When _love_ had thus my heart beguiled With foolish hopes and vain; To _friendship's_ port I steer'd my course, And laugh'd at lovers' pain; A friend I got by lucky chance, 'Twas something like divine, An honest friend 's a precious gift, And such a gift was mine; And now whatever might betide A happy man was I, In any strait I knew to whom I freely might apply. A strait soon came: my friend I try'd; He heard, and spurn'd my moan; I hied me home, and tuned my pipe To John o' Badenyon. IV. Methought I should be wiser next, And would a _patriot_ turn, Began to doat on Johnny Wilkes And cry up Parson Horne.[1] Their manly spirit I admired, And praised their noble zeal, Who had with flaming tongue and pen Maintain'd the public weal; But e'er a month or two had pass'd, I found myself betray'd, 'Twas _self_ and _party_, after all, For a' the stir they made; At last I saw the factious knaves Insult the very throne, I cursed them a', and tuned my pipe To John o' Badenyon. V. What next to do I mused awhile, Still hoping to succeed; I pitch'd on _books_ for company, And gravely tried to read: I bought and borrow'd everywhere, And studied night and day, Nor miss'd what dean or doctor wrote That happen'd in my way: Philosophy I now esteem'd The ornament of youth, And carefully through many a page I hunted after truth. A thousand various schemes I tried, And yet was pleased with none; I threw them by, and tuned my pipe To John o' Badenyon. VI. And now, ye youngsters everywhere, That wish to make a show, Take heed in time, nor fondly hope For happiness below; What you may fancy pleasure here, Is but an empty name, And _girls_, and _friends_, and _books_, and so, You 'll find them all the same. Then be advised, and warning take From such a man as me; I 'm neither Pope nor Cardinal, Nor one of high degree; You 'll meet displeasure everywhere; Then do as I have done, E'en tune your pipe and please yourselves With John o' Badenyon. [1] This song was composed when Wilkes, Horne, and others, were exciting a commotion about liberty. THE EWIE WI' THE CROOKIT HORN. I. Were I but able to rehearse My Ewie's praise in proper verse, I 'd sound it forth as loud and fierce As ever piper's drone could blaw; The Ewie wi' the crookit horn, Wha had kent her might hae sworn Sic a Ewe was never born, Hereabout nor far awa'; Sic a Ewe was never born, Hereabout nor far awa'. II.