1728.

TO MR. POPE.

THREE times I've read your Iliad o'er : The first time pleas'd me well;

New beauties unobferv'd before,

Next pleas'd me better still,

Again I try'd to find a flaw,
Examin'd ilka line;

The third time pleas'd me beft of a',
The labour feem'd divine.

Henceforward I 'll not tempt my fate,
On dazzling rays to stare,
Left I should tine dear felf-conceit,

And read and write nae mair.

WROTE ON LADY SOMERVILLE'S BOOK OF SCOTS SANGS.

GAE, canty book, and win a name;

Nae lyrics e'er fhall ding thee:
Hope large esteem, and lasting fame,
If Somervilla fing thee.
If the thy finless faults forgive,

Which her sweet voice can cover,
Thou shalt, in spite of critics, live
Still grateful to each lover.

AN EPIGRAM.

MINERVA wand'ring in a myrtle grove,
Accofted thus the fmiling queen of love:
Revenge yourself, you 've caufe to be afraid,
Your boasted pow'r yields to a British maid :
She feems a goddess, all her
graces fhine

Love leads her beauty, which eclipses thine.
Each youth, I know, (fays Venus,) thinks she 's me;
Immediately she speaks, they think the 's thee:
Good Pallas, thus you 're foil'd as well as I.
Ha ha! (cries Cupid,) that 's my Mally Sleigh.

1728.

ON THE MARQUIS OF ANNANDALE'S

CONVEYING ME A PRESENT OF GUINEAS IN MY SNUFF-BOX, AFTER HE HAD TAKEN ALL THE SNUFF.

THE Chief requir'd my fnishing-mill,

And well it was bestow'd; The Patron, by the rarest skill,

Turn'd all the fnuff to gowd.

Gowd ftampt with royal Anna's face,
Piece after piece came forth:

The pictures fmil'd, gi'en with fuch grace,
By ane of fo much worth.

Sure thus the patronizing Roman
Made Horace spread the wing;
Thus Dorset, by kind deeds uncommon,
Rais'd Prior up to fing.

That there are patrons yet for me,
Here's a convincing proof;

Since Annandale gives gowd as free
As I can part with fnuff.

TO MRS. M. M ON HER PAINTING,

To paint his Venus, auld Apelles

Wal'd a' the bonny maids of Greece: Thou needs nae mair but paint thyfell, lass, To ding the painter and his piece.

ON MR. DRUMMOND'S BEING APPOINTED

A COMMISSIONER OF THE CUSTOMS,

THE good are glad when merit meets reward,
And thus they share the pleasure of another;
While little minds, who only felf regard,

Will ficken at the success of a brother.

Hence I am pleas'd to find myself right class'd, Even by this mark, that 's worthy of observing; It gives me joy, the patent lately pass'd

In favour of dear Drummond, most deserving.

ON THE DUKE OF HAMILTON'S SHOOTING AN ARROW

THROUGH THE NECK OF AN EEL.

As from a bow a fatal flane,
Train'd by Apollo from the main,
In water pierc'd an eel;

Sae mae the patriot's power and art
Sic fate to fouple rogues impart,

That drumble at the commonweal:

Tho' they as ony eels are slid,

And thro' what 's vile can fcud,

A bolt may reach them, tho' deep hid,
They fculk beneath their mud.