ath;
when ruin, with his sweeping besom,
just frets till heav'n ission gies him;
while o'er the harp pale misery moans,
and strikes the ever-deep'ning tones,
still louder shrieks, and heavier groans!
your pardon, sir, for this digression:
i maist fat my dedication;
but when divinity es 'e,
my readers still are sure to lose me.
so, sir, you see 'twas nae daft vapour;
but i maturely thought it proper,
when a' my works i did review,
to dedicate them, sir, to you:
because (ye need na tak it ill),
i thought them something li
A Dedication(6/10)