Next to the perfon of the queen,
Old madam PROSODY is feen;
Talking inceffant, altho' dumb,
Upon her fingers to her thumb.
And all around are portraits hung
Of heroes in the Latin Tongue;
Italian, English, German, French,
Who most laboriously entrench
In deep parade of language dead,
What would not in their own be read,
Without impeachment of that TASTE,
Which LATIN IDIOM turns to chafte.
SANTOLIUS here, whofe flippant joke,
Sought refuge in a Roman cloak:
With dull COMMIRIUS at his fide,
In all the pomp of jesuit pride.
MENAGE, the pedant figur'd there,
A trifler with a folemn air:
And there in loofe, unfeemly view,
The graceless, eafy LOVELING too.
'Tis here grave poets urge their claim, For fome thin blaft of tiny fame;
Here bind their temples drunk with praife, With half a sprig of wither'd bays.
O
poet, if that honour'd name
Befits fuch fuch idle childish aim;
If VIRGIL afk thy facred care,
If HORACE charm thee, oh forbear
To fpoil with facrilegious hand,
The glories of the CLASSIC land:
Nor fow thy dowlas on the SATTIN,
Of their pure uncorrupted Latin.
Better be native in thy verse,
What is FINGAL but genuine Erfe?
Which all fublime fonorous flows,
Like HERVEY'S thoughts in drunken profe.
Hail, SCOTLAND, hail, to thee belong
All pow'rs, but most the pow'rs of fong;
Whether the rude unpolish'd Erfe
Stalk in the buckram Profe or Verfe,
Or bonny RAMSAY please thee mo',
Who fang fae fweetly aw his woe.
If ought (and fay who knows fo well)
The fecond-fighted Mufe can tell,
Thy happy LAIRDS shall laugh and fing,
When ENGLAND'S GENIUS droops his wing.
So fhall thy foil new dealth disclose,
So thy own THISTLE choak the ROSE.
But what comes here? Methinks I fee
A walking university.
See how they prefs to cross the TWEED,
And ftrain their limbs with eager speed!
While SCOTLAND, from her fertile fhore,
Cries, On my fons, return no more.
Hither they hafte with willing mind,
Nor caft one longing look behind;
On ten-toe carriage to falute,
The kg, and qn, and EARL OF BUTE.
No more the gallant Northern fons
Spout forth their ftrings of Latin puns;
Nor course all languages to frame,
The quibble fuited to their name;
As when their ancestors be-vers'd,
That glorious STUART, JAMES the FIRST.
But with that elocution's GRACE,
That oratorial flashy Lace,
Which the fam'd Irish TOMMY PUFF,
Would fow on fentimental fluff;
Twang with a sweet pronunciation,
The flow'rs of bold imagination.
MACPHERSON leads the flaming van,
LAIRD of the new Fingalian clan;
While JACKY HOME brings up the rear,
With new-got penfion, neat and clear
Three hundred English pounds a year.
While fifter PEG, our ancient Friend,
Sends MAC's and DONLD's without end ;
To GEORGE awhile they tune their lays,
Then all their choral voices raise,
To heap their panegyric wit on
Th' illuftrious chief, and our NORTH BRITON.
Hail to the THANE, whofe patriot skill Can break all nations to his will;
Mafter of sciences and arts,
MACENAS to all men of parts;
Whose foft'ring hand, and ready wit,
Shall find us all in places fit;
So fhall thy friends no longer roam,
But change to meet a fettled home.
Hail mighty THANE, for SCOTLAND born,
To fill her almost empty horn:
Hail to thy antient glorious ftem,
NOT THEY from Kings, BUT KINGS FROM THEM.
HEN favourites their parties make
To play the royal game of goofe,
Tho' they fhould anfwer each mistake,
Their mafter hardly 'fcapes abufe;
And those who hold unworthy honour,
Though grac'd themselves, disgrac'd the donor.
A mile or rather more from town,
There liv'd a Squire of peerless rank;
Tir'd of my walk, I laid me down,
And fell asleep upon a bank.
It wou'd a crime in fancy feem,
If poets flept without a dream.
A Lilly held the regal power,
(Good-folks, I've had a precious dance, To find this fame imperial flower,
You fee it in the arms of France) This Fleur-de-lys was brave and young, The darling theme of ev'ry tongue.
When (from I know not what affection)
The Thistle grew in favour great,
Had the king's ear, and whole direction
Of all the officers of ftate.
Fired with the fame of his renown,
Brier and bramble came to town,
And at the court on public days,
'Twas difficult to get along,
So doubly lin'd were all the ways,
With this fame scrubby, prickly throng.
-FAMINE, you know, with hollow eye,
Can't bear that PLENTY fhou'd be by.
And our new minister of state,
Refolv'd to triumph o'er his foes:
The Thorn and he were wond'rous great,
But he cou'd not abide the Rose.
Pleas'd with the new-got toy of pow'r,
He turn'd out this, and t'other flower.
Banish'd the Laurel with disgrace,
And what made many people fport, To fill the Laurel's vacant place,
Came broad-leaf'd coufin Dock to court.
BARDANA then with faunt'ring pace
Came fimp'ring up to thank his GRACE,
When a damn'd fly upon my nofe,
Which furely ow'd me no good-will,
Wak'd me at once, and as I rose,
Whom thou'd I fee but DOCTOR HILL,
Addreffed to the rebellious HIGHLANDERS; Written in the Year 1745. By a SCOTCHMAN.
HAT dæmon breath'd this fury forth?
Whence this new madnefs in the North?
What does the rafh infatuate race pursue?
No fooner Scotia rears her ftate,
Than you, her fons, confpire her fate, And the flow labours of an age undo.
Better fome bark, with fatal ftore
Of peftilence, had touch'd
Or lightning fwept you from the blafted earth.
Oh! that an earthquake in the deep
Had whelm'd your mountains wafte and steep, When firft they teem'd with fuch a monftrous birth! III.
In vain has nature kindly rent
Her Albion from the continent,
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