30
THE POEMS OF BURNS.
Lang, Patronage, wi' rod o' airn,
Has shor'd the Kirk's undoin,
As lately Fenwick, sair forfairn,
Has proven to his ruin:
Our Patron honest man! Glencairn,
He saw mischief was brewin;
And like a godly, elect bairn,
He's wal'd us out a true ane,
And sound this day.
Has shor'd the Kirk's undoin,
As lately Fenwick, sair forfairn,
Has proven to his ruin:
Our Patron honest man! Glencairn,
He saw mischief was brewin;
And like a godly, elect bairn,
He's wal'd us out a true ane,
And sound this day.
Now Robinson harangue nae mair,
But steek your gab for ever:
Or try the wicked town of Ayr,
For there they'll think you clever;
Or, nae reflection on your lear,
Ye may commence a Shaver;
Or to the Netherton repair,
And turn a Carpet-weaver
Aff-hand this day.
But steek your gab for ever:
Or try the wicked town of Ayr,
For there they'll think you clever;
Or, nae reflection on your lear,
Ye may commence a Shaver;
Or to the Netherton repair,
And turn a Carpet-weaver
Aff-hand this day.
Mutrie 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 ay 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.
We never had sic twa drones:
Auld Hornie did the Laigh Kirk watch,
Just like a winkin baudrons:
And ay 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 faes
She's swingein thro' the city;
Hark, how the nine-tail'd cat she plays!
I vow it's unco pretty!
There, Learning, with his Greekish face,
Grunts out some Latin ditty;
And Common Sense is gaun, she says,
To mak to Jamie Beattie
Her plaint this day.
She's swingein thro' the city;
Hark, how the nine-tail'd cat she plays!
I vow it's unco pretty!
There, Learning, with his Greekish face,
Grunts out some Latin ditty;
And Common Sense is gaun, she says,
To mak to Jamie Beattie
Her plaint this day.
But there's Morality himsel,
Embracing all opinions;
Hear, how he gies the tither yell,
Between his twa companions;
See, how she peels the skin an' fell,
As ane were peelin onions!
Now there, they're packed aff to hell,
And banish'd our dominions,
Henceforth this day.
Embracing all opinions;
Hear, how he gies the tither yell,
Between his twa companions;
See, how she peels the skin an' fell,
As ane were peelin onions!
Now there, they're packed aff to hell,
And banish'd our dominions,
Henceforth this day.
O happy day! rejoice, rejoice!
Come bouse about the porter!
Morality's demure decoys
Shall here nae mair find quarter:
M'Kinlay, Russel are the boys
That Heresy can torture;
They'll gie her on a rape a hoyse,
And cowe her measure shorter
By th' head some day.
Come bouse about the porter!
Morality's demure decoys
Shall here nae mair find quarter:
M'Kinlay, Russel are the boys
That Heresy can torture;
They'll gie her on a rape a hoyse,
And cowe her measure shorter
By th' head some day.
Come, bring the tither mutchkin in,
And here's, for a conclusion,
To every New Light mother's son,
From this time forth, Confusion:
If mair they deave us wi' their din,
Or Patronage intrusion,
We'll light a spunk, and, ev'ry skin,
We'll rin them aff in fusion
Like oil, some day.
And here's, for a conclusion,
To every New Light mother's son,
From this time forth, Confusion:
If mair they deave us wi' their din,
Or Patronage intrusion,
We'll light a spunk, and, ev'ry skin,
We'll rin them aff in fusion
Like oil, some day.
THE CALF.
TO THE REV. MR. JAMES STEVEN, ON HIS TEXT, MALACHI, CH. IV. VER. 2.
"And ye shall go forth, and grow up as calves of the stall."
Right, Sir! your text I'll prove it true,
Tho' Heretics may laugh;
For instance; there's yoursel just now,
God knows, an unco Calf!
Tho' Heretics may laugh;
For instance; there's yoursel just now,
God knows, an unco Calf!
And should some Patron be so kind,
As bless you wi' a kirk,
I doubt na, Sir, but then we'll find,
Ye're still as great a Stirk.
As bless you wi' a kirk,
I doubt na, Sir, but then we'll find,
Ye're still as great a Stirk.
