Poem by David Crawford

A Letter sent to a Gentleman, who had advised the Author to be a Volunteer, but was rejected on account of Age

Dear Sir, last night I gave a call 
As was propos’d at Merchants-hall 
When Gol’nel Crichton knew my age, 
He said he could not me engage. 
I found my heart began to dunt, 
I thought it rather an affront, 
There’s volunteers that I can see, 
Both old and weaker men than me. 
I never meant to pocket pay, 
But just to learn the art to play,
In case invasion should take place, 
To meet a Frenchman in the face, 
As bold as others in the core, 
Upon a field where cannons roar, 
Although I am on the decline, 
Perhaps I might Hand one campaign.

1. Ode the Recovery of His Majesty from His Late Illness, in the Year 1789
2. An Answer to Will. M’Vitie
3. On receiving a Shock from an Electric Machine, when Author was troubled with Pains
4. Verses on the Edinburgh Volunteers Receiving their Colours, September 26, 1794

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