Page:The poetical works of Robert Burns.djvu/61

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'My name is Fun—your cronie dear,
 The nearest friend ye hae;
An' this is Superstition here,
 An' that's Hypocrisy.
I'm gaun to Mauchline Holy Fair,
 To spend an hour in daffin:
Gin ye'll go there, yon runkl'd pair,
 We will get famous laughin
At them this day.'

Quoth I, 'With a' my heart, I'll do't;
 I'll get my Sunday's sark on,
An' meet you on the holy spot;
 Faith, we'se hae fine remarkin!'
Then I gaed hame at crowdie-time,
 An' soon I made me ready;
For roads were clad, frae side by side,
 Wi' monie a wearie bodie,
In droves that day.

Here, farmers gash, in ridin graith
 Gaed hoddin by their cotters;
There, swankies young, in braw braid-claith,
 Are springin owre the gutters.
The lasses, skelpin barefit, thrang,
 In silks an' scarlets glitter;
Wi' sweet-milk cheese, in monie a whang,
 An' farls, bak'd wi' butter,
Fu' crump that day.

When by the plate we set our nose,
 Weel heaped up wi' ha'pence,
A greedy glowr Black Bonnet throws,
 An' we maun draw our tippence.
Then in we go to see the show,
 On ev'ry side they're gath'rin,
Some carryin dails, some chairs an' stools,
 An' some are busy bleth'rin
Right loud that day.

Here stands a shed to fend the show'rs,
 An' screen our countra gentry,
There, racer Jess, an' twa-three whores,
 Are blinkin at the entry.
Here sits a raw o' tittlin jades,
 Wi' heaving breast an' bare neck,
An' there, a batch o' wabster lads,
 Blackguarding frae Kilmarnock
For fun this day.