To what a pitch of prudence dost thou reach
To feel the 'god,' yet give thy thoughts no speech,
All for the sake of vulgar pounds and pence!
God bless thee, Allen, for thy common sense!
"Health to 'lang' Andrew! Heaven preserve his life
To flourish on the sacred shores of Fife!
Prosper good Andrew! leanest of the train
Whom Scotland feeds upon her fiery grain;
Whatever blessings wait a 'brindled' Scot
In double portion swell thy glorious lot!