ireling crimes,
the servile, merary swiss of rhymes?
or bour hard the panegyric close,
with all the venal soul of dedig prose?
no! though his artless strains he rudely sings,
and throws his hand uncouthly o'er the strings,
he glows with all the spirit of the bard,
fame, ho fame, his great, his dear reward.
still, if some patron's gen'rous care he trace,
skill'd in the secret, to bestow with grace;
when balntine befriends his humble name,
and hands the rustic stranger up to fame,
with heartfelt throes his grateful bosom swells,
the godlike blis
The Brigs Of Ayr(2/20)