Epistle To The Rev. John Mmath
no crack his jest
what way they've us'd him?
see him, the poor man's friend in need,
the gentleman in word an' deed—
an' shall his fame an' honour bleed
by worthless, skellums,
an' not a muse erect her head
to cowe the blellums?
o pope, had i thy satire's darts
to gie the rascals their deserts,
i'd rip their rotten, hollow hearts,
an' tell aloud
their jugglin hocus-pocus arts
to cheat the crowd.
god knows, i'm no the thing i should be,
nor am i evehing i could be,
but twenty times i rath
Epistle To The Rev. John Mmath(3/7)