The Hostel, or Inn, XX

Long mayst thou flourish, gallant peer, For Caledonia owns thee dear, And bids her fav’rite minstrel tell, How that she loves her hero well; Though polished mail no more shall grace, Oh! S—tt, thy ancient chieftain race: No more the splintered spear shall sound On N——k’s green or D——h’s ground: These days are past, and with them, too, The deeds their chiefs were wont to do: The towering plume, and nodding crest, Have with their wearers gone to rest; And ease and peace may now be seen In every hamlet, wood, or green. But nowhere are they seen so true As round the mansion of B——h; Where patriarchal peace is found, And care in rosy liquor drowned; Where all of this illustrious line Together sup, together dine. And now I’ll cease my minstrel lay, For time it is I should give up, But once again, D——h, I’ll say, Long may you dine, long may you sup.