No More Learning

Maria, send me too thy griefs and cares;
In all of thee sure thy Esopus shares.
As thou at all mankind the flag unfurls,
Who on my fair one Satire's vengeance hurls--
Who calls thee, pert, affected, vain coquette,
A wit in folly, and a fool in wit!
Who says that fool alone is not thy due,
And quotes thy treacheries to prove it true!

Our force united on thy foes we'll turn,
And dare the war with all of woman born:
For who can write and speak as thou and I?
My periods that deciphering defy,
And thy still matchless tongue that conquers all reply!




Epitaph On A Noted Coxcomb

Capt. Wm. Roddirk, of Corbiston.

Light lay the earth on Billy's breast,
His chicken heart so tender;
But build a castle on his head,
His scull will prop it under.




On Capt. Lascelles

When Lascelles thought fit from this world to depart,
Some friends warmly thought of embalming his heart;
A bystander whispers--"Pray don't make so much o't,
The subject is poison, no reptile will touch it. "




On Wm. Graham, Esq. , Of Mossknowe

"Stop thief! " dame Nature call'd to Death,
As Willy drew his latest breath;
How shall I make a fool again?
My choicest model thou hast ta'en.




On John Bushby, Esq. , Tinwald Downs

Here lies John Bushby--honest man,
Cheat him, Devil--if you can!




Sonnet On The Death Of Robert Riddell

Of Glenriddell and Friars' Carse.


No more, ye warblers of the wood! no more;
Nor pour your descant grating on my soul;
Thou young-eyed Spring! gay in thy verdant stole,
More welcome were to me grim Winter's wildest roar.

How can ye charm, ye flowers, with all your dyes?
Ye blow upon the sod that wraps my friend!
How can I to the tuneful strain attend?
That strain flows round the untimely tomb where Riddell lies.

Yes, pour, ye warblers! pour the notes of woe,
And soothe the Virtues weeping o'er his bier:
The man of worth--and hath not left his peer!
Is in his "narrow house," for ever darkly low.

Thee, Spring! again with joy shall others greet;
Me, memory of my loss will only meet.