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301. Lines to a Gentleman who sent a Newspaper

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 KIND Sir, I’ve read your paper through,
And faith, to me, ’twas really new!
How guessed ye, Sir, what maist I wanted?
This mony a day I’ve grain’d and gaunted,
To ken what French mischief was brewin;
Or what the drumlie Dutch were doin;
That vile doup-skelper, Emperor Joseph,
If Venus yet had got his nose off;
Or how the collieshangie works
Atween the Russians and the Turks,
Or if the Swede, before he halt,
Would play anither Charles the twalt;
If Denmark, any body spak o’t;
Or Poland, wha had now the tack o’t:
How cut-throat Prussian blades were hingin;
How libbet Italy was singin;
If Spaniard, Portuguese, or Swiss,
Were sayin’ or takin’ aught amiss;
Or how our merry lads at hame,
In Britain’s court kept up the game;
How royal George, the Lord leuk o’er him!
Was managing St.
Stephen’s quorum; If sleekit Chatham Will was livin, Or glaikit Charlie got his nieve in; How daddie Burke the plea was cookin, If Warren Hasting’s neck was yeukin; How cesses, stents, and fees were rax’d.
Or if bare a—— yet were tax’d; The news o’ princes, dukes, and earls, Pimps, sharpers, bawds, and opera-girls; If that daft buckie, Geordie Wales, Was threshing still at hizzies’ tails; Or if he was grown oughtlins douser, And no a perfect kintra cooser: A’ this and mair I never heard of; And, but for you, I might despair’d of.
So, gratefu’, back your news I send you, And pray a’ gude things may attend you.
ELLISLAND, Monday Morning, 1790.

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