ONE VOLUME MORE. (1823.) Written for the Bannatyne Club.) One volume more, my friends, one volume more; We'll restore Banny's manhood in one volume more. John Pinkerton next, and I'm truly concern'd ASSIST me, ye friends of Old Books I can't call that worthy so candid as and Old Wine, To sing in the praises of sage Ban natyne, Who left such a treasure of old Scottish lore As enables each age to print one volume more. One volume more, my friends, one volume more, We'll ransack old Banny for one Asbitter as gall, and as sharp as a razor, And feeding on herbs as a Nebu volume more. And first, Allan Ramsay was eager to glean From Bannatyne's Hortus his bright Evergreen; Two light little volumes (intended for four) Still leave us the task to print one volume more. One volume more, &c. His ways were not ours, for he cared not a pin How much he left out, or how much he put in ; chadnezzar, His diet too acid, his temper too sour, Little Ritson came out with his two volumes more. But one volume, my friends, one volume more, We'll dine on roast-beef and print one volume more. The stout Gothic yeditur1, next on the roll, With his beard like a brush and as black as a coal, And honest Greysteel that was true to the core, The truth of the reading he thought Lent their hearts and their hands each Ancient libels and contraband books, By a rout in the papers-fine place I assure ye. for such matters. We'll print as secure from Exchequer I have, therefore, to make it for once or Jury; Then hear your Committee and let them count o'er my command, sir, That my gudeson shall leave the whole thing in my hand, sir, The Chiels they intend in their And by no means accomplish what three volumes more. Three volumes more, &c. James says you threaten, Some banter in Blackwood1 to claim your dog-Latin. They'll produce your King Jamie, the I have various reasons of weight, sapient and Sext, on my word, sir, For pronouncing a step of this sort were absurd, sir. One tome miscellaneous they'll add to Firstly, erudite sir, 'twas against So stet pro ratione voluntas-be tractile, Invade not, I say, my own dear little dactyl ; If you do, you'll occasion a breach in our intercourse. To-morrow will see me in town for the winter-course, But not at your door, at the usual hour, sir, My own pye-house (pious!) daughter's good prog to devour, sir. Ergo-peace!-on your duty, your squeamishness throttle, And we'll soothe Priscian's spleen with a canny third bottle. A fig for all dactyls, a fig for all spondees, A fig for all dunces and dominie Grundys; A fig for dry thrapples, south, north, east, and west, sir, Speates and raxes cre five for a famishing guest, sir; And as Fatsman 2 and I have some topics for haver, he'll Be invited, I hope, to meet me and Dame Peveril, Upon whom, to say nothing of Oury and Anne, you a Dog shall be deemed if you fasten your janua. Stand forth, arch deceiver, and tell us in truth, Are you handsome or ugly, in age or in youth? Man, woman, or child-a dog or a mouse? Or are you, at once, cach live thing in the house? Each live thing, did I ask?-cach dead implement, too, A workshop in your person,-saw, chisel, and screw! Above all, are you one individual? I know You must be at least Alexandre and Co. But I think you're a troop—an assemblage-a mob, And that I, as the Sheriff, should take up the job; And instead of rehearsing your wonders in verse, Must read you the Riot Act, and bid you disperse. ABBOTSFORD, 23rd April. EPILOGUE TO THE DRAMA FOUNDED ON SAINT RONAN'S WELL.' (1824.) Enter MEG DODDS, encircled by a crowd of unruly boys, whom a town's-officer is driving off. THAT's right, friend-drive the gaitlings' back, And lend yon muckle ane a whack; Your Embro' bairns are grown a pack, Sae proud and saucy, They scarce will let an auld wife walk Upon your causey. [1 Children.] And whar's the Weigh-I came a piece frae west o' Curric"; house? Deil hac 't I see but what is new, Except the Playhouse! Yoursells are changed frae head to heel, And, since I see you 're in a hurry, Your patience I'll nae langer worry, But be sae crouse As speak a word for ane Will Murray", That keeps this house. There's some that gar the causeway Plays are auld-fashion'd things, in truth, reel With clashing hufe and rattling wheel, And horses canterin', Wha's fathers daunder'd hame as weel Wi' lass and lantern. Mysell being in the public line, But deil a soul gangs there to dine, Fortune's' and Hunter's1 gane, alace! They gang to a new-fangled place And ye've seen wonders mair uncouth; Yet actors shouldna suffer drouth. Not with their stamock. But ye tak care of a' folk's pantry; For a lone sister, Weel, sirs, gude'en, and have a care As sure as ever ye sit there, She'll tell the Bailie. [1 The Town Guard, or city police; the Clutchers.] (2 An influential police official.] [3 One of the Town Guard.] [All noted taverns.] [ Village near Edinburgh | 16 Lessee of the Theatre. Food; meal and water.] EPILOGUE. (1824.) THE sages for authority, pray look Seneca's morals, or the copy-bookThe sages to disparage woman's power, Of ev'ry ill on beauty that attendsFalse ministers, false lovers, and false friends. Spite of three wedlocks so completely curst, They rose in ill from bad to worse, and worst ; In spite of errors-I dare not say more. Say, beauty is a fair, but fading For Duncan Targe lays hand on his By Mary's grave the poet plants his ON THE MATERIALS NECESSARY laurel ; Time's echo, old tradition, makes her name The constant burden of his falt'ring theme; FOR HIS LIFE OF NAPOLEON.' (June, 1825.) WHEN With Poetry dealing, In each old hall his grey-hair'd heralds Room enough in a shieling : tell Of Mary's picture, and of Mary's cell, And show-my fingers tingle at the thought The loads of tapestry which that poor Queen wrought. In vain did fate bestow a double dower Of ev'ry ill that waits on rank and pow'r, Neither cabin nor hovel How my fancy could prance |