THE PETITION TO THE WHIN-BUSH CLUB.

O F Crawfurd-Moor, born in Leadhill,
Where min'ral springs Glengoner fill,
  Which joins sweet-flowing Clyde,
Between auld Crawfurd-Lindsay's towers,
And where Deneetne rapid pours
  His stream thro' Glotta's tide;
Native of Clydesdale's upper ward,
 Bred fifteen summers there,
Tho', to my loss, I am nae laird,
 By birth, my title 's fair;
   To bend wi' ye, and spend wi' ye
    An ev'ning, and gaffaw,
   If merit and spirit
    Be found without a flaw.
Since dously ye do nought at random,
Then take my bill to Avisandum;
  And if there 's nae objection,
I 'll deem 't my honour, and be glad,
To come beneath your Whin-bush shade,
  And claim from it protection,
If frae the caverns of a head
 That's boss, a storm should blaw,
Etling wi' spite to rive my reed,
 And give my muse a fa',
   When poring and soaring
    O'er Heliconian heights,
   She traces these places
    Where Cynthius delights.