Poem by David Crawford

On receiving a Shock from an Electric Machine, when Author was troubled with Pains

Master o’ med’cine, Robie Scott,
Ye see I hae not yet forgot,
How I maist lap out o, my coat,
		Whan your machine
Cust fire upo’, me like a shot,
		Last Friday een.

When I sit down to rest my bains, 
The blude rins slowly i’ my veins, 
Whilk often pierceth me wi’ pains,
		Maist to the heart; 
But yon will fright what yet remains,
		It comes sae smart.

Therefore, Dear Sir, I hae a mind, 
While ye remain sae vera kind, 
To mak disease baith lame and blind,
		Upon my word, 
Tho’ they should come with strength combin’d,
		You’ll help afford.

1. A Letter sent to a Gentleman, who had advised the Author to be a Volunteer, but was rejected on account of Age
2. Ode the Recovery of His Majesty from His Late Illness, in the Year 1789
3. An Answer to Will. M’Vitie
4. Verses on the Edinburgh Volunteers Receiving their Colours, September 26, 1794

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