A DEDICATION TO G**** H******* Esq ; EXPECT na , Sir , in this narration , A fleechan , fleth'ran Dedication , To roose you up , an' ca' you guid , An' sprung o' great an' noble bluid ; Because ye're sirnam'd like His Grace , Perhaps related to the race : Then when I'm tir'd — and sae are ye , Wi' monie a fulsome , sinfu' lie , Set up a face , how I stop short , For fear your modesty be hurt . This may do — maun do , Sir , wi' them wha Maun please the Great-folk for a wamefou ; For me ! sae Iaigh I need na bow , For , LORD be thanket , I can plough ; And when I downa yoke a naig , Then , LORD be thanket , I can beg ; Sae I shall say , an' that's nae flatt'rin , It's just sic Poet an' sic Patron . The Poet , some guid Angel help him , Or else , I fear , some ill ane skelp him ! He may do weel for a' he's done yet , But only — he's no just begun yet . The Patron , ( Sir , ye maun forgie me , I winna lie , come what will o' me ) On ev'ry hand it will allow'd be , He's just — nae better than he should be . I readily and freely grant , He downa see a poor man want ; What's no his ain , he winna tak it ; What ance he says , he winna break it ; Ought he can lend he'll no refus't , Till aft his guidness is abus'd ; And rascals whyles that do him wrang , Ev'n that , he does na mind it lang : As Master , Landlord , Husband , Father , He does na fail his part in either . But then , nae thanks to him for a' that ; Nae godly symptom ye can ca' that ; It's naething but a milder feature , Of our poor , sinfu' , corrupt Nature : Ye'll get the best o' moral works , 'Mang black Gentoos , and Pagan Turks , Or Hunters wild on Ponotaxi , Wha never heard of Orth-d-xy . That he's the poor man's friend in need , The GENTLEMAN in word and deed , It's no through terror of D-mn-t-n ; It's just a carnal inclination , And Och ! that's nae r-g-n-r-t-n ! Morality , thou deadly bane , Thy tens o' thousands thou hast slain ! Vain is his hope , whase slay an' trust is , In moral Mercy , Truth and Justice ! No — stretch a point to catch a plack ; Abuse a Brother to his back ; Steal thro' the winnock frae a wh-re , But point the Rake that taks the door ; Be to the Poor like onie whunstane , And haud their noses to the grunstane ; Ply ev'ry art o' legal thieving ; No matter — stick to sound believing . Learn three-mile pray'rs , an' half-mile graces , Wi' weel spread looves , an' lang , wry faces ; Grunt up a solemn , lengthen'd groan , And damn a' Parties but your own ; I'll warrant then , ye're nae Deceiver , A steady , sturdy , staunch Believer . O ye wha leave the springs o' C-lv-n , For gumlie dubs of your ain delvin ! Ye sons of Heresy and Error , Ye'll some day squeel in quaking terror ! When Vengeance draws the sword in wrath , And in the fire throws the sheath ; When Ruin , with his sweeping besom , Just frets till Heav'n commission gies him ; While o'er the Harp pale Misery moans , And strikes the ever-deep'ning tones , Still louder shrieks , and heavier groans ! Your pardon , Sir , for this digression , I maist forgat my Dedication ; But when Divinity comes cross me , My readers then are sure to lose me . So Sir , you see 'twas nae daft vapour , But I maturely thought it proper , When a' my works I did review , To dedicate them , Sir , to YOU : Because ( ye need na tak it ill ) I thought them something like yoursel . Then patronize them wvi' your favor , And your Petitioner shall ever — I had amaist said , ever pray , But that's a word I need na say : For prayin I hae little skill o't ; I'm baith dead-sweer , an' wretched ill o't ; But I'se repeat each poor man's pray'r , That kens or hears about you , Sir — ' May ne'er Misfortune's gowling bark , ' Howl thro' the dwelling o' the CLERK ! ' May ne'er his gen'rous , honest heart , ' For that same gen'rous spirit smart ! ' May K******'s far-honor'd name ' Lang beet his hymeneal flame , ' Till H*******'s , at least a diz'n , ' Are frae their nuptial labors risen : ' Five bonie Lasses round their table , ' And sev'n brave fellows , stout an' able , ' To serve their King an' Country weel , ' By word , or pen , or pointed steel ! ' May Health and Peace , with mutual rays , ' Shine on the ev'ning o' his days ; ' Till his wee , curlie John's ier-oe , ' When ebbing life nae mair shall flow , ' The last , sad , mournful rites bestow ! ' I will not wind a lang conclusion , With complimentary effusion : But whilst your wishes and endeavours , Are blest with Fortune's smiles and favours , I am , Dear Sir , with zeal most fervent , Your much indebted , humble servant . But if , which Pow'rs above prevent , That iron-hearted Carl , Want , Attended , in his grim advances , By sad mistakes , and black mischances , While hopes , and joys , and pleasures fly him ; Make you as poor a dog as I am , Your humble servant then no more ; For who would humbly serve the Poor ? But by a poor man's hopes in Heav'n ! While recollection's pow'r is giv'n , If , in the vale of humble life , The victim sad of Fortune's strife , I , through the tender-gushing tear , Should recognise my Master dear , If friendless , low , we meet together , Then , Sir , your hand — my FRIEND and BROTHER .