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ELEGY,
Oh James Robb, Captain of the Tolbooth of Edinburgh.
GARLCIK an oinions aid my woe,
Ye crocodiles your tears let flow,
And Stirling caſtle's large head now,
Pour forth its ſtreams, as rivers do;
For Captain Robb is now no more
A goaler, on this mortal ſhore.
How pale now lies his lovely noſe,
Which wont to ſhine like ſcarlet roſe;
That noſe, that always pity ſmelt,
And ſoft as butter then would melt;
Now, like its kindred whiſky blue,
No more aſſumes carnation hue.
Let Stirling-caſtle loud rebound
The minute guns, the mortal ſound
The morning flag aloft diſplay,
To aid the ſorrow of the day
Ye offspring of the royal Dane,
Aſſiſting join the dreary train.
To Wilſons, ay a laſting friend,
From his commencenent to his end:
On you he pour'd his favours down,
And bronght forth bleſſings on our town;
But now he's gone without relief,
To lodge with every goaler's chief.
The baps he had from honeſt baker,
Were full of conſcience, as their maker;
His ale, it bore a wat'ry bell,
For brewers ſtole it from the well,
And chas'd thro' the draffy maſt,
Leſt gaugers ſhould eſpy the fault;
His whiſky of a limpid hue,
Somewhat inclining to a blue,
