  [This Sketch is a portion of a long Poem which Burns proposed to call “The Poet’s Progress.” He communicated the little he had done, for he was a courter of opinions, to Dugald Stewart. “The Fragment forms,” said he, “the postulata, the axioms, the definition of a character, which, if it appear at all, shall be placed in a variety of lights. This particular part I send you, merely as a sample of my hand at portrait-sketching.” It is probable that the professor’s response was not favourable for we hear no more of the Poem.] A little, upright, pert, tart, tripping wight, And still his precious self his dear delight; Who loves his own smart shadow in the streets Better than e’er the fairest she he meets: A man of fashion, too, he made his tour, Learn’d vive la bagatelle, et vive l’amour: So travell’d monkeys their grimace improve, Polish their grin, nay, sigh for ladies’ love. Much specious lore, but little understood; Veneering oft outshines the solid wood: His solid sense—by inches you must tell. But mete his cunning by the old Scots ell; His meddling vanity, a busy fiend, Still making work his selfish craft must mend. |
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