EXTEMPORE EPISTLE TO GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ.
To you,
Sir, this summons I've sent
(Pray, whip till the pownie is fraething!)
But if you demand what I want,
I honestly answer you ? naething.
Ne'er
scorn a poor Poet like me
For idly just living and breathing,
While people of every degree
Are busy employed about ? naething.
Poor
Centum?per?Centum may fast,
And grumble his hurdies their claithing;
He'll find, when the balance is cast,
He's gane to the Devil for ? naething.
The
courtier cringes and bows;
Ambition has likewise its plaything ?
A coronet beams on his brows;
And what is a coronet? ? naething.
Some
quarrel the Presbyter gown,
Some quarrel Episcopal graithing;
But every good fellow will own
The quarrel is a' about ? naething.
The
lover may sparkle and glow,
Approaching his bonie bit gay thing;
But marriage will soon let him know
He's gotten ? a buskit?up naething.
The
Poet may jingle and rhyme
In hopes of a laureate wreathing,
And when he has wasted his time,
He's kindly rewarded with ? naething.
The
thundering bully may rage,
And swagger and swear like a heathen;
But collar him fast, I'll engage,
You'll find that his courage is ? naething.
Last
night with a feminine Whig ?
A poet she couldna put faith in!
But soon we grew lovingly big,
I taught her, her terrors were ? naething.
Her
Whigship was wonderful pleased,
But charmingly tickled wi ae thing;
Her fingers I lovingly squeezed,
And kissed her, and promised her ? naething.
The
priest anathemas may threat ?
Predicament, sir, that we're baith in;
But when Honor's reveille is beat,
The holy artillery's ? naething.
And now
I must mount on the wave:
My voyage perhaps there is death in;
But what is a watery grave?
The drowning a Poet is ? naething.
And
now, as grim Death's in my thought,
To you, Sir, I make this bequeathing:
My service as long as ye've ought,
And my friendship, by God, when ye've ? naething.
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