Here some are thinkin' on their sins, Ane curses feet that fyl'd his shins, On this hand sits a chosen swatch, To chairs that day. O happy is that man an' blest! Which, by degrees, slips round her neck, Unkenn'd that day. 90 Now a' the congregation o'er For Moodie speels the holy door, Should Hornie, as in ancient days, Wi' fright that day. Hear how he clears the points o' faith O how they fire the heart devout, But, hark! the tent has chang'd its voice; They canna sit for anger. Smith opens out his cauld harangues, An' aff the godly pour in thrangs To gie the jars an' barrels A lift that day. What signifies his barren shine Or some auld pagan Heathen, That's right that day. In guid time comes an antidote See, up he's got the word o' God, While Common Sense has ta'en the road, Fast, fast, that day. Wee Miller, neist, 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, Altho' his carnal wit an' sense Like hafflins-wise o'ercomes him At times that day. I 20 130 140 150 Now, butt an' ben, the Change-house fills, An' there the pint-stowp clatters; While thick an' thrang, an' loud an' lang, They raise a din, that in the end Is like to breed a rupture O' wrath that day. Leeze me on drink! it gi'es us mair It never fails, on drinkin' deep, To kittle up our notion By night or day. The lads an' lasses, blythely bent On this ane's dress, an' that ane's leuk, While some are cosy i' the neuk, An' formin' assignations 160 170 But now the Lord's ain trumpet touts, Till a' the hills are rairin', An' echoes back return the shouts ; His piercing words, like Highlan' swords, His talk o' Hell, where devils dwell, Our very 'sauls does harrow' Wi' fright that day! A vast, unbottom'd, boundless pit, An' think they hear it roarin', Asleep that day. 'Twad be owre lang a tale to tell An' how they crowded to the yill, How drink gaed round, in cogs an' caups, An' cheese an' bread, frae women's laps, An' dawds that day. In comes a gawsie, gash guidwife, Syne draws her kebbuck an' her knife; The lasses they are shyer. The auld guidmen, about the grace, Till some ane by his bonnet lays, Fu' lang that day. Waesucks! for him that gets nae lass, On sic a day! 190 200 210 220 Now Clinkumbell, wi' rattlin' tow, Some swagger hame the best they dow, At slaps the billies halt a blink, Till lasses strip their shoon : Wi' faith an' hope, an' love an' drink, For crack that day. How mony hearts this day converts O' sinners and o' lasses! Their hearts o' stane, gin night, are gane As saft as ony flesh is. There's some are fou o' love divine, There's some are fou o' brandy ;. An' mony jobs that day begin, May end in houghmagandie Some ither day. 230 240 THE TWA DOGS. 'Twas in that place o' Scotland's Isle, When wearin' through the afternoon, The first I'll name, they ca'd him Caesar, His locked, letter'd, braw brass collar, 10 |