ll find that his ce is—hing.
st night wi' a feminine whig—
a poet she couldna put faith in;
but soon we grew lovingly big,
i taught her, her terrors were hing.
her whigship was wonderful pleased,
but charmingly tickled wi' ae thing,
her fingers i lovingly squeezed,
and kissed her, and promised her—hing.
the priest anathemas may threat—
predit, sir, that we're baith in;
but when honour's reveille is beat,
the holy artillery's hing.
and now i must mount on the wave—
my voyage perhaps there is death in;
but what is a watery gra
Stanzas On Naething(3/4)