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“Forbye some new, uncommon weapons,
Urinus spiritus of capons;
Or mite-horn shavings, filings, scrapings,
Distill'd per se ;

Thi Dulu Fair.
Sal-alkali o'midge-tail clippings,
And mony mae."

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:
His braw calf-ward whare gowans grew,

A mask that like the gorget show'd,
Sae white and bonny,

Dye-varying on the pigeon;

And for a mantle large and broad,
Nae doubt they'll rive it wi'the plew;

He wrapt him in Religion.
They'll ruin Johnny !”

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,
Kirkyards will soon be till'd eneugh,

I walked forth to view the corn,
Tak ye nae fear :

And snuff the cauler air,
They'll a' be trench'd wi' mony a sheugh
In twa-three year.

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'
This night I'm free to tak my aith,

Fu' sweet that day.
That Hornbook's skill
Has clad a score i' their last claith,

As lightsomely I glowr'd abroad,

To see a scene sae gay,
By drap and pill.

Three hizzies, early at the road,
An honest wabster to his trade,

Cam skelpin' up the way;
Whase wife'stwa nieves were scarce well-bred, Twa had manteeles o’ dolefu' black,
Gat tippence worth to mend her head, But ane wi' lyart lining;
When it was sair ;

The third, that gaed a-wee a-back,
The wife slade cannie to her bed,

Was in the fashion shining,
But ne'er spak mair.

Fu' gay that day.

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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
And wi' a curchie low did stoop,

For fun this day.
As soon as e'er she saw me,
Fu' kind that day.

Here sum are thinkin' on their sins,

And some upo' their claes;
Wi' bonnet aff, quoth I,"Sweet lass, Ane curses feet that fyi'd his shins,
I think ye seem to ken me;

Anither sighs and prays:
I'm sure I've seen that bonny face,

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.
Of a' the ten commands
A screed some 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.
We will get famous langhin'
At then this day."

Now a'the congregation o'er

Is silent expectation:
Qucth I “With a' my heart, I'll do't; For Moodie speels the holy door,
I'll get my Sunday's sark on,

Wi' tidings o' d-mn-tion. (34)
And meet you on the lioly spot-

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
For roads were clad, from side to side,

Wi fright that day.
Wi' monie a wearie body,
In droves 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.
Some carrying dails, some chairs, and stools,
And some are busy blethrin'

What signifies his barren shine,
Right loud that day.

Of moral powr's and reason
Here stands a shed to fend the show'rs,

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)
The moral man he does define,

Wi' fright that day.
But ne'er a word o' faith in
That's right 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.
And aff, and up the Cowgate (38), 'Twad be owre long a tale, to tell
Fast, fast, 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,
So, cannily he hums them;

And dauds that day.
Altho' his carnal wit and sense
Like haftlins-ways o'ercomes him

In comes a gaucie, gash guidwife,
At times that day.

And sits down by the fire,
Now butt and ben the change-house fills,

Syne draws her kebbuck and her knife;

The lasses they are shyer. Wi yill-caup commentators ;

The auld guidmen, about the grace,
Here's crying out for bakes and gills,

Frae side to side they bother,
And there the pint-stoup clatters ;
While thick and thrang, and loud and Till some ane by his bonnet lays,

And yi’es theni't like a tether,

Fa’ lang that day.
Wi’ logic and wi' Scripture,
They raise a din, that, in the end,

Waesuck! for him that gets nae lass, Is like to brted a rupture

Or lusses that hae nathing !
O’wrath that day.

Sma' need has he to say a grace,
Leeze me on drink! it gies us mair

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,
To pittle up our notion

Begins to jow and croon;
By night or day.

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
And formin'assignations

O'sinners and o' lasses !
To nieet some day.

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.

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