stanzas ohing
extempore epistle to gavin hamilton, esq.
to you, sir, this summons i've sent,
pray, whip till the pownie is freathing;
but if you demand what i want,
i holy answer you—hing.
ne'er s a poor poet like me,
for idly just living and breathing,
while people of every degree
are busy employed about—hing.
poor tum-per-tum may fast,
and grumble his hurdies their cithing,
he'll find, when the bance is cast,
he's gao the devil for-hing.
the courtier ges and bows,
ambition has likewise its pything;
a et beams on his
Stanzas On Naething(1/4)