'Sal-alkali o' midge-tail-clippings,

'And mony mae.'

'Waes me for Johnny Ged's Hole* now,'

Quoth I, if that thae news be true,

His braw calf-ward whare gowans grew, 'Sae white and bonny, 'Nae doubt they'll rive it wi' the plew; 'They'll ruin Johnny!'

6

The creature grain'd an eldrich laugh,
And says, Ye needna yoke the pleugh,
'Kirkyards will soon be till'd eneugh,
Tak ye nae fear:

'They'll a' be trench'd wi' mony a sheugh,
In twa-three year.

'Whare I kill'd ane a fair strae death,

By loss o' blood or want o' breath,

'This night I'm free to tak my aith,

'That Hornbook's skill

'Has clad a score i' their last claith,

By drap an' pill.

'An honest wabster to his trade,

'Whase wife's twa nieves were scarce well bred; 'Gat twopence worth to mend her head,

"When it was sair;

*The grave-digger.

'The wife slade cannie to her bed,

'But ne'er spak mair.

A countra laird had ta'en the batts, 'Or some curmurring in his guts, 'His only son for Hornbook sets,

'An' pays him well.

The lad, for twa gude gimmer pets,

'Was laird himsel.

A bonny lass, ye kend her name,

'Some ill-brewn drink had hov'd her wame; 'She trusts hersel, to hide the shame,

"In Hornbook's care;

Horn sent her aff to her lang hame,

To hide it there.

"That's just a swatch o' Hornbook's way; 'Thus goes he on frae day to day,

Thus does he poison, kill, an' slay,

'An's weel paid for't;

'Yet stops me o' my lawfu' prey,

Wi' his d-mn'd dirt.

"But, hark! I'll tell you of a plot, 'Tho' dinna ye be speaking o't;

'I'll nail the self-conceited sot,

'As dead's a herrin;

Niest time we meet, I'll wad a groat,

'He gets his fairin.'

But just as he began to tell,

The auld kirk-hammer strak the bell
Some wee short hour ayont the twal,

Which rais'd us baith:

I took the way that pleas'd mysel,

And sae did Death.

WRITTEN

ON AN

INN AT CARRON.

WE cam na here to view your warks,

In hopes to be mair wise, But only, lest we gang to hell,

It may be nae surprise:

But whan we tirl'd at your door,

Your porter dought na hear us;

Sae may, shou'd we to hell's yetts come, Your billy Satan sair us!

THE

JOLLY BEGGARS,

OR

TATTERDEMALIONS.

A CANTATA.

BY ROBERT BURNS.

&c. &c. &c.