Claudero To Mr. George Boick Poem by James Wilson Claudero

Great thanks to Boick's friendly lays,
For bards like Claud are fond of praise;
But thou has screw'd my muse so high,
Like Dedalus, in air to fly,
She dreads his fate, and must implore,
Beneath fam'd Allan's wings to soar.
Your compliment, by far too great,
Sits aukward on my crazy pate;
Of Helicon thou art partaker,
Poor Claud, at best, a crambo-maker;
While Boick claims Apollo's rays,
Mine are the cabbage, his the bays:
I do beseech thee in thy grace,
To show me thine and Lawder's face,
In Wattie Kerr's, at the White Bear,
Where Claud presides in elbow chair,
On Tuesday nineteenth of November,
There I to Boick will surrender
My pen, my friendship, and my seat:
And dub thee, as Scots Allan, great!
I pray accept my invitation,
And I am thine in any station.
In Brodie's too, I'll meet my hero,
Where you shall quaff with friend Claudero;
And if the cash can well afford,
We'll chearful be as laird or lord.