ON THE MARQUIS OF ANNANDALE'S

The Chief requir'd my snishing-mill,
And well it was bestow'd;
The Patron, by the rarest skill,
Turn'd all the snuff to gowd.

Gowd stampt with royal Anna's face,
Piece after piece came forth:
The pictures smil'd, gi'en with such grace,
By ane of so much worth.

Sure thus the patronizing Roman
Made Horace spread the wing;
Thus Dorset, by kind deeds uncommon,
Rais'd Prior up to sing.

That there are patrons yet for me,
Here 's a convincing proof;
Since Annandale gives gowd as free
As I can part with snuff.