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THE POEMS OF BURNS.
EPIGRAM ON ELPHINSTONE'S TRANSLATION OF MARTIAL'S EPIGRAMS.
O Thou whom Poetry abhors,
Whom Prose had turned out of doors,
Heard'st thou that groan?—proceed no further,
'Twas laurel'd Martial roaring murther.
Whom Prose had turned out of doors,
Heard'st thou that groan?—proceed no further,
'Twas laurel'd Martial roaring murther.
EPITAPH ON A COUNTRY LAIRD, NOT QUITE SO WISE AS SOLOMON.
Bless Jesus Christ, O Cardoness,
With grateful lifted eyes,
Who said that not the soul alone,
But body too, must rise:
For had he said, 'The soul alone
From death I will deliver,'
Alas, alas! O Cardoness,
Then thou hadst slept for ever!
With grateful lifted eyes,
Who said that not the soul alone,
But body too, must rise:
For had he said, 'The soul alone
From death I will deliver,'
Alas, alas! O Cardoness,
Then thou hadst slept for ever!
EPITAPH ON A NOISY POLEMIC.
Below thir stanes lie Jamie's banes:
O Death, it's my opinion,
Thou ne'er took such a bleth'rin bitch
Into thy dark dominion!
O Death, it's my opinion,
Thou ne'er took such a bleth'rin bitch
Into thy dark dominion!
EPITAPH ON WEE JOHNNY.
Hic jacet wee Johnny.
Whoe'er thou art, O reader, know
That death has murder'd Johnie!
An' here his body lies fu' low———
For saul he ne'er had ony.
That death has murder'd Johnie!
An' here his body lies fu' low———
For saul he ne'er had ony.
EPITAPH ON A CELEBRATED RULING ELDER.
Here sowter Hood in Death does sleep;
To Hell, if he's gane thither,
Satan, gie him thy gear to keep,
He'll haud it weel thegither.
To Hell, if he's gane thither,
Satan, gie him thy gear to keep,
He'll haud it weel thegither.