LINES, Written on seeing a
Spider dart out upon a Fly. ____ LET gang your grip, ye auld grim devil! Else with ae crush I’ll mak’
you civil-- Like debtor-bard in merchant’s
claw, The fient o’ mercy ye’ve at a’! Sae spite an’ malice (hard to
ken ’em,) Sit spewin’ out their secret
venom-- Ah, hear!—poor buzzart’s
roaring murder, Let gang!--na
faith!—thou scorn’st my order; Weel, tak’ thee that!—vile
ruthless creature! For wha but hates a savage
nature? Sic fate to ilk unsocial kebar, Who lays a snare to wrang his neighbour. |