In thae auld time, they thought the Moon, Juft like a fark, or pair o' fhoon, Wore by degrees, till her last roon Gaed past their viewing, An' fhortly after she was done, They gat a new ane. This paft for certain undisputed; An' ca'd it wrang; An' muckle din there was about it, Baith loud an' lang. Some herds, weel learn'd upo' the beuk, Wad threap auld folk the thing mifteuk; For, 'twas the auld moon turn'd a neuk, An' out o' fight, An' backlins-comin, to the leuk, She grew mair bright. This was deny'd, it was affirm'd The herds an' hiffels were alarm'd ; The rev'rend gray-beards rav'd an' storm'd, That beardless laddies Should think they better were inform'd Than their auld daddies, Frae less to mair it gaed to flicks; An' monie a fallow got his licks Wi' hearty crunt; An' fome, to learn them for their tricks, 'Were hang'd an' brunt. This game was play'd in monie lands, Wi' nimble fhanks, Till Lairds forbade, by ftrict commands Sic bluidy pranks. But new-light herds gat fic a cowe, Folk thought them ruin'd stick-an-ftowe, Till now amaift on ev'ry knowe Ye'll find ane plac'd ; An' fome their new-light fair avow, Juft quite barefac'd. Nae doubt the auld-light flocks are bleatin; Their zealous herds are vex'd an' fweatin; Myfel, I've even seen them greetin Wi' girnin spite, To hear the Moon fae fadly lie'd on By word an' write. But fhortly they will cowe the louns! Some auld-light herds in neebor towns Are mind't, in things they ca' balloons, To tak a flight, VOL. I. L An' ftay ae month amang the Moons, An' fee them right. Guid obfervation they will gie them, An' when the auld Moon's gaun to lea'e them, The hindmost shaird, they'll fetch it wi' them, Juft i' their pouch, An' when the new-light billies fee them, I think they'll crouch! Sae, ye obferve that a' this clatter Is naething but a moonshine matter;' But tho' dull profe-folk Latin fplatter In logic tulzie, I hope, we Bardies ken fome better Than mind fic brulzie OROUGH, ROUGH, rude, ready-witted R****** The wale o' cocks for fun an' drinkin! There's monie godly folks are thinkin, Your dreams * Will fend you, Korah-like, a-finkin, an' tricks Straught to auld Nick's. Ye hae fae menie cracks an' cants, And in your wicked, drunken rants, Ye mak a devil o' the Saunts, An' fill them fou; And then their failings, flaws, an' wants, Are a' feen thro'. * A certain humorous dream of his was then making a noile in the country-fide. Hypocrify in mercy spare it! That holy robe, O dinna tear it! Spare't for their fakes wha aften wear it, The lads in black ; But your curft wit, when it comes near it, Rives't aff their back. Think, wicked Sinner, wha ye're skaithing, 1s juft the Blue-gown badge an' claithing O' Saunts; tak that, ye lea'e them naithing To kes them by, Frae ony unregenerate Heathen, Like you or I. I've fent you here fome rhyming ware, A' that I bargain'd for, an' mair: Sae, when you hae an hour to spare, I will expect, Yon Sang ye'll fen't wi' cannie care, And no neglect. 'Tho' faith, fma' heart hae I to fing! My Mufe dow fcarcely fpread her wing: I've play'd myfel a bonie spring, An' danc'd my I'd better gaen an' fair't the king, fill! At Bunker's Hill. A fong he had promifed the Author. |