On Commissary Goldie’s Brains

     Lord, to account who dares thee call,
     Or e’er dispute thy pleasure? 
     Else why, within so thick a wall,
     Enclose so poor a treasure?

Lines Inscribed In A Lady’s Pocket Almanac

     Grant me, indulgent Heaven, that I may live,
     To see the miscreants feel the pains they give;
     Deal Freedom’s sacred treasures free as air,
     Till Slave and Despot be but things that were.

Thanksgiving For A National Victory

     Ye hypocrites! are these your pranks? 
     To murder men and give God thanks! 
     Desist, for shame!—­proceed no further;
     God won’t accept your thanks for Murther!

Lines On The Commemoration Of Rodney’s Victory

     Instead of a Song, boy’s, I’ll give you a Toast;
     Here’s to the memory of those on the twelfth that we lost!—­
     That we lost, did I say?—­nay, by Heav’n, that we found;
     For their fame it will last while the world goes round.

     The next in succession I’ll give you’s the King! 
     Whoe’er would betray him, on high may he swing! 
     And here’s the grand fabric, our free Constitution,
     As built on the base of our great Revolution! 
     And longer with Politics not to be cramm’d,
     Be Anarchy curs’d, and Tyranny damn’d! 
     And who would to Liberty e’er prove disloyal,
     May his son be a hangman—­and he his first trial!

The Raptures Of Folly

     Thou greybeard, old Wisdom! may boast of thy treasures;
     Give me with young Folly to live;
     I grant thee thy calm-blooded, time-settled pleasures,
     But Folly has raptures to give.

Kirk and State Excisemen

     Ye men of wit and wealth, why all this sneering
     ’Gainst poor Excisemen?  Give the cause a hearing: 
     What are your Landlord’s rent-rolls?  Taxing ledgers! 
     What Premiers?  What ev’n Monarchs?  Mighty Gaugers! 
     Nay, what are Priests? (those seeming godly wise-men,)
     What are they, pray, but Spiritual Excisemen!

Extempore Reply To An Invitation

     The King’s most humble servant, I
     Can scarcely spare a minute;
     But I’ll be wi’ you by an’ by;
     Or else the Deil’s be in it.

Grace After Meat

     Lord, we thank, and thee adore,
     For temporal gifts we little merit;
     At present we will ask no more—­
     Let William Hislop give the spirit.

Grace Before And After Meat

     O Lord, when hunger pinches sore,
     Do thou stand us in stead,
     And send us, from thy bounteous store,
     A tup or wether head!  Amen.