On her Principles of Liberty and Equality.

     How, Liberty! girl, can it be by thee nam’d? 
     Equality too! hussey, art not asham’d? 
     Free and Equal indeed, while mankind thou enchainest,
     And over their hearts a proud Despot so reignest.

On Chloris

     Requesting me to give her a Spring of Blossomed Thorn.

     From the white-blossom’d sloe my dear Chloris requested
     A sprig, her fair breast to adorn: 
     No, by Heavens!  I exclaim’d, let me perish, if ever
     I plant in that bosom a thorn!

On Seeing Mrs. Kemble In Yarico

     Kemble, thou cur’st my unbelief
     For Moses and his rod;
     At Yarico’s sweet nor of grief
     The rock with tears had flow’d.

Epigram On A Country Laird,

     not quite so wise as Solomon.

     Bless Jesus Christ, O Cardonessp,
     With grateful, lifted eyes,
     Who taught that not the soul alone,
     But body too shall rise;
     For had He said “the soul alone
     From death I will deliver,”
     Alas, alas!  O Cardoness,
     Then hadst thou lain for ever.

On Being Shewn A Beautiful Country Seat

     Belonging to the same Laird.

     We grant they’re thine, those beauties all,
     So lovely in our eye;
     Keep them, thou eunuch, Cardoness,
     For others to enjoy!

On Hearing It Asserted Falsehood

     is expressed in the Rev. Dr. Babington’s very looks.

     That there is a falsehood in his looks,
     I must and will deny: 
     They tell their Master is a knave,
     And sure they do not lie.

On A Suicide

     Earth’d up, here lies an imp o’ hell,
     Planted by Satan’s dibble;
     Poor silly wretch, he’s damned himsel’,
     To save the Lord the trouble.

On A Swearing Coxcomb

     Here cursing, swearing Burton lies,
     A buck, a beau, or “Dem my eyes!”
     Who in his life did little good,
     And his last words were “Dem my blood!”

On An Innkeeper Nicknamed “The Marquis”

     Here lies a mock Marquis, whose titles were shamm’d,
     If ever he rise, it will be to be damn’d.

On Andrew Turner

     In se’enteen hunder’n forty-nine,
     The deil gat stuff to mak a swine,
     An’ coost it in a corner;
     But wilily he chang’d his plan,
     An’ shap’d it something like a man,
     An’ ca’d it Andrew Turner.

Pretty Peg

     As I gaed up by yon gate-end,
     When day was waxin’ weary,
     Wha did I meet come down the street,
     But pretty Peg, my dearie!