XX.

The lads an' lasses, blithely bent
To mind baith saul an' body,
Sit round the table weel content,
An' steer about the toddy.

On this ane's dress, an' that ane's leuk
They're making observations;
While some are cozie i' the neuk,

An' formin assignations

To meet some day.

XXI.

But now the L-d's ain trumpet touts,
Till a' the hills are rairin,

An' echoes back return the shouts :
Black ** *** is na spairin:

His piercing words, like Highland swords,
Divide the joints an' marrow;

His talk o' H-ll, where devils dwell,

Our vera sauls does harrow*

Wi' fright that day.

XXII.

A vast, unbottom❜d boundless pit,
Fill'd fou o' lowin brunstane,
Wha's ragin flame, an' scorchin heat,
'Wad melt the hardest whun-stane!

The half asleep start up wi' fear,
An' think they hear it roarin,

Shakespeare's Hamlet.

When presently it does appear,
"Twas but some neebour snorin

Asleep that day.

XXIII.

'Twad be owre lang a tale, to tell How monie stories past,

An' how they crowded to the yill,

When they were a' dismist :

How drink gaed round, in cogs an' caups,
Amang the furms an' benches:

An' cheese an' bread, frae women's laps,
Was dealt about in lunches,

An' dawds that day.

XXIV.

In comes a gaucie, gash Guidwife,

An' sits down by the fire,

Syne draws her kebbuck an' her knife,
The lasses they are shyer.
The auld Guidmen, about the grace,
Frae side to side they bother,
Till some ane by his bonnet lays,

An' gies them't like a tether,
Fu' lang that day.

XXV.

Waesucks! for him that gets nae lass,
Or lasses that hac naething!

Sma' need has he to say a grace,

Qr melvie his braw claithing!

wives, be mindfu', ance yoursel,
How bonie lads ye wanted,
An' dinna, for a kebbuck-heel,
Let lasses be affronted

On sic a day t

XXVI.

Now Clinkumbell, wi' rattlin tow,

Begins to jow an' croon;

Some swagger home, the best they dow,
Some wait the afternoon.

At slaps the billies halt a blink,
Till lasses strip their shoon:

Wi' faith and hope, an' love an' drink,

They're a' in famous tune,

For crack that day.

XXVII.

How monie 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' monie jobs that day begin,

May end in Houghmagandie
Some ither day?

DEATH

AND

DOCTOR HORNBOOK:

A TRUE STORY.

SOME books are lies frae end to end,
And some great lies were never penn'd;
Ev'n Ministers, they hae been kenn'd,
In holy rapture,

A rousing whid, at times, to vend,

And nail't wi' Scripture.

But this that I am gaun to tell,
Which lately on a night befel,
Is just as true's the Deil's in h-ll,

Or Dublin city:

That e'er he nearer comes oursel

'S a muckle pity.

The Clachan yill had made me canty
I was na fou, but just had plenty;
I stacher'd whyles, but yet took tent ay
To free the ditches :

An' hillocks, stanes, and bushes, kenn'd ay

Frae ghaists an' witches..

The rising moon began to glow'r
The distant Cumnock hills out-owre;

To count her horns, wi' a' my pow'r,
I set mysel;

But whether she had three or four,
I cou'd na tell.

I was come round about the hill,
And todlin down on Willie's mill,
Setting my staff wi' a' my skill,

To keep me sicker;

Tho' leeward whyles, against my will,
I took a bicker.

I there wi' Something did forgather,
That put me in an eerie swither;

An awfu' scythe, out-owre ae shouther,

Clear-dangling, hang;

A three-taed leister on the ither

Lay, large an' lang.

Its stature seem'd lang Scotch ells twa,
The queerest shape that e'er I saw,

For fient a wame it had ava;

And then, its shanks,

They were as thin, as sharp an' sma’

As cheeks o' branks:

Guid-een,' quo' I; Friend! hae ye been mawia • When ither folk are busy sawin ?*

It seem'd to mak a kind o' stan,

But naething spak;

This rencounter happened in seed-time, 1785.