James Wilson Claudero Poems

Inspir'd with friendship, fly, O muse!
To greet my Genius, a recluse!
Opprest, o'erwhelm'd with sullen grief
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As 'tis the custom of play-actors,
To thank their friends and benefactors,
In epilogues compos'd in verse,
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To friends attent, my sad lament,
I with dool and sorrow roar;
These naked walls for pity call,
And grieve my heart full sore.
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Have I been sleeping, in a trance, or dead?
Sure now I live, and rear my antient head;
Then tell me, Calton-hill and Arthur's seat,
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Come let us prepare,
Jolly hearts ev'ry where,
Each shoemaker sing and be merry,
Let mirth now abound,
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Ye Sons of Mars, with black cockade,
Who wear the gun and murd'ring blade,
Against your foes in battle hot,
And die, or conquer on the spot;
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Come here, brother Carters, adhere to my plan,
Sling your whips on your shoulders, and sing my Joan;
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Discord, fly on sooty pinions,
To your gloomy dire dominions;
For LAURIE, now our potent Lord,
Engageth all to sweet concord.
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Clap your Hands, ye People all
In Cummingston who dwell;
Macdebit's dead, whose holy Tricks
Will sink his Soul to &wblank;:
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The buxom ladies of Parnassus,
Are quite unlike our modern lasses,
Who are a race of sordid b-----s,
That prostitute their charms to riches:
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