Or if you on your station tarrow,
Between Almagro and Pizarro,
A seat, I'm sure ye're well deservin't;
An' till ye come--your humble servant,

Beelzebub.
June 1st, Anno Mundi, 5790.




A Dream

Thoughts, words, and deeds, the Statute blames with reason;
But surely Dreams were ne'er indicted Treason.

On reading, in the public papers, the Laureate's Ode, with the other
parade of June 4th, 1786, the Author was no sooner dropt asleep, than he
imagined himself transported to the Birth-day Levee: and, in his dreaming
fancy, made the following Address:

Guid-Mornin' to our Majesty!
May Heaven augment your blisses
On ev'ry new birth-day ye see,
A humble poet wishes.
My bardship here, at your Levee
On sic a day as this is,
Is sure an uncouth sight to see,
Amang thae birth-day dresses
Sae fine this day.