For Lords Or Kings I Dinna Mourn, E'En Let Them Die, For That They're Born, But Oh! Prodigious To Reflec'! A Towmont, Sirs, Is Gane To Wreck! O Eighty-Eight, In Thy Sma' Space What Dire Events Ha'E Taken Place! Of What Enjoyments Thou Hast Reft Us! In What A Pickle Thou Hast Left Us! The Spanish Empire'S Tint A-Head, An' My Auld Toothless Bawtie'S Dead; The Tulzie'S Sair 'Tween Pitt And Fox, And Our Guid Wife'S Wee Birdie Cocks; The Tane Is Game, A Bluidie Devil, But To The Hen-Birds Unco Civil: The Tither'S Something Dour O' Treadin', But Better Stuff Ne'er Claw'D A Midden, Ye Ministers, Come Mount The Pu'Pit, An' Cry Till Ye Be Hearse An' Roupet, For Eighty-Eight He Wish'D You Weel, An' Gied You A' Baith Gear An' Meal; E'En Mony A Plack, And Mony A Peck, Ye Ken Yoursels, For Little Feck! Ye Bonnie Lasses, Dight Your E'En, For Some O' You Ha'E Tint A Frien'; In Eighty-Eight, Ye Ken, Was Ta'En, What Ye'll Ne'er Ha'E To Gie Again. Observe The Very Nowt An' Sheep, How Dowf And Dowie Now They Creep; Nay, Even The Yirth Itsel' Does Cry, For Embro' Wells Are Grutten Dry. O Eighty-Nine, Thou'S But A Bairn, An' No Owre Auld, I Hope, To Learn! Thou Beardless Boy, I Pray Tak' Care, Thou Now Has Got Thy Daddy'S Chair, Nae Hand-Cuff'D, Mizl'D, Hap-Shackl'D Regent, But, Like Himsel' A Full Free Agent. Be Sure Ye Follow Out The Plan Nae Waur Than He Did, Honest Man! As Muckle Better As Ye Can. January 1, 1789.