For lords orkings I dinnamourn,
E’en let them die-for that they’re born:
But oh! prodigious to reflec’!
A Towmont, sirs, is ganeto wreck!
O Eighty-eight, in thy sma’space,
What dire events hae taken place!
Of what enjoyments thou hast reft us!
In what a picklethou has left us!
The Spanish empire’s tint a head,
And my auldteethless, Bawtie’s dead:
The tulyie’s teugh’tween Pitt and Fox,
And ‘tween our Maggie’s twaweecocks;
The taneis game, a bluidydevil,
But to the hen-birds uncocivil;
The tither’s something dour o’ treadin,
But better stuff ne’er claw’d a middin.
Ye ministers, come mount the poupit,
An’ cry tillye be hearse an’ roupit,
For Eighty-eight, he wished you weel,
An’ giedye a’baithgearan’ meal;
E’enmonc a plack, and mony a peck,
Ye kenyoursels, for little feck!
Ye bonielasses, dightyour e’en,
For some o’you hae tinta frien’;
In Eighty-eight, ye ken, was taen,
What ye’ll ne’er haeto gieagain.
Observe the very nowtan’ sheep,
How dowff an’ davielythey creep;
Nay, even the yirth itsel’does cry,
For E’nburgh wells are gruttendry.
O Eighty-nine, thou’s buta bairn,
An’noowreauld, I hope, to learn!
Thou beardless boy, I pray takcare,
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 plan
Naewaurthan he did, honest man!
As mucklebetter as you can.
January, 1, 1789.