The following Poem was written to a gentleman who had sent him a newspaper, and offered to continue it free of expense

Kind Sir, I've read your paper through,

And, faith, to me, 'twas really new!

How guess'd ye, Sir, what maist I wanted?

This monie 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 Hastings' neck was yeukin;

How cesses, stents, and fees were rax'd,

Or if bare a—s yet were tax'd;

The news o' princes, dukes, and earls,

Pimps, sharpers, bawds, and opera-girls;

If that daft buckie, Geordie Wales,

Was threshin 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' guid things may attend you!