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.