D'rymple mild, D'rymple mild, Tho' your heart 's like a child, And your life like the new driven snaw, Yet that winna save ye,

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,9 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,
For puppies like you there 's but few.

Signet Sawney, Signet Sawney,
Are ye herding the penny,
Unconscious what evils await?
Wi' a jump, yell, and howl,
Alarm every soul,

For the foul thief is just at your gate.

Daddy Auld, Daddy Auld,
There's a todt in your fauld,
A tod meikle waur than the clerk;
Tho' ye can do little skaith,"
Ye'll be in at the death,
And gif ye canna bite ye may bark.
Davie Bluster, Davie Bluster,
If for a saint ye do muster,
The corps is no nice of recruits;

o Mr. Russel. Mr. M--y.

p Putrid water. 9 Mr. M'Kinlay. s Mr. A-d. t Fox. u Harm. Mr. Gt of 0-1-e.

M

Yet to worth let's be just,

Royal blood ye might boast,
If the ass was the king of the brutes.
Jamie Goose, Jamie Goose,
Ye hae made but toom roose,z
In hunting the wicked lieutenant;
But the doctor's your mark,
For the Lord's holy ark,

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;
O'er Pegasus' side

Ye ne'er laid a-stride,

Ye but smelt, man, the place where he s―t.

Andro Gouk, Andro Gouk,

Ye may slander the book,

And the book nane the waur,

d let me tell ye!

Ye are rich, and look big,

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
Ye may hae some pretence

To havinsf and sense,

Wi' people wha ken ye nae better.
Irvine Side, Irvine Side,
Wi' your turkey-cock pride,
Of manhood but sma' is your share :
Ye've the figure, 'tis true,

Ev'n your foes will allow,

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.

Good manners.

z Empty praise.

a Driven. c Dr. A. M-11. e S-n Y-g of B-r. g Mr. Sh of G-n.

Muirland Jock,h Muirland Jock,
When the Lord makes a rock
To crush Common Sense for her sins,
If ill manners were wit,

There's no mortal so fit

To confound the poor doctor at once.
Holy Will, Holy Will,
There was wit i' your skull,

When ye pilfer'd the alms o' the poor;
The timmerk is scant

When ye 're taen for a saunt,
Wha should swing in a rapel for an hour.
Calvin's sons, Calvin's sons,
Seize your sp'ritual guns,
Ammunition you never can need;
Your hearts are the stuff,

Will be poutherm enough,
And your skulls are storehouses o' lead.
Poet Burns, Poet Burns,
Wi' your priest-skelping turns,
Why desert ye your auld native shire?
Your Muse is a gypsie,

E'en tho' she were tipsie,

She cou'd ca' us nae waurn than we are.

HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER."

O THOU, wha in the heavens dost dwell,
Wha, as it pleases best thysel',

Sends ane to heaven and ten to hell,
A' for thy glory,

And no for onie guid or ill

h Mr.Sd.

They 've done afore thee!

i An Elder in M-e.
m Powder.

k Timber. n Worse.

1 Rope. o '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 Walter 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,

For gifts an' grace,

A burnin' an' a shinin' light,

To a' this place.

What was I, or my generation,
That I should get such exaltation?
I, wha deserve such just damnation,
For broken laws,

Five thousand years 'fore my creation,
Thro' Adam's cause.

When frae my mither's womb I fell,
Thou might hae plung'd me into hell,
To gnash my gums, to weep and wail,
In burnin' lake,

Where damned devils roar and yell,
Chain'd to a stake.

Yet I am here a chosen sample,
To show thy grace is great and ample;
I'm here a pillar in thy temple,
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,
At times I'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust,
An' sometimes too, wi' warldly trust,
Vile self gets in;

But thou remembers we are dust,

Defil'd in sin.

O Lord! yestreen, thou kens, wi' Meg-
Thy pardon I sincerely beg,

O! may it ne'er be a livin' plague

To my dishonour,

An' I'll ne'er lift a lawless leg

Again upon her.

Besides, I farther maun allow,

Wi' Lizzie's lass, three times I trow;
But, Lord, that Friday I was fou,

When I came near her,

Or else thou kens thy servant true

Wad ne'er hae steer'd her.

Maybe thou lets this fleshly thorn
Beset thy servant e'en and morn,
Lest he owre high and proud should turn,
'Cause he 's sae gifted;
If sae, thy hand maun e'en be borne,
Until thou lift it.

Lord, bless thy chosen in this place,
For here thou hast a chosen race;
But God confound their stubborn face,
And blast their name,

Wha bring thy elders to disgrace,

An' public shame.

Lord, mind Gavin Hamilton's deserts,
He drinks, an' swears, an' plays at cartes,
Yet has sae monie takin' arts,

Wi' grit an' sma',

Frae God's ain priest the people's hearts
He steals awa'.

An' whan we chasten'd him therefore,
Thou kens how he bred sic a splore,

As set the warld in a roar

O' laughin' at us;

Curse thou his basket and his store,

Kail and potatoes!