THE DOMINIE DEPOS'D. 5
For, hark, I'll tell you what they think,
Since I left handling pen an' ink,
Wae worth that weary ſoup o' drink
He lik'd fae weel,
He drank it a’, left not a clink
His throat to ſwill.
He lik’d, ſtill ſitting on his doup,
To view the pint or cutty ſtoup,
And ſometimes laſſes overcoup
Upo' their keels,
This made the lad at length to loup,
And tak his heels.
Then was it not a grand preſumption,
To ca' him doctor o' the function?
He dealt too much in barley-unction
For his profeſſion:
He never took a good injunction
Frae kirk or ſeſſion.
An' to attend he was not willing,
His ſchool, fae lang's he had a ſhilling,
But lov'd to be where there was filling
Good punch or ale,
For him to riſe was juſt like killing
Or firſt to fail.
His fiſhing-wand, his ſneeſhing-box,
A fowling-piece, to ſhoot muir-cocks,
An' hunting hare thro' craigs and rocks,
This was his game,
Still left the young anes, ſo the fox
Might worry them.
When
