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To please his Majesty and court,
And turn as changes came about.
To scripture they so firmly stood,
On then. I did spue out a flood
Of mischief and calamity.
M'Kenzie acted well for me.
Scripture religion at that time,
He made it such a heinous crime,
That for it nought could satisfy,
But guilty persons they must die.
He many a saint pursu'd to death;
He feared neither hell nor wrath.
His conscience was so cauteriz'd,
He refus'd nothing that I pleas'd:
For which he's had my kindness still,
Since he his labours did fulfil.
Rothes, like a sow in the mire,
Who of his whoredom did not tire;
But wailow'd in adultery,
In cursing and profanity,
And did allot the sabbath-day,
To spend it in his game and play:
Perjurd himself in Mitchell's case,
To bring that rebel to disgrace.
To Popery he was a good friend,
To set it up this man was keen,
His drunkenness I need not name,
My friend of this thought never shame.
He did contrive that rare engine,
That did make Hackstone dree great pine:
To rip his breast at my desire,
And burnt his heart quick in the fire;
Mangled his hands, and took them off,
That they might be the people's scoff,
