Epistle to the Duke of Buccleuch, at Drumlanrig Castle

FROM Ross, where the clouds on Benlomond are sleeping —
From Greenock, where Clyde to the Ocean is sweeping —
From Largs, where the Scots gave the Northmen a drilling —
From Ardrossan, whose harbour cost many a shilling —
From Old Cumnock, where beds are as hard as a plank, sir—
From a chop and green pease, and a chicken in Sanquhar,
This eve, please the Fates, at Drumlanrig we anchor.