As many talents as she gave,
When I became the Muse's slave.

Thanks to the gods, who made me poor! No lukewarm friends molest my door, Who always shew a busy care

For being legatee or heir.

Of this stamp none will ever follow
The youth that's favoured by Apollo.

But to those few who know my case,
Nor thought a poet's friend disgrace,
The following trifles I bequeath,

And leave them with my kindest breath ;'
Nor will I burden them with payment,
Of debts incurred, or coffin raiment,
As yet 'twas never my intent
To pass an Irish compliment.

TO JAMIE RAE*, who oft, jocosus,
With me partook of cheering doses,
I leave my snuff-box to regale
His senses after drowsy meal,

And wake remembrance of a friend
Who lov'd him to his latter end:

But if this pledge should make him sorry,

**Solicitor at law, and the Poet's intimate friend.

He may bequeath't 'mong stubborn fellows To all the finer feelings callous,

Who think that parting breath's a sneeze To set sensations all at ease.

TO OLIPHANT*, my friend, I legate
Those scrolls poetic, which he may get,
With ample freedom to correct

Those writs I ne'er could retrospect;
With power to him and his succession,
To print and sell a new impression:
And here I fix on Ossian's head
A domicil for Doric reed,

With as much power ad Musa bona
As I in propria persona.

TO HAMILTON† I give the task
Outstanding debts to crave and ask ;
And that my Muse he may not dub ill,
For loading him with so much trouble,
My debts I leave him singulatim,
As they are mostly desperatim.

To thee, whose genius can provoke Thy passions to the bowl or sock

* Late Bookseller in Edinburgh.

Solicitor at law, and the Poet's intimate friend.

For love to thee, WOODS! and the Nine,

Be

my immortal Shakespeare thine. Here may you through the alleys turn, Where Falstaff laughs, where heroes mourn, And boldly catch the glowing fire That dwells in raptures on his lyre.

Now, at my dirge (if dirge there be),
Due to the Muse and Poetry,

Let HUTCHISON* attend; for none is
More fit to guide the ceremonies:
As I, in health, with him would often
This clay-built mansion wash and soften,
So let
my friends with him partake

The generous wine at dirge or wake.—

And I consent to registration
Of this my will for preservation,
That patent it may be, and seen,
In WALTER'S Weekly Magazine.
Witness whereof, these presents wrote are
By William Blair, the public notar,
And, for the tremour of my hand,
Are signed by him at my command.

His

R. XF.

* A Tavern-keeper.
E e

Mark.

CODICIL

To R. Fergusson's Last Will.

WHEREAS, by testament dated blank,
Enrolled in the poetic rank,

'Midst brighter themes that weekly come
To make parade at WALTER'S Drum,
I there, for certain weighty causes,
Produced some kind bequeathing clauses,
And left to friends (as 'tis the custom
With nothing till our death to trust 'em)
Some tokens of a pure regard

From one who lived and died a bard.

If Poverty has any crime in
Teaching mankind the art of rhyming;
Then by these presents, know all mortals
Who come within the Muse's portals,

That I approve my will aforesaid,

But think that something might be more said,

And only now would humbly seek
The liberty to add and eik

To test❜ment which already made is,
And duly registered, as said is.

TO TULLOCH, who, in kind compassion, Departed from the common fashion, And gave to me, who never paid it, Two flasks of port, upon my credit, I leave the flasks, as full of air, As his of ruddy moisture were; Nor let him to complain begin; He'll get no more of cat than skin.

TO WALTER RUDDIMAN*, whose pen
Still screened me from the Dunce's den,
I leave of phiz a picture, saving
To him the freedom of engraving
Therefrom a copy, to embellish,
And give his work a smarter relish ;
For prints and frontispieces bind do
Our eyes to stationary window,
As superfluities in clothes
Set off and signalize the beaux.
Not that I think in readers' eyes
My visage will be deemed a prize ;

* A Wine-merchant.

† The Publisher of the Weekly Magazine.