Lines To A Gentleman,

Who had sent the Poet a Newspaper, and offered to continue it free of Expense.

     Kind Sir, I've read your paper through,
     And faith, to me, 'twas really new!
     How guessed ye, Sir, what maist I wanted?
     This mony a day I've grain'd and gaunted,
     To ken what French mischief was brewin;
     Or what the drumlie Dutch were doin;
     That vile doup-skelper, Emperor Joseph,
     If Venus yet had got his nose off;
     Or how the collieshangie works
     Atween the Russians and the Turks,
     Or if the Swede, before he halt,
     Would play anither Charles the twalt;
     If Denmark, any body spak o't;
     Or Poland, wha had now the tack o't:
     How cut-throat Prussian blades were hingin;
     How libbet Italy was singin;

     If Spaniard, Portuguese, or Swiss,
     Were sayin' or takin' aught amiss;
     Or how our merry lads at hame,
     In Britain's court kept up the game;
     How royal George, the Lord leuk o'er him!
     Was managing St. Stephen's quorum;
     If sleekit Chatham Will was livin,
     Or glaikit Charlie got his nieve in;
     How daddie Burke the plea was cookin,
     If Warren Hasting's neck was yeukin;
     How cesses, stents, and fees were rax'd.
     Or if bare arses yet were tax'd;
     The news o' princes, dukes, and earls,
     Pimps, sharpers, bawds, and opera-girls;
     If that daft buckie, Geordie Wales,
     Was threshing still at hizzies' tails;
     Or if he was grown oughtlins douser,
     And no a perfect kintra cooser:
     A' this and mair I never heard of;
     And, but for you, I might despair'd of.
     So, gratefu', back your news I send you,
     And pray a' gude things may attend you.

     Ellisland, Monday Morning, 1790.