On this ane's dress, an' that ane's leuk, To meet some day. But now the Lord's ain trumpet touts, An' echoes back return the shouts His piercing words, like Highland swords, His talk o' Hell, where devils dwell, Our vera sauls does harrow 3 Wi' fright that day. A vast, unbottom'd, boundless pit, Wad melt the hardest whunstane! The half asleep start up wi' fear, Asleep that day. "Twad be owre lang a tale, to tell How monie stories past, 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. 3 Shakspeare's Hamlet. In comes a gaucie, gash Guidwife, Syne draws her kebbuck an' her knife, The auld Guidmen, about the grace, Fu' lang that day. Waesucks! for him that gets nae lass, On sic a day! Now Clinkumbell, wi' rattlin tow, Begins to jow an' croon; Some swagger hame, 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. 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. VOL. I. E There's some are fou o' love divine, Some ither day. DEATH AND DR. 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, I stacher'd whyles, but yet took tent aye To free the ditches; An' hillocks, stanes, an' bushes, kenn'd aye Frae ghaists an' witches. The rising moon began to glowr But whether she had three or four, I cou'dna tell. I was come round about the hill, To keep me sicker; I took a bicker. I there wi' Something did forgather, An awfu' scythe, out-owre ae shouther, 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. Guid-een,' quo' I; 'Friend! hae ye When ither folk are busy sawin'?' It seem'd to mak a kind o' stan', been mawin, But naething spak; At length says I, 'Friend, whare ye gaun, Will ye go back?' This rencounter happened in seed-time, 1785. 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 wadna 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; Come, gies your news; This while ye hae been mony a gate, '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: Folk maun do something for their bread, An' sae maun Death. 'Sax thousand years are near-hand fled, To stap or scar me; Till ane Hornbook's 3 ta'en up the trade, An' faith, he'll waur me. 2 An epidemical fever was then raging in that country. 3 This gentleman, Dr. Hornbook, is professionally a brother of the Sovereign Order of the Ferula; but, by intuition |