And get the brutes the power themsels, Then Orthodoxy yet may prance, Be banish'd o'er the sea to France; Let him bark there. Then Shaw's and D'rymple's eloquence, And guid M'Math,k Wi' Smith, wha thro' the heart can glance, THE KIRK'S ALARM.' ORTHODOX, Orthodox, Wha believe in John Knox, Let me sound an alarm to your conscience; Has been blawn in the wast, That what is no sense must be nonsense. Dr. Mac,m Dr. Mac, You should stretch on a rack, To strike evil-doers wi' terror; To join faith and sense Is heretic, damnable error. Town of Ayr, town of Ayr, To meddle wi' mischief a-brewin'; To the church's relief, And orator Bob" is its ruin. Dance in a rope, i. e. be hanged. A See page 210. n Robert Aiken. This poem was written a short time after the publication of Dr. M'Gill's Essay. m Dr. M'Gill. D'rymple mild, D'rymple mild, Tho' your heart 's like a child, And life like the new driven snaw, Yet that winna save ye, your Auld Satan must have ye, For preaching that three 's ane and twa. Rumble John, Rumble John, Mount the steps wi' a groan, Cry the book is wi' heresy cramm'd; Then lug out your ladle, Deal brimstone like adle,P And roar every note of the damn'd. Simper James, Simper James, Leave the fair Killie dames, There's a holier chase in your view ; I'll lay on your head, That the pack ye 'll soon lead, Signet Sawney, Signet Sawney, For the foul thief is just at your gate. Daddy Auld, Daddy Auld, Davie Bluster, Davie Bluster, • Mr. Russel. Mr. My. p Putrid water. 9 Mr. M'Kinlay. s Mr. A-d. t Fox. u Harm r Mr. Gt of 0-1-e. M Yet to worth let's be just,. If the ass was the king of the brutes. Ye hae made but toom roose, He has cooper'd and caw'da a wrang pin in 't. Poet Willie, Poet Willie, Gie the doctor a volley, Wi' your liberty's chain and your wit; Ye ne'er laid a-stride, Ye but smelt, man, the place where he s―t. Andro Gouk, Andro Gouk, And the book nane the waur,d let me tell ye! But lay by hat and wig, And ye'll hae a calf's head o'sma' value. Barr Steenie,e Barr Steenie, What mean ye? what mean ye ? If ye 'll meddle nae mair wi' the matter Wi' people wha ken ye nae better. And your friends, they dare grant you nae mair. y Mr. Y-g of C-n-k. b Mr. P-b-s of Ayr. d None the worse. f Good manners. z Empty praise. a Driven. c Dr. A. M-II. Muirland Jock,h Muirland Jock, There's no mortal so fit To confound the poor doctor at once. When ye pilfer'd the alms o' the poor; When ye 're taen for a saunt, Wha should swing in a rape for an hour. And your skulls are storehouses o' lead. Poet Burns, Poet Burns, Wi' your priest-skelping turns, Why desert ye your auld native shire? E'en tho' she were tipsie, She cou'd ca' us nae waur" than we are. HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER. O THOU, wha in the heavens dost dwell, Sends ane to heaven and ten to hell, And no for onie guid or ill They 've done afore thee! h Mr. S d. i An Elder in Me. m Powder. k Timber. n Worse. 1 Rope. • 'Holy Willie's Prayer is a piece of satire more exquisitely severe than any which Burns ever afterwards wrote; but, unfor tunately, cast in a form most daringly profane.'-Sir Waller Scott, Quarterly Review, vol. 1, p. 22. I bless and praise thy matchless might, Whan thousands thou hast left in night, That I am here afore thy sight, A burnin' an' a For gifts an' grace, shinin' light, To a' this place. What was I, or my generation, Five thousand years 'fore my creation, When frae my mither's womb I fell, Where damned devils roar and yell, Yet I am here a chosen sample, Strong as a rock, A guide, a buckler, an' example To a' thy flock. O Lord, thou kens what zeal I bear, When drinkers drink, and swearers swear And singin' there and dancin' here, Wi' great an' sma': For I am keepit by thy fear, Free frae them a'. But yet, O Lord! confess I must, But thou remembers we are dust, Defil'd in sin. |