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VI. Surpassing, sure, Both Monck and Moore, In eloquence and pith; The charms combin'd, Of form and mind,

Unite in Handsome SMith.

VII. Then Britain—round From Plymouth Sound, Even up to Pentland Frith, Her voice should raise, And sing the praise Of Wise and Handsome SMITH.

ENGLISH MELODIES.

No. VII.

We doubted whether we ought to publish the following Song under the title of an English Melody; but the author, the elegant and erudite Member for Glasgow, the Roscoe indeed we may say, of Greenock, assures us, that it is as good English as he ever

spoke in his life.

After this testimony, we cannot hesitate to lay

before our readers the following English Melody.

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The Broomt cam capouring doon to the Hoose.
Wi’ a mossion about an Excisemon;
It sims the Exchequer can loosen a noose
Whech the law too cruelly teis, mon;
So Looshington cried, “ye've foond a mare's
nest,
“We weesh ye much joy o' the prize, mon;
“Tes a vera new grievance, but ane o' the best,

“Whan the Trasury snubs the Excisemon.”

.* Kirkman Finlay, Esq. M. P. for Glasgow. f See Mr. Brougham's motion, on the 2d April, 1816, relative to the remission of excise penalties.

II. The Broom is commonly pawkie enoo; Boot was, faith, ilka night, not a wise mon, Ef he thought, in the coontry, to make a hubboo, Wi” a mossion aboot an Excisemon ; For the Trasury cried, ye’ve soond a mare's nest, We weesh ye much luck o’ the prize, mon; "Tes a vara new grievance, boot ane o' the best,

Whan the Trasury snubs the Excisemon.

III. The Exciseman is keen, like a Wheg, at a sau’t; Like a Wheg too, he staps at no lies, mon, And so, 'gainst the honest plain dealer in mau't, Black Broom would support the Excisemon: Then the Hoose all cried oot, ye’ve soond a mare's nest, We weesh ye much luck o' the prize, mon; "Tes a vara new grievance, but ane o’ the best,

Whan the Trasury snubs the Excisemon.

IV. There are vots on the Airmy, and vots on the Naivy, For Aistimaits aw” to revise, mon; Boot, aye, the best mossion, (and fair it, God saive ye) Was the Broom's, just aboot the Excisemon: For the coontry craid oot, ye’ve foond a mare's nest, We weesh ye much luck o' the prize, mon; 'Tis a vera new grievance, but ane o' the best,

Whan the Trasury snubs the Excisemon.
TN.

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