VIII.

When by the plate we fèt our nose,
Weel heaped up wi' ha'pence,

A greedy glowr Black Bonnet throws,
An' we maun draw our tippence.
Then in we go to see the show,

On every fide they're gath`rin;

Some carryin dails, fome chairs an' ftools,

An' fome are bufy bleth'rin

Right loud that day.

IX.

Here ftands a fhed to fend the fhow'rs,

An' fcreen our countra Gentry,
There racer Fefs, an' twa-three wh-res,
Are blinkin at the entry

Here fits a raw o' tittling jads,

Wi' heaving breait an' bare neck; An' there a batch of wabfter lads,

Blackguarding frae K********ck,

X.

For fun this day.

Here, fome are thinking on their fins,

An' fome upo' their claes;

Ane curfes feet that fyld his shins,

Anither fighs an' prays:

On this hand fits a chofen swatch

Wi' screw'd up, grace-proud faces; On that, a fet o' Chaps, at watch, Thrang winking on the laffes

To chairs that day.

XI.

happy is that man, and blest!
Nae wonder that it pride him!
Wha's ain dear lafs that he likes best,
Comes clinkin down befide him!
Wi' arm repos'd on the chair-back,
He fweetly does compofe him;

Which, by degrees, flips round her neck
An's loof upon her bosom

Unkend that day.

XII.

Now a' the congregation o'er

Is filent expectation;

For ****** speels the holy door,
Wi' tidings o' d-mn t--n.
Shou'd HORNIE, as in ancient days,
'Mang fons o' G-prefent him,

The vera fight o' ******'s face,

To's ain het hame had fent him

XIII.

Wi' fright that day.

Hear how he clears the points o' Faith,

Wi' rattlin an' thumpin!

Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath,

He's ftampin, an' he's jumpin!
His lengthen'd chin, his turn'd-up fnout,
His eldritch fqueel and geftures,

O how they fire the heart devout
Like cantharidian plafters,

On fic a day!

XIV.

But hark! the tent has chang'd its voice;
There's peace an' rest nae langer ;

For a' the real jud es rife,

They canna fit for anger.

***** opens out his cauld harangues, On practice and on morals;

An' aff the godly pour in thrangs,

To gie the jars an' barrels

A lift that day.

XV.

What fignifies his barren fhine,
Of moral pow'rs an' reafon?-
His English ftyle, an' gefture fine
Are a' clean out of season.
Like Socrates, or Antonine,

Or fome auld Pagan Heathen,
The moral man he does définè,.
But ne'er a word o' faith in

That's right that day.
XVI.

In guid time comes an antidote
Against fic poifon'd noftrum;
For *******, frae the water-fit
Afcends the holy roftrum:

See,

up he's got the word o' G-,

An' meek an' mim has view'd it,

While Common-Sense has taken the road,

An' aff, an' up the Cowgate*

Faft, faft that day.

* A Street fo called, which faces the TENT in

XVII.

Wee ****** nieft, the Guard relieves,

An' Orthodoxy raibles,

Tho' in his heart he weel believes,

An' thinks it auld wives' fables:

But faith! the birkie wants a Manse,
So, cannilie he hums them;

Altho' his carnal wit an fense

Like hafflins-wife o'ercomes him

At times that day.

XVIII.

Now, butt an' ben, the Change-house fills,

Wi' yill-caup Commentators :
Here's crying out for bakes an' gills,
An' there the pint-ftowp clatters:
While thick an' thrang, an' loud an' lang,
Wi' Logic, an' wi' Scripture,

They raise a din, that in the end,

Is like to breed a rupture

O' wrath that day.

XIX.

Leeze me on Drink! it gives us mair
Than either School or College:

It kindles Wit, it waukens Lair,
It pangs us fou o' Knowledge..
Be't whisky, gill or peany wheep,
Or ony ftronger portion,
It never fails, on drinkin deep,

To kittle up our notion,

By night or day.

XX.

The lads an' laffes, blythely bent

To mind baith faul an' body,
Sit round the table, weel content,
An' fteer about the toddy.

On this ane's dress, an' that ane's leuk
They're makin observations;

While fome are cozie i' the neuk

An' formin affignations

To meet fome day.

XXI.

But naw the L -'s ain trumpet touts,

Till a' the hills are rairin,

An' echos back return the fhouts;
Black ****** is na sparin:

His piercing words, like Highlan fwords,
Divide the joints and marrow;

His talk o' h-ll, where devils dwell,

Our vera

Sauls does harrow*

Wi' fright that day!

XXII.

A vast unbottom❜d boundless pit,.“

Fill'd fou o' lowin brunftane,.
Wha's raging flame, an' fcorching heat,.

Wad melt the hardest whun-ftane!

The half afleep start up wi' fear,
An' think they hear it roaring,
When presently it does appear,
'Twas but fome neebor fnoring

Afleep that day.

Shakespeare's Hamlet.