AN ELEGY On the Great and Famous BLEW-STONE, Which lay on the CASTLE-HILL of EDINBURGH, and was Buried therein.  

WHAT Place is this I've fixed my Feet upon?  
It's like the Castle-hill, yet I miss a Stone  
Whereon I leaned me oft for Recreation,  
Sure here's the place where was his Situation:  
None e'er was yet so strong to have it carried,  
So that it's surely sunk, or else been buried:  
For which there ought to be great Lamentation,  
Since that it's Equal scarce was in a Nation.   

O! let's lament the Loss that's sent  
From Castle to the Town,  
Would we withstood this blue Stones good  
That's now beneath the Ground:  
Rise up and stand and grace our Land,  
Let them thy Motto see,  
Our old Blew-stone that's dead and gone,  
His marrow cannot be:  
Large Twenty Foot of length he was,  
His bulk none e'er did ken,  
Dour and Deaf and riven with Grief,  
When he preserved Men:  
Behind his Back a Batt'rie was,  
Contrived with Packs of Woe;  
Let's now think oh, since he is gone,  
We're in the Castle's view.  
O! Burgesses and Men of Wit,  
That lives into the Town,  
What do you mean, or have you seen,  
To let him so plump down.  
Since all is past and he lies fast,  
His Memory shall stand  
To Thousand Generations,  
In this our Ancient Land.  
O Graver good will ye but do't,  
Put this upon a Stone  
Near to his Nest, see that it rest,  
Since he is dead and gone.    

EPITAPH,  

Who e'er this Grave does look upon,  
And ask, who does it fill,  
It is the Famous Great Blew-Stone  
Lay on the Castle-hill;  
Roared at he was with Shots like Thunder,  
Because that Men he served,  
Until his Body rend asunder,  
because he them preserved   
From Death that Night