A Dream(1/3)
a dream
thoughts, words, and deeds, the statute blames with reason;
but surely dreams were ne'er indicted treason.
on reading, in the public papers, the laureate's ode, with the other parade of june 4th, 1786, the author was no sooner dropt asleep, than he imagined himself transported to the birth-day levee: and, in his dreaming fancy, made the following address:
guid-mornin' to our majesty!
may heaven augment your blisses
on ev'ry new birth-day ye see,
a humble poet wishes.
my bardship here, at your levee
on sic a day as this is,
is sure an uncouth sight to see,
amang thae birth-day dresses
sae fine this day.
i see ye're complimented thrang,
by mony a lord an' lady;
“god save the king” 's a cuckoo sang
that's unco easy said aye:
the poets, too, a venal gang,
wi' rhymes weel-turn'd an' ready,
wad gar you trow ye ne'er do wrang,
but aye unerring steady,
on sic a day.
for me! before a monarch's face
ev'n there i winna flatter;
for neither pension, post, nor place,
am i your humble debtor:
so, nae reflection on your grace,
your kingship to bespatter;
there's mony waur been o' the race,
and aiblins ane been better
than you this day.
'tis very true, my sovereign king,
my skill may weel be doubted;
but facts are chiels that winna ding,
an' downa be disputed:
your royal nest, beneath your wing,
is e'en right reft and clouted,
and now the third part o' the string,
an' less, will gang aboot it
than did ae day.
far be't frae me that i aspire
to blame your legislation,
or say, ye wisdom want, or fire,
to rule this mighty nation:
but faith! i muckle doubt, my sire,
ye've trusted ministration
to chaps wha in barn or byre
wad better
thoughts, words, and deeds, the statute blames with reason;
but surely dreams were ne'er indicted treason.
on reading, in the public papers, the laureate's ode, with the other parade of june 4th, 1786, the author was no sooner dropt asleep, than he imagined himself transported to the birth-day levee: and, in his dreaming fancy, made the following address:
guid-mornin' to our majesty!
may heaven augment your blisses
on ev'ry new birth-day ye see,
a humble poet wishes.
my bardship here, at your levee
on sic a day as this is,
is sure an uncouth sight to see,
amang thae birth-day dresses
sae fine this day.
i see ye're complimented thrang,
by mony a lord an' lady;
“god save the king” 's a cuckoo sang
that's unco easy said aye:
the poets, too, a venal gang,
wi' rhymes weel-turn'd an' ready,
wad gar you trow ye ne'er do wrang,
but aye unerring steady,
on sic a day.
for me! before a monarch's face
ev'n there i winna flatter;
for neither pension, post, nor place,
am i your humble debtor:
so, nae reflection on your grace,
your kingship to bespatter;
there's mony waur been o' the race,
and aiblins ane been better
than you this day.
'tis very true, my sovereign king,
my skill may weel be doubted;
but facts are chiels that winna ding,
an' downa be disputed:
your royal nest, beneath your wing,
is e'en right reft and clouted,
and now the third part o' the string,
an' less, will gang aboot it
than did ae day.
far be't frae me that i aspire
to blame your legislation,
or say, ye wisdom want, or fire,
to rule this mighty nation:
but faith! i muckle doubt, my sire,
ye've trusted ministration
to chaps wha in barn or byre
wad better
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