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Death and Doctor Hornbook,
A TRUE STORY.
Some books are lies frae end to end,
And some great lies were never penn'd;
Ev'n Ministers they hae been ken'd,
In holy rapture,
A rousing whid, at times, to vend,
And nailt wi' Scripture.
And some great lies were never penn'd;
Ev'n Ministers they hae been ken'd,
In holy rapture,
A rousing whid, at times, to vend,
And nailt wi' Scripture.
But this that I am gaun to tell,
Which lately on a night befel,
Is just as true's the Diel's in hell,
Or Dublin-city:
That e'er he nearer comes oursel
's a muckle pity.
Which lately on a night befel,
Is just as true's the Diel's in hell,
Or Dublin-city:
That e'er he nearer comes oursel
's a muckle pity.
The Clachan yill had made me canty,
I wasna fou, but just had plenty;
I stacher'd whyles, but yet took tent ay
To free the ditches;
And hillocks, stanes, and bushes, kent ay
Frae ghaists and witches.
I wasna fou, but just had plenty;
I stacher'd whyles, but yet took tent ay
To free the ditches;
And hillocks, stanes, and bushes, kent ay
Frae ghaists and witches.
The rising moon began to glowr
The disrant Cumnock hills out-owre;
To count her horns, wi' a' my pow'r,
I set mysel;
But whether she had three or four,
I coudna tell
The disrant Cumnock hills out-owre;
To count her horns, wi' a' my pow'r,
I set mysel;
But whether she had three or four,
I coudna tell
