Page:Beauties of Burn's poems.pdf/75

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And like a godly elect bairn,
 He's wal'd us out a true ane,
And sound this day.

Now R——— harangue nae mair,
 But steek your gab for ever;
Or try the wicked town o' A—,
 For there they'll think you clever;
Or, nae reflection on your lear,
Ye nay commence a Shaver;
 Or to the N-th-rt-n repair,
And turn a carpet-weaver
Aff-hand this day.

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 aye he catch'd the tither wretch,
 To fry them in his caudrons;
But now his Honour maun detach,
 Wi' a' his brimstone squadrons,
Fast, fast this day.

See, see, auld Orthodoxy's fues,
 She's swingin through the city!
Hark how the nine-tailed cat she plays!
 I vow it's unco pretty.
There Learning, wi' his Greekish face,
 Grunts out some Latin ditty;
And Common-Sense is gaun, she says,
 To make to Jamie Beatie
Her plaint this day.

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