For lords or kings I dinna mourn,E’en let them die—for that they’re born:But oh! prodigious to reflec’!A Towmont, sirs, is gane to wreck!O Eighty-eight, in thy sma’ space,What dire events hae taken place!Of what enjoyments thou hast reft us!In what a pickle thou has left us!8
The Spanish empire’s tint a head,And my auld teethless, Bawtie’s dead:The tulyie’s teugh ’tween Pitt and Fox,And ’tween our Maggie’s twa wee cocks;The tane is game, a bluidy devil,But to the hen-birds unco civil;The tither’s something dour o’ treadin,But better stuff ne’er claw’d a middin.16
Ye ministers, come mount the poupit,An’ cry till ye be hearse an’ roupit,For Eighty-eight, he wished you weel,An’ gied ye a’ baith gear an’ meal;E’en monc a plack, and mony a peck,Ye ken yoursels, for little feck!22
Ye bonie lasses, dight your e’en,For some o’ you hae tint a frien’;In Eighty-eight, ye ken, was taen,What ye’ll ne’er hae to gie again.26
Observe the very nowt an’ sheep,How dowff an’ daviely they creep;Nay, even the yirth itsel’ does cry,For E’nburgh wells are grutten dry.30
O Eighty-nine, thou’s but a bairn,An’ no owre auld, I hope, to learn!Thou beardless boy, I pray tak care,Thou now hast got thy Daddy’s chair;Nae handcuff’d, mizl’d, hap-shackl’d Regent,But, like himsel, a full free agent,Be sure ye follow out the planNae waur than he did, honest man!As muckle better as you can.39
January, 1, 1789.40