II.

Curst Common-sense, that imp o' h-ll,
Cam in wi' Maggie Lauder * ;
But O******* aft made her yell,
An' R***** sair misca'd her ;
This day M ******* taks the flail,
An' he's the boy will blaud her!
He'll clap a shangan on her tail,
An' set the bairns to daud her

Wi' dirt this day.

III.

Mak haste an' turn king David owre,

An' lilt wi' holy clangor;

O' double verse come gie us four,

An' skirl up the Bangor :

This day the Kirk kicks up a stoure.

Nae mair the knaves shall wrang her,

For Heresy is in her pow'r,

And gloriously she'll whang her

Wi' pith this day.

* Alluding to a scoffing ballad which was made on the admission of the late Reverend and worthy Mr L. to the Laigh Kirk.

IV.

Come, let a proper text be read,
An' touch it aff wi' vigour,

How graceless Ham* leugh at his Dad,
Which made Canaan a niger;

Or Phineas drove the murdering blade, Wi' wh-re-abhorring rigour !

Or Zipporah † the scauldin jad,

Was like a bluidy tiger

V.

I' th' inn that day.

There, try his mettle on the creed,
And bind him down wi' caution,

That stipend is a carnal weed

He taks but for the fashion; ;
And gie him o'er the flock, to feed,
And punish each transgression;
Especial, rams that cross the breed,
Gie them sufficient threshin,

Spare them nae day.

* Genesis, ch. ix. ver. 22. Numbers, ch. xxv. ver. 8.

+ Exodus, ch. iv. ver. 25.

VI.

Now auld K********* cock thy tail,
And toss thy horns fu' canty;

Nae mair thou'lt rowte out-owre the dale,

Because thy pasture's scanty;

For lapfu's large o' gospel kail

Shall fill thy crib in plenty,

An' runts o' grace the pick and wale,

No gi'en by way o' dainty,

But ilka day.

VII.

Nae mair by Babel's streams we'll weep,

To think upon our Zion;

And hing our fiddles

up to sleep,

Like baby-clouts a-dryin;

Come, screw the pegs wi' tunefu' cheep, And o'er the thairms be tryin;

Oh, rare! to see our elbucks wheep,

And a' like lamb-tails flyin

Fu' fast this day!

VIII.

Lang Patronage, wi' rod o' airn,

Has shor'd the Kirk's undoin,

As lately F-nw-ck, sair forfairn,
Has proven to its ruin;

Our Patron, honest man! Gl*******,
He saw mischief was brewin;

And like a godly elect bairn,

He's wal'd us out a true ane,

And sound this day.

IX.

Now R******* harangue nae mair,
But steek your gab for ever:
Or try the wicked town of A**,

For there they'll think you clever :

Or, nae reflection on your lear,
Ye may commence a Shaver;

Or to the N-th-rt-n repair,

And turn a Carpet-weaver

Aff-hand this day.

X.

M***** and you were just a match,

We never had sic twa drones:

Auld Hornie did the Laigh Kirk watch, Just like a winkin baudrons:

And ay he catch'd the tither wretch,

To fry them in his caudrons: