Or to the N-th-rt-n repair,

And turn a Carpet-weaver

Aff hand this day.

Χ.

M***** and you were just a match,
We never had fic 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 Honor maun detach,

Wi' a' his brimstone squadrons,

Fast, faft, this day.

XI.

SEE, fee auld Orthodoxy's faes

She's swingein thro' the city!

Hark

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 Senfe is gaun, she says,

To mak to Jamie Beattie

Her plaint this day.

XII.

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 pack'd aff to h-ll,

And banish'd our dominions,

XIII.

HAPPY day! rejoice, rejoice! Come bouse about the porter!

Morality's demure decoys

Shall here nae mair find quarter:

M*******, R*****, are the boys
That Heresy can torture;

They'll gie her on a rape a hoyfe,

And cowe our measure shorter

By th' head some day.

XIV.

COME, bring the tither mutchkin in,
And here's for a conclufion,

To ev'ry New-light * mother's fon,

From this time forth, Confufion:

If

If mair they deave us wi' their din,

Or Patronage intrufion,

We'll light a spunk, and, ev'ry skin,

THE

CALF.

To the Rev. Mr, on his text, MALACHI, ch. iv. ver. 2. 'And they shall go forth, and

X

'grow up like 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.

And should fome Patron be so kind,
As blifs you wi' a kirk,

I doubt na, Sir, but then we'll find,
Ye're still as great a Stirk.

But, if the Lover's raptur'd hour
Shall ever be your lot,