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THE TWA HERDS.1

The "Twa Herds" were Mr. Moodie, minister of Riccarton, and Mr. John Russel, then minister of Kilmarnock, and afterwards of Stirling.

O A' ye pious godly flocks,

Weel fed on pastures orthodox,

Wha now will keep ye frae the fox,

Or worrying tykes,'

Or wha will tent the waifs and crocks,
About the dykes?

The twa best Herds in a' the wast,
That e'er gae gospel horn a blast,
These five-and-twenty simmers past,
Oh, dools to tell!

Hae had a bitter, black outcast

Atween themsel.

O M'Kinlay, man, and wordy' Russel,
How could you raise so vile a bustle?
Ye'll see how new-light herds will whistle,
And think it fine!

The Lord's cause ne'er gat sic a twistle,
Sin' I hae mine.

O, Sirs! whae'er wad hae expeckit,
Your duty ye wad sae negleckit,
Ye wha were ne'er by lairds respeckit,
To wear the plaid,

But by the brutes themselves eleckit,"
To be their guide.

8

What flock wi' M'Kinlay's flock could rank,
Sae hale and hearty every shank!
Nae poison'd sour Arminian stank,10

He let them taste;

Frae Calvin's well, ay clear they drank-
O sic a feast!

1 "This is the first of my poetic offspring that saw the light."-Burns's Letters.

2 Dogs.- Strayed, and not yet claimed.-4 Ewes too old for breeding.Sorrowful.- Quarrel.- Worthy.-8 To twist, to twine.- Elected.-10 Pool of standing water.

The thummart,' wil'-cat, brock, and tod,'
Weel kenn'd his voice thro' a' the wood,
He smell'd their ilka hole and road,
Baith out and in,

And weel he lik'd to shed their bluid,
And sell their skin.

What herd like Russel tell'd his tale?
His voice was heard thro' muir and dale;
He kenn'd the Lord's sheep, ilka tail,
O'er a' the height,

And saw gin' they were sick or hale,"
At the first sight.

He fine a mangy sheep could scrub,
Or nobly fling the gospel club,

And new-light herds could nicely drub,
Or pay their skin;

Could shake them o'er the burnin' dub,"
Or heave them in.

Sic twa!-oh, do I live to see 't!—
Sic famous twa should disagreet,
An' names, like villain, hypocrite,
Ilk ither gien,'

While new-light herds, wi' laughin' spite,
Say neither 's liein'!

A' ye wha tent the gospel fauld,
There's D-n deep, and P-
But chiefly thou, apostle Auld,

We trust in thee,

-s shaul;

That thou wilt work them, hot and cauld,
Till they agree.

Consider, Sirs, how we're beset,

There's scarce a new herd that we get,
But comes frae 'mang that cursed set,
I winna name,

I hope frae heaven to see them yet
In fiery flame.

Dalrymple has been lang our fae,
M'Gill has wrought us meikle wae,"

• Pole-cat.—2 Badger.—3 Fox.—4 If.—5 Healthy.—6 Pond.--7 Each other give.- Shallow.- Much woe.

And that cursed rascal ca'd M

-e,

And baith the Shaws,

That aft hae made us black and blae,
Wi' vengefu' paws.

Auld W―w lang has hatch'd mischief,
We thought ay death wad bring relief,
But he has gotten, to our grief,

Ane to succeed him,

A chiel wha 'll soundly buff our beef;
I meikle dread him.

And monie a ane that I could tell,
Wha fain would openly rebel,
Forbye turn-coats amang oursel,

There's Sh for ane,

I doubt he's but a gray-nick quill,
An' that ye'll fin'.

Oh! a' ye flocks, o'er a' the hills,
By mosses, meadows, moors, and fells,
Come join your counsel and your skills,
To cowe1 the lairds,

And get the brutes the power themsels,
To choose their herds.

Then Orthodoxy yet may prance,
And Learning in a woodie dance,'
And that fell cur ca'd Common Sense,
That bites sae sair,

Be banish'd o'er the sea to France;
Let him bark there.

Then Shaw's and D'rymple's eloquence,
M'Gill's close nervous excellence,

M'Q

-'s pathetic manly sense,

And guid M'Math,"

Wi' Smith, wha thro' the heart can glance,

May a' pack aff.

1 Frighten.- 2 Dance in a rope, i. e. be hanged.-3 See page 274.

26

THE KIRK'S ALARM.1

ORTHODOX, Orthodox,

Wha believe in John Knox,

Let me sound an alarm to your conscience;
There's a heretic blast,

Has been blawn in the wast,

That what is no sense must be nonsense.

Dr. Mac, Dr. Mac,

You should stretch on a rack,
To strike evil-doers wi' terror;
To join faith and sense
Upon onie pretence,

Is heretic, damnable error.

Town of Ayr, town of Ayr,
It was mad, I declare,

To meddle wi' mischief a-brewin';
Provost John is still deaf

To the church's relief,

And orator Bob3 is its ruin.

D'rymple mild, D'rymple mild,
Though 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,"

And roar every note of the damn'd.

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1 This poem was written a short time after the publication of Dr. M‘Gill's Essay.

2 Dr. M'Gill.-3 Robert Aiken.-4 Mr. Russell.-5 Putrid water.- Mr. M'Kinlay.

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 tod3 in your fauld,
A tod meikle waur than the clerk;
Though 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;
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,

In hunting the wicked lieutenant;
But the doctor 's your mark,
For the Lord's holy ark,

7

He has cooper'd and caw'd' 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 astride,

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

Andro Gouk, 10 Andro Gouk,

Ye may slander the book,

1 Mr. M....y.-2 Mr. A....d.-3 Fox.-4 Harm.-5 Mr. G....t of O. 1..e. Mr. Y....g of C..n..k.- Empty praise.-8 Driven.-9 Mr. P..b..s of Ayr.-10 Dr. A. M........11.

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