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Bombas. Oh, Fusbos, Fusbos! I am diddled quite;
(Lies down by the KING.) Fusbos. And o'er thy grave a monument shall rise, Where heroes yet unborn shall feast their eyes; And this short epitaph that speaks thy fame, Shall also there immortalize my name: "Here lies Bombastes, stout of heart and limb, Who conquered all but Fusbos-Fusbos him."
Distaf. Ah, wretched maid! Oh, miserable fate! I've just arrived in time to be too late.
Fusbos. Go, beauty, go, thou source of woe to man, And get another lover where you can.
But are you sure they're dead? Fusbos. Yes, dead as herrings-herrings that are red.
Briny tears I'll shed;
I for joy shall cry, too;
Thus to check all sorrow;
We'll die again to-morrow!
Holy Willie's Prayer
Он, Thou, wha in the heavens dost dwell,
Wha, as it pleases best Thysel',
And no for ony guid or ill
They've done afore Thee!
I bless and praise Thy matchless might,
What was I, or my generation,
When frae my mither's womb I fell,
Yet I am here a chosen sample,
Lord, bless Thy chosen in this place,
Lord, mind Gawn Hamilton's deserts,
Wi' great and sma',
Frae God's ain priests the people's hearts
An' whan we chasten'd him therefore,
O' laughin' at us.
Lord, hear my earnest cry and pray'r,
Lord, weigh it down, and dinna spare,
Oh Lord my God, that glib-tongu'd Aiken,
Lord, in the day of vengeance try him;
But, Lord, remember me and mine,
WHEN chapman billies leave the street, And drouthy neebors neebors meet, As market-days are wearing late, An' folk begin to tak the gate; While we sit bousing at the nappy, An' gettin' fou and unco happy, We think na on the lang Scots miles, The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles, That lie between us and our hame, Whare sits our sulky, sullen dame, Gathering her brows like gathering storm, Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.
This truth fand honest Tam O'Shanter, As he frae Ayr ae night did canter (Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses For honest men and bonny lasses).
Oh, Tam! hadst thou but been sae wise As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice! She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum, 'A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum; That frae November till October
Ae market-day thou was nae sober;