July, 1787

INSPIRE my Muse, ye tuneful Nine!
With strains immortal and divine;
And teach a humble Bard to sing,
Till rocks and hills with echoes ring;
And publish wide, to ev'ry clime
DUNDONALD'S far resounded fame!

Hail! great DUNDONALD! wise and sage!
Bright Ornament of ev'ry age!
Thy virtues great and godlike skill,
With grateful joy each heart do fill!
Thy Fame resounds from pole to pole,
And fills with wonder ev'ry soul!
Each proud Philosopher doth see,
And owns himself excell'd by thee:
They waste their time in dry disputes
Whilst thou by practice show'st it's fruit.

Mankind, astonish'd, now behold
Nature's deep secrets all unfold.
What had for many cent'ries been
A secret hid from mortal men,
With Art Divine, thou hast found out,
And unto full perfection brought.
From Coal, which men thought only good
To keep them warm and dress their food,
Thou dost extract so many kinds
Of things that do surprise our minds.
Men now no more need fetch from far,
That useful article of Tar.
Great Britain's Thunder now may roar,
In dreadful claps, from shore to shore!
With joy we see her Men of War
Secured by thy matchless Tar,
That worms in vain their force employ,
Their warlike bottoms to destroy.
With it bedaub'd, they longer last
Than they were sheath'd with metal cast.
The fur'ous waves may dash in vain;
Their well pitch'd sides do firm remain;
Corroding Time's destructive force,
in ages scarce can make them worse.

Ill Fortune, with redoubled blow,
Had long laid AYR-SHIRE very low!
Her Manufacturesi, and her Trade,
Seem'd ruin'd quite, without remead;
One blink of hope did scarce remain,
That e'er she flourish would again.
Tthat woeful Bank, that plague of plagues,
Had fairly kick'd her off her legs;
It's baneful infl'ence did extend
Through ev'ry corner of the land:
Her sun, that shone erewhile so gay,
Could scarce shoot forth one feeble ray!
As Phoebus, with his glorious light,
Dispels the gloomy shades of night,
The world that late in darkness lay,
Transported, hails the cheerful day;
So AYR-SHIRE lifts her drooping head,
Erewhile in gloomy darkness laid,
And casting round her wond'ring eyes,
Beholds DUNDONALD great arise;
And stretching forth his gen'rous hand,
To save from death a ruin'd land!

But chief MUIRKIRK, a poor, starved place,
With hunger painted in it's face,
With joy may bless the happy day,
That e'er your LORDSHIP came this way.
Her sons, before that you came here,
Could scarce afford to drink small beer,
And oft wree sain to hold with water,
Make now the mutchkin stoup to clatter:
They all before had scarce two groats,
When now their pocket's lin'd with notes.


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