Tune—"Killiercrankie."
Lord Advocate

He clenched his pamphlet in his fist,
He quoted and he hinted,
Till, in a declamation-mist,
His argument he tint it:
He gaped for't, he graped for't,
He fand it was awa, man;
But what his common sense came short,
He eked out wi' law, man.
Mr. Erskine

Collected, Harry stood awee,
Then open'd out his arm, man;

His Lordship sat wi' ruefu' e'e,
And ey'd the gathering storm, man:
Like wind-driven hail it did assail'
Or torrents owre a lin, man:
The Bench sae wise, lift up their eyes,
Half-wauken'd wi' the din, man.

[Footnote 1: William Dunbar, W. S., of the Crochallan Fencibles,
a convivial club.]