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Who to his houſe in ſpirit went,
And there a while in ſinging ſent;
As they repor
Altho' my ſang ſaid he be teugh,
But huſh I'll make ye fett enough,
Hech man ſic ſpor
But ſtay and on your favorite ſang,
Tweed-ſide, I'll ſpeak yonr mind e'er lang,
In burleſque on 'i
Twill claw your back to hear the notes
And ſee in all how Sandy trotts,
Thro' out your ſonne
Tune Tweed ſide.
What beauties docs Morton diſcloſe!
How ſweet the effecs of his greed!
Yet Jammie exells him in thoſe,
When once he gets upon his ſteed.
No Portar! nor yet Athol Broſe!
Nor all that my entrails e'er feeld !
Nor wine gliding gently thro' thoſe
To me half ſuch pleaſure doth yield.
2 Fy, let us go up to the Books,
And ſee whence the new houſe did ſpring:
With what bait he dres'd up his hooks?
And learnt the Syren to ſing?
The Creditors howl in cach clime;
Gottenburgh and Dundee in the Bruſh,
Rotterdam, Dantzick! London and Rhine,
Groans under ſo mortal a cruſh.
3 Where does Morton ſpend the long day?
Doe Sandy rot fail oe'r the deep?
Or on the land careleſly ſtray:
Borrowing ſome tow pounds for to keep.
Former miſchiefs ſhould all him to reſt,
Left fortune leſs kind ſhould him curie,
And caſe him of weight ſo depreſs'd,
By a Judas bagg hell ſcraped Purſe.
4 'Tis he does all Bankrupts excell!
