ALOWAY KIRK, &c.
WHEN chapman bilies leave the street,
And drouthy neeborg. neebors meet,
As market days are wearing late,
And folk begin to tak' the gate;
While we sit bouſing at the nappy,
And getting fou and unco bhppy,
We thinkna on the lang Scots miles,
The moſſes, waters, slaps and ſtiles,
That lie between us and our hame,
Whare sits our ſulky ſullen dame,
Gathering her brows like gathering form,
Nurſing her wrath to keep it warm.
This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter,
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter,
(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpaſſes,
For honeſt men and boony laſſes.)
O Tam! hadſt thou been but sae wise,
As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice!
She tauld thee weel thou was a ſkellum,
A blethering, blustering drunken bellum
That frae November till October,
Ae market day thou wagt ra ſober:
That ilka melder, wi' the Miller,
Thou sat as long as thou had ſiller ;
That every naig was ca'd a ſhoe on,
The ſmith and thee gat roaring fou on;
That at the L—d's, even on Sunday,
Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday.
She prophesied that, late or ſoon,
Thou wad be found deep drown'd in Doon,
