O Goudie! terror of the Whigs, Dread of black coats and rev'rend wigs, Sour Bigotry, on her last legs, Girnin', looks back, Wishin' the ten Egyptian plagues Wad seize you quick. ...
Late crippl'd of an arm, and now a leg, About to beg a pass for leave to beg: Dull, listless, teas'd, dejected, and deprest, (Nature is adverse to a cripple's rest;)...
I call no goddess to inspire my strains, A fabled muse may suit a bard that feigns; Friend of my life! my ardent spirit burns, And all the tribute of my heart returns, For boons accorded, goodness ever new,...