a space must be dim, as they gaze •The hand that took my life away,

from the towers, Dear master, was it thine ?

And strive to distinguish through

tempest and gloom * And if it be, the shaft be bless’d,

The prance of the steed and the toss Which sure some erring aim address'd,

of the plume. Since in your service prized, caress'd I in your service die;

The rain is descending; the wind And you may have a fleeter hound,

rises loud; To match the dun-deer's merry bound, And the moon her red beacon has But by your couch will ne'er be found

veil'd with a cloud ; So true a guard as I.'

'Tis the better, my mates! for the

warder's dull eye And to his last stout Percy rued Shall in confidence slumber, The fatal chance, for when he stood

dream we are nigh. 'Gainst fearful odds in deadly feud, And fell amid the fray,

Our steeds are impatient! I hear my E’en with his dying voice he cried,

blithe Grey ! "Had Keeldar but been at my side, There is life in his hoof-clang, and Your treacherous ambush had been hope in his neigh ; spied

Like the flash of a meteor, the glance I had not died to-day !'

of his mane

Shall marshal your march through Remembrance of the erring bow

the darkness and rain. Long since had join'd the tides which flow,

The drawbridge has dropp'd, the bugle Conveying human bliss and woe

has blown; Down dark oblivion's river ; One pledge is to quaff yet - then But Art can Time's stern doom arrest,

mount and begone!And snatch his spoil from Lethe's To their honour and peace, that shall breast,

rest with the slain ; And, in her Cooper's colours drest, To their health and their glee, that The scene shall live for ever.

see Teviot again!


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