« AnteriorContinuar »
“Forbye some new, uncommon weapons,
Thi Dulu Fair.
A robe of seeming truth and trust
Hid crafty observation ; “Waes me for Johnny Ged's Hole (31) now," And secret hung, with poison'd crust, Quo' I; "if that thae news be true,
The dirk of Defamation:
A mask that like the gorget show'd,
Dye-varying on the pigeon;
And for a mantle large and broad,
He wrapt him in Religion.
HYPOCRISY A-LA-MODE. (11.) The creature grain'd an eldritch laugh,
Upon a simmer Sunday morn, And says, “ Ye need na yoke the pleugh,
When Nature's face is fair,
I walked forth to view the corn,
And snuff the cauler air,
The rising suu owre Galston muirs,
Wi' glorious light was ylintin’; “Whare I kill'd ane a fair strae death, The hares were hirplin' down the furs, By loss o' blood or want o' breath,
The lav'rocks they were chantin'
Fu' sweet that day.
As lightsomely I glowr'd abroad,
To see a scene sae gay,
Three hizzies, early at the road,
Cam skelpin' up the way;
The third, that gaed a-wee a-back,
Was in the fashion shining,
Fu' gay that day.
The twa appear'd like sisters twin,
There, racer, Jess (33), and twa-three wh-res, In feature, form, and claes ;
Are blinkin' at the entry. Their visage wither'd, lang, and thin,
Here sits a raw of tittlin' jauds, And sour as ony slaes :
Wi' heaving breast and bare neck, The third cam up, hap-step-an'-lowp,
And there a batch o' wabster lads, As light as ony lambie,
Blackguarding frae Kilmarnock
For fun this day.
Here sum are thinkin' on their sins,
And some upo' their claes;
Anither sighs and prays:
On this hand sits a chosen swatch, But yet I canna name ye.'
Wi' screw'd-up grace-proud faces ; Quo' she, and laughin' as she spak,
On that a set o'chaps at watch, And taks me by the hands,
Thrang winkin' on the lasses “Ye, for my sake, hae gien the feek,
To chairs that day.
Oh happy is that man and blest!
(Nae wonder that it pride him!) *My name is Fun-your cronie dear,
Wha's ain dcar lass that he likes best, The nearest friend ye hae;
Comes clinkin' down beside him ! And this is Superstition here,
W' arm repos'd on the chair back, And that's Hypocrisy.
He sweetly does compose him ; I'm gaun to Mauchline holy fair,
Which, by degrees, slips round her neck, To spend an hour in datlin': Gin ye'll go there, yon runki'd pair,
An's loof upon her bosom,
Unkenn'd that day.
Now a'the congregation o'er
Is silent expectation:
Wi' tidings o' d-mn-tion. (34)
Should Hornie, as in ancient days, Faith, we'se hae fine remarkin'!”
Maug sons o' God present him, Then I gaed hame at crowdie-time,
The vera sight o' Moodie's face, Aud soon I made me ready;
To's ain het hame had sent him
Wi fright that day.
Hear how he clears the points o' faith
Wi rattlin' and wi' thumpin'! Here farmers gash, in ridin' graith
Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath, Gaed hoddin by their cottars;
He's stampin' and he's jumpin'! There, swankies young, in braw braid-claith, IIis lengthened chin, his turn'd-up snout, Are springin' o'er the gutters.
His eldritch squeal and gestures, The lasses, skelpin' barefit, thrang,
Oh, how they fire the heart devout, In silks and scarlets glitter;
Like cantharidian plasters, Wi sweet-milk cheese, in mony a whang,
Ou sic a day! And farls bak'd wi' butter,
But hark! the tent has chang'd its voice; Fu' crump that day.
There's peace and rest nae langer; When by the plate we set our nose,
For a' the real judyes rise, Weel heaped up wi' ha'pence,
They canna sit for anyer. A greedy glow'r black honnet throws,
Smith opens out his cauld harangues (35), And we maun draw our tippence,
On practice and on morals; Then in we go to see the show;
And aff the godly pour in thrangs, On ev'ry side they're gath'rin',
To gie the jars and barrels
A lift that day.
What signifies his barren shine,
Of moral powr's and reason
His English style and gesture fine
Are a' clean out o' season. And screen our country gentry,
Like Socrates or Antonine,
His talk o' hell, whare devils dwell, Or some auld pagan heathen,
Our vera sauls does harrow (41)
Wi' fright that day.
A vast, unbottom'd, boundless pit,
Fillid fou o'lowin' brunstane, In guid time comes an antidote
Wha's ragin' flame, and scorchin' heat, Against sic poison'd nostrum;
Vad meit the hardest whun-stane! For Peebles, frae the water-fit (36),
The half asleep start up wi' fear, Ascends the holy rostrum :
And think they hear it roarin', See, up he's got the word o' God,
When presently it does appear And meek and mim has view'd it,
'Twas but some neebor snorin' While Common Sense (37) has ta'en the
Asleep that day.
How mouie stories past,
And how they crowded to the yill Wee Miller (39) neist the guard relieves,
When they were a' dismist : And orthodoxy raibles,
How drink yaed round, in cogs
caurs, Tho' in his heart he weel believes,
Amang the furms and benches : And thinks it auld wives' fables;
And cheese and bread, frae women's laps, But, faith! the birkie wants a manse,
Was dealt about in lunches,
And dauds that day.
In comes a gaucie, gash guidwife,
And sits down by the fire,
Syne draws her kebbuck and her knife;
The lasses they are shyer. Wi yill-caup commentators ;
The auld guidmen, about the grace,
Frae side to side they bother,
And yi’es theni't like a tether,
Fa’ lang that day.
Waesuck! for him that gets nae lass, Is like to brted a rupture
Or lusses that hae nathing !
Sma' need has he to say a grace,
Or melvie his braw claithing! Than either school or college:
Oh wives be mindfu' ance yoursel It kindles wit, it waukens lair,
How bonny lads ye wanted, It pangs us fou o' knowledge.
And dinna, for a kebbuck-heel, Be't whisky gill, or penny wheep,
Let lasses be affronted Or ony stronger potion,
On sic a day! It never fails, on drinking deep,
Now Clinkumbell, wi' rattlin' tow,
Begins to jow and croon;
Some swagger hame the best they dow, The lads and lasses, blythely bent
Some wait the afternoon. To mind baith saul and body,
At slaps the billies halt a blink, Sit round the table weel content,
Till lassess trip their shoon: And steer about the toddy.
Wi' faith and hope, and love and drink, On this ane's dress, and that ane's leuk, They're a' in famous tune They're making observations ;
For crack that day. While some are cozie i' the neuk,
How monie hearts this day converts
O'sinners and o' lasses !
Their hearts o'stane, gin night, are ganc, But now the Lod's ain trumpet touts,
As saft as ony flesh is. Till a' the hills are rairin',
There's some are fou o' love divine; And echoes back return the shouts
There's some are fou' o' brandy; Black Russell (40) is na sparin':
And many jobs that day begin His piercing words, like Highlan' swords, May end in houghimagandy, Divide the joints and marrow;
Some ither day.