But, faith the birkie wants a manse, So, cannily he hums them; Altho' his carnal wit an' sense Like hafflins-ways o'ercomes him At times that day. XVIIL Now butt an' ben, the change-house fills, They raise a din, that, in the end, Is like to breed a rupture O' wrath that day. XIX. Leeze me on drink! it gies us mair It never fails, on drinking deep, To kittle up our notion By night or day. XX. The lads an' lasses, blythely bent 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 : His piercing words, like Highlan swords, Divide the joints an' marrow; His talk o' h-ll, whare devils dwell, Our vera sauls does harrow* Wi' fright that day. XXII. A vast, unbottom'd, boundless pit, Asleep that day. XXIII. 'Twad be owre lang a tale, to tell An' how they crouded to the yill, An' cheese an' bread, frae women's laps, An' dawds that day. XXIV. In comes a gaucie, gash guidwife, An' sits down by the fire, Syne draws her kebbuck an' her knife, Till some ane by his bonnet lays, An' gies them't like a tether, Fu' lang that day. * Shakspeare's Hamlet. XXV. Waesucks! for him that gets nae lass, Or lasses that hae naething! An' dinna, for a kebbuck-heel, On sic a day! XXVI. Now Clinkumbell, wi' rattlin tow, Some swagger home, the best they dow, 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, 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, In holy rapture, A rousing whid, at times, to vend, And nail't wi' scripture. But this that I am gaun to tell, Or Dublin city: That e'er he nearer comes oursel 'S a muckle pity. The Clachan yill had made me canty, An' hillocks, stanes, an' bushes, kenn'd aye The rising moon began to glowr But whether she had three or four, I was come round about the hill, To keep me sicker; I there w' something did forgather, Clear-dangling, hang; A three-tae'd leister on the ither Lay, large an' lang. Its stature seem'd lang Scotch ells twa, For fient a wame it had ava; And then its shanks, They were as thin, as sharp an' sma' As cheeks o' branks. B2 "Guid-een," quo' I; "friend! hae ye been mawin, When ither folk are busy sawin?" It seem'd to mak a kind o' stan', But naething spak; At length, says I, " Friend, whare ye gaun? It spak right howe,-"My name is Death, But tent me, billie; I red ye weel, tak care o' skaith, See there's a gully!" "Gudeman," quo' he, "put up your whittle, I'm no design'd to try its mettle; But if I did, I wad be kittle To be mislear'd, I wad na mind it, no that spittle Out-owre my beard." "Weel, weel!" says I," a bargain be't; Come, gies your hand, an' sae we're gree❜t; We'll ease our shanks an' tak a seat, Come, gies your news; This while ye hae been mony a gate At mony a house." "Ay, ay!" quo' he, an' shook his head, "It's e'en a lang, lang time indeed Sin I began to nick the thread, An' choke the breath: Falk maun do something for their bread, "Sax thousand years are near hand fled Sin' I was to the butching bred, An' mony a scheme in vain's been laid, To stap or scar me; *This rencounter happened in seed time, 1785. An epidemical fever was then raging in that country. |