son, nor Swift, nor Sterne, nor of anybody but Dr. Moore. By the
bye, you have deprived me of _Zeluco_, remember that, when you are
disposed to rake up the sins of my neglect from among the ashes of my
laziness.

He has paid me a pretty compliment, by quoting me in his last
publication.[287]

* * * * *

R. B.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 287: Edward.]

* * * * *

CCCXXVI.

ADDRESS OF THE SCOTCH DISTILLERS

TO THE RIGHT HON. WILLIAM PITT.

[This ironical letter to the prime minister was found among the papers
of Burns.]

SIR,

While pursy burgesses crowd your gate, sweating under the weight of
heavy addresses, permit us, the quondam distillers in that part of
Great Britain called Scotland, to approach you, not with venal
approbation, but with fraternal condolence; not as what you are just
now, or for some time have been; but as what, in all probability, you
will shortly be.--We shall have the merit of not deserting our friends
in the day of their calamity, and you will have the satisfaction of
perusing at least one honest address. You are well acquainted with the
dissection of human nature; nor do you need the assistance of a
fellow-creature's bosom to inform you, that man is always a selfish,
often a perfidious being.--This assertion, however the hasty
conclusions of superficial observation may doubt of it, or the raw
inexperience of youth may deny it, those who make the fatal experiment
we have done, will feel.--You are a statesman, and consequently are
not ignorant of the traffic of these corporation compliments--The
little great man who drives the borough to market, and the very great
man who buys the borough in that market, they two do the whole
business; and you well know they, likewise, have their price. With
that sullen disdain which you can so well assume, rise, illustrious
Sir, and spurn these hireling efforts of venal stupidity. At best they
are the compliments of a man's friends on the morning of his
execution: they take a decent farewell, resign you to your fate, and
hurry away from your approaching hour.

If fame say true, and omens be not very much mistaken, you are about
to make your exit from that world where the sun of gladness gilds the
paths of prosperous man: permit us, great Sir, with the sympathy of
fellow-feeling to hail your passage to the realms of ruin.

Whether the sentiment proceed from the selfishness or cow