XI.

SONG,

INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SUNG BETWEEN THE ACTS OF A PLAY, (ACTED BY PARTICULAR DESIRE OF THE DEAN AND FACULTY OF ADVOCATES), IN THE CHARACTER OF A LAWYER, -January 1770.

From a Volume of MS. in the Library of the Faculty of Advocates, written by the Hon. Henry Erskine, and said to have been corrected by himself.

1

The Bards of all ages have made it their theme
To sing of the merits, and blazon the fame
Of other professions, and praise them at random
Of lawyers I sing, and make you avizandum.
Derry down, &c.

2

Tho' partial, I'll give you a representation
Of the good and the ill, we bestow on the nation.
Our use is so certain, there is no denying❜nt,
If any one doubts it, he ne'er was a client.

3

Extraordinary actions belong to the great,—
The soldier, the patriot, or premier of state;
But we, unconnected with party or faction,
Spend our time and our breath on an ordinary action.

4

Altho' with our virtues, some faults may conjoin,
The process is short that can make us repine;
For whoe'er be the Judge that decides on our blame,
If he gives it against us, we're sure to reclaim.

5

Tho' peaceable folks, yet we often petition,
Tho' not like our neighbours stirred up by sedition,
So just are both houses, that when we're refused,
We petition again, nor think justice abus'd.

6

To the fair, the delight and the joy of creation,
We're tender and faithful without affectation n;
And while to investigate, truth is our duty,

Can find nought in them, but love, honour, and beauty.

7

To other professions, old age is a ruin,

Unfits them for action, is a certain undoing;

We scorn to conceal it, like old maids and beaux,

A lawyer's the better the older he grows.

8

All mankind beside live in terror for death,

And with fear and unwillingness yield their last breath; But a lawyer is happy, by labour hard toil'd,

When his suit's at an end, and he's fairly assoît d.

9

On the whole, we submit to your righteous decision,
Having stated the law and the fact with precision;
And we crave, that in ranking professions you'll find,
If not pari passu, we're not far behind.

XII.

ODE OF SAPPHO PARODIED.

Addressed to the Earl of [Kelly], the celebrated bon vivant and Musical Composer, by the Hon. H. Erskine, from the MS. previously noticed.

Drunk as a Dragon, sure is he

The youth that dines, or sups with thee

Who hears and sees thee full of fun,—
Loudly laugh and quaintly pun.
T'was this first made me love my dose,
And raised such pimples on my nose.
For while I fill'd to every toast,
My cares were gone-my senses lost :
I felt the claret and champagne
Inflame my blood, and mad my brain.
My toast fell, faultring from my tongue,
I scarcely heard the catch I sung,-
I felt my gorge with sickness rise,
The candles danced before my eyes,—
My sight grew dim, the room turn'd round,

I tumbl'd senseless on the ground.

XIII.

PATRICK O'CONNOR'S ADVICE TO HENRY M'GRAUGH, WHO WAS SENTENCED BY THE MAGISTRATES OF EDINBURGH TO BE WHIP'T THROUGH THE TOWN FOR EATING AT TAVERNS, AND NOT PAYING.-August 1774.

From Mr. Erskine's MS. Poems previously noticed.

In the Edinburgh Evening Courant, 31st August 1774, there occurs this notice relative to this unfortunate eater, who seems, like the redoubtable Dando of modern days, to have been the terror of Tavern-Keepers." This day, one Henry Macgraugh (an Irishman) was publickly whipt thro' this city, and afterwards remitted to prison for three months, pursuant to a sentence of the Magistrates. This fellow has been in the practice of imposing upon the inhabitants, by going into Taverns, calling for victuals and drink, and afterwards informing the people he had no money to pay for them. He had three times been taken before the Magistrates for these practices; the first and second time he was dismissed on promises of good behaviour, and leaving the place; but finding him altogether incorrigible, the Magistrates were at last induced to pass the above sentence."

Arrah! Harry M'Graugh, very cruel your fate is

To be whipt thro' the town, 'cause you love to dine gratis.
By my shoul, my dear jewel, if such be their due,
Who love a good dinner, for nothing, like you,

Some folks I could name of no little renown,

Before you, might walk by your side thro' the town.
Yet here, even here, you might spunge a good dinner,
Without being thought so egregious a sinner.
But the method you took, will not pass in this city
As at home: By St. Patrick, the more is the pity.
Then learn from the Bailie that sous'd you the way
To eat and to drink, yet have nothing to pay :
Like him be made Counsellor, Deacon or Baillie,
And as politics go,-What the devil's to ail ye?
Then each day you may guzzle, at the city's expence,
Without Crosbie* or Boswellt to plead your defence.
If you can't my dear creature, to Ireland be gone,
For the Magistrates here hate all rogues but their own.

XIV.

EPITAPH ON CHARLES HAY, ESQUIRE, ADVOCATE, WHO LIES INTERRED UNDER THE BOWLING GREEN IN HERIOT'S GARDEN.

By the Hon. Henry Erskine, from the MS. previously noticed.

No more to shine in bowling, or in law,
No more of Papers, or of casts, to draw,
Beneath his fav'rite turf, ah! well-a-day,
Lies the dead length of honest Charlie Hay.
What, tho' from natures hand deliver'd fair
And wide of every rub from want or care,

Andrew Crosbie, Esquire, a Barrister of great eminence. He is said to be the prototype of Councellor Pleydel in Guy Mannering. He was ruined, like many others, by the failure of the Ayr Bank, and died in such poverty in 1785, that his widow was under the necessity of applying for relief to the Faculty of Advocates, from whom she obtained an annual allowance of £50. Before his death, Mr. Crosbie appears to have projected a work on the duties of Justices of the Peace, as an advertisement to that effect appeared in the Advertiser Newspaper February 16th 1785. His Library, in which "besides Classics, History, "&c. there is a large collection of books in the Roman and Civil Law" was advertised for sale by auction at "Hay's Vendue Warehouse, back of the Guard, Edinburgh," on Monday the 4th of July 1785.

† James Boswell, Esquire.

By envious death ta'en up, here short he lies,
And craves a tear from every Bowler's eyes.

Whoe'er thou art that haunt'st this verdant spot,
Oh! learn his virtues whilst thou mourn'st his lot.
In the few Ends of life poor Charlie play'd,
No narrow thought his social bosom sway'd,
Alike in bus'ness, and in pleasure keen,
True to the Bar as to the Bowling-green;
Still did his heart with anxious biass bend,
To save his client, and assist his friend.

In every social scene he took the lead,

And skipp'd with kindness o'er each friend's misdeed;
If e'er himself fell short, by this sad stone
Learn his Amendment now, for he is gone.
Short is the game of life, and quickly o'er,
Even when the party play'd is up three score,
How hard the stroke then, when but just begun,
To robe thee, Hay, of life, and us of fun!

E'er on the ill kept turf of Herriot's green,
Another bowler shall like thee be seen,
Bowls shall no longer feel their biassd side,
And J- -nie T- -n shall forget to ride;
Still in the Bank the short bowls shall be found,

And those that reach the Bank shall block the ground.
And Woods bare green, tho' roll'd and mow'd each day,
Shall, from thy bones, produce a crop of Hay.