Page:Alerm (sic) to all bankrupt's in Scotland.pdf/2

 C. more than E explaind him blank,

A better way,

And (N. for M.) that wants a leg,

To mean he coald not ſtand ſo big,

A Rogue foray.

Thus Morton, ſure from Mortem roſe,

Tho' that's the Name lie bears in prole;

By juſt tranſlation,

For ſure ſince Earth from Chaos ſprung,

None in ſuch ſhort time's done more wrong,

In any nation

Unleſs thus, that he has not kill'd,

In public (tho' in private ſpill'd,

much peace in Life,

But yet his artificial fram,

In families has arm'd the Man,

Againſt the Wife.

But whether like the Cockatrice,

In's watchtid looks ſo deathly nice,

poor folk to fell,

Or Argus like with’s hundred eyes,

From every quarter ſtear'd a prize,

I cannot tell.

He well the proverb old doth grace;

As ſaid is, he's had a good face,

And well I wat,

(Tho' better ) all who him knew,

Confeſs'd his face revr'nce drew,

I'm ſure o' that.

For what ſo way he went to work,

He kill'd a Fiſh at evry fork,

And ſome times twa,

And e'er the drumly waters clear'd,

Drew all the prize, and off he ſheer'd:

And's run awa.

That Miſer Widow (gen'erous grown,)

Mincurr, ſhe would not keep her own;

poſe tocher valu'd,