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“Hornbrook was by wi' ready art,
1 “A countra laird had taen the batts, And had sae fortified the part,
| Or rome curmurring in his guts ; That when I looked to my dart,
His only son for Hornbook sets,
And pays him well-
Was laird hinsel. "I drew my scythe in sic a fury,
“ That's just a swatch o' Hornbook's way; I nearhand cowpit wi' my hurry,
Thus goes he on from day to day,
Thus does he poison, kill, and slay,
An's weel paid for't;
Yet stops me o' my lawfu' prey
Wi' his curs'd dirt:
Though dinna ye be speaking o't;
I'll nail the self-conceited sot
As dead's a herrin':
Neist time we meet, I'll wad a groat,
He gets his fairin'!" “Calces o'fossils, earths, and trees;
But just as he began to tell, True sal-marinum o'the seas;
The auld kirk-hammer strak the bell
Some wee short hour ayont the twal,
Which rais'd us baith:
I took the way that pleas'd mysel',
And sae did Death
The Poly 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 : His braw calf-ward whare gowans grew,
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 sun owre Galston muirs,
Wi' glorious light was ylintin';
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, “An honest wabster to his trade,
Cam skelpin' up the way;
The third, that gaed a-wee a-back,
Was in the fashion shining,
Fu'gay that day.
There, racer, Jess (33), and twa-three wh-res,
Are blinkin' at the entry. Here sits a raw of tittlin' jauds,
Wi' heaving breast and bare neck And there a batch o'wabster lads, Blackguarding frae Kilmarnock
For fun this day.
The twa appear'd like sisters twin,
In feature, form, and claes;
And sour as ony slaes :
As light as ony lambie,
Fu' kind that day.
I think ye seem to ken me;
But yet. I canna name ye.”
And taks me by the hands,
A screed some day. "My name is Fun-your cronie dear,
The nearest friend ye liae;
And that's Hypocrisy.
To spend an hour in daffin':
At them thuis day."
I'll get my Sunday's sark on, And meet you on the holy spot
Faith, we'se hae fine remarkin'!”
Aud soon I made me ready;
In droves that day.
Gaed hoddin by their cottars ; There, swankies young, in braw braid-claith,
Are springin' o'er the gutters.
In silks and scarlets glitter;
Fu' crump that day.
Weel heaped up wi' ha'pence,
And we maun draw our tippence,
On ev'ry side they're gath'rin', Some carrying dails, some chairs, and stools, And some are busy blethrin'
Right loud that day. Here stands a shed to fend the show'rs,
And screen our country gentry,
Here sum are thinkin' on their sing,
And some upo' their claes;
Anither sighs and prays :
Wi' screw'd-up grace-proud faces;
To chairs that day. Oh happy is that man and blest!
(Nae wonder that it pride him!) Wha's ain dear lass that he likes best,
Comes clinkin' down beside him ! W' arm repos'd on the chair back,
He sweetly does compose him;
Onkenn'd that day,
Wi' tidings o' d-mn-tion. (34)
Maug sons o' God present him, The vera sight o' Moodie's face, To's ain het hame had sent him
Wi' fright that day.
Wi rattlin' and wi' thumpin'!
He's stampin' and he's jumpin'!
His eldritch squeal and gestures, Oh, how they fire the heart devout, Like cantharidian plasters,
Ou sic a day! But hark! the tent has chang'd its voice:
There's peace and rest nae langer; For a' the real judyes rise,
They canna sit for anger.
On practice and on morals;
A lift that day.
Of moral powr's and reason : His English style and gesture fine
Are a clean out o' season.
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,
Fill'd 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 rostrun :
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 monie 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 and 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 tire,
Syne draws her kebbuck and her knife;
The lasses they are shyer.
The auld guidmen, about the grace,
Frae side to side they bother,
and Till some ane by his bonnet lays,
And yi’es theni't like a tether, lang, Wi' logic and wi' Scripture,
Fa’lang that day. They raise a din, that, in the end,
Waesuck! for him that gets nae lass, Is like to breed 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 dipua, 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 gano,
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.