The Doctor still vents his pestiferous breeth
Against a’ Scotch tenets and Scotch reputation,
Tho’ he found a gude friend in a Laird of our nation.’
‘I see,’ cries another, ‘your anger he wakes,
Because he’s no friends to the country of cakes;
Nor am I surpriz’d, for the place of our birth
We all of us think is the best upon earth;
And therefore we ne’er can the writer approve,
Who slights the dear land we so partially love.’
‘You speak like a seer—ah! you ken, Sir, his Tour,