Fingal's Lamen, Poem by James Wilson Claudero

To friends attent, my sad lament,
I with dool and sorrow roar;
These naked walls for pity call,
And grieve my heart full sore.
My children too, stand in my view,
For help they look on me;
My wife, the plague too of my life,
Comforted cannot be.
For madness keen, I've blister'd been,
They laud'num pour'd in me;
Nor was I spar'd the city-guard,
And bedlam threat'ned me.
I'm a Highlandman from a martial clan,
And bred to the claymore;
In foreign land with heart in hand,
I've seen my en'mies gore.
May ev'ry curse with an empty purse,
O Cairnton, light on thee:
May the Devil teaze and quickly seize
Thyself as thou didst me.
May gaugers poind, for their excise,
Thy copper and mash-tun,
And may they come, to thy surprise,
To do as thou hast done.
May the arrow broad, the curse of God,
Which 'stablish'd first excise,
Upon thy door be fixed sure,
There to remain always.
And if for debt, thy final fate,
Thou shalt be e'er opprest;
May thou such aid have full repaid,
Like Fingal be redrest.