ON A PUNCH-BOWL.

Charge me with Nantz and limpid spring,
Let sour and sweet be mixt;
Bend round a health, syne to the king,
To Edinburgh's captains next,
Wha form'd me in sae blyth a shape,
And gave me lasting honours,
Take up my ladle, sill, and lape,
And say, Fair fa' the donors.