MS: 'Elegy on the Year 1788'

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MS: 'Elegy on the Year 1788'

Ye Ministers come tak mount the poupit,
And cry till ye be haerse & roupet
For Eight eight he wish'd you weel,
And gied ^you a baith gear & meal;
E'en mony a plack & mony a peck,
Ye ken yoursels for little feck
Ye bonie lasses dight your een
For some o' you hae tint a frien;
In Eighty eight, ye ken, was taen,
What ye'll ne'er hae to gie again.-
Observe the vera nowt & sheep
How douf & deviely they creep;
Nay even the yirth itsel does cry,
For Embrugh wells are grutten dry.-
O Eight-nine, thou's but a bairn,
And no o'er auld, I hope to learn!
Thou beardless boy I pray tak care;
Thou now has got thy daddie's chair,
Nae hand-cuff'd, mizzl'd, hap-shackl'd Regent,
But like himsel, a full free agent

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