But by thy honest turf I'll wait,

Thou man of worth!

And weep the ae best fellow's fate

E'er lay in earth.

THE EPITAPH.

STOP, passenger! my story's brief,
And truth I shall relate, man;

I tell nae common tale o' grief,
For Matthew was a great man.

If thou uncommon merit hast,

Yet spurn'd at fortune's door, man;

A look of pity hither cast,

For Matthew was a poor man.

If thou a noble sodger art,

That passest by this grave, man, There moulders here a gallant heart; For Matthew was a brave man.

If thou on men, their works and ways, Canst throw uncommon light, man; Here lies wha weel had won thy praise, For Matthew was a bright man.

If thou at friendship's sacred ca',
Wad life itself resign, man;
Thy sympathetic tear maun fa',
For Matthew was a kind man.

If thou art staunch without a stain,
Like the unchanging blue, man;
This was a kinsman o' thy ain,
For Matthew was a true man.

If thou hast wit, and fun and fire,
And ne'er gude wine did fear, man;

This was thy billie, dam, and sire,
For Matthew was a queer man.

If ony whiggish whingin sot,

To blame poor Matthew dare, man; May dool and sorrow be his lot,

For Matthew was a rare man.

LAMENT

OF

MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS,

ON THE

APPROACH OF SPRING.

Now nature hangs her mantle green

On every blooming tree,

And spreads her sheets o' daisies white

Out o'er the grassy lea:

Now Phoebus chears the crystal streams,

And glads the azure skies;

But nought can glad the weary wight

That fast in durance lies.