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For, Oh! the yellow treasure's taen
By witching skill; An' dawtit, twal-pint Haw kie's gaen
As yell's the Bill. ·
THENCE, mystic knots mak great abuse
An' foat the jinglin icy-boord,
By your dire&ion,
To their deftru&ion.
An' aft your moss-traversing Spunkies Decoy the wight that late an' drunk is : The bleezin, curst, mischievous monkies
Delude his eyes,
Till in some miry slough he sunk is,
Ne'er mair to rife.
WHEN Masons myftic word an' grip,
Or, strange to tell!
The youngest Brother ye wad whip
Aff straught to h-ll.
LANG syne, in Eden's bonie yard, When youthfu’ lovers first were pair’d, An' all the Soul of love they shar'd,
The raptur'd hour,
Sweet on the fragrant, flow'ry fwaird,
In shady bow'r:
Then you, ye auld, snick-drawing dog !
(Black be your fa'!) An' gied the infant warld a fhog,
D’YE mind that day, when in a bizz,
'Mang better folk, An' sklented on the man of Uxx,
Your spitefu' joke?
An' how ye gat him i' your thrall, An' brak him out o'house an hal,'
While (cabs and botches did him gall,
Wi' bitter claw,
An' lows'a his ill-tongu'd, wicked Scawi,
Was warft ava?
Bur a' your doings to rehcarfe, Your wily fnares an' fetchin fierce, Sin' that day Michael * did you pierce,
Down to this time,
Wad ding a' Lallan tongue, or Erse,
In prose or rhyme.
An' now auld Cloots, I ken ye're thinkin, A certain Bardie's rantin, drinkin,
Some luckless hour will send him linkin,
To your black pit; But, faith! he'll turn a corner jinkin,
An cheat you yet.
Vide Milton, Book VI.
But, fare you weel, auld Nickie-ben!
O wad retak a thought an'men'!
Still hae a stake
I'm wae to think upo' yon den,
Ev'n for your fake!
DEATH AND DYING WORDS
THE AUTHOR's ONLY PET YOWE.
An Unco Mournfu' Tale. AS Mailie, an' her lambs thegither, Was ae day nibbling on the tether, Upon her cloot the coost a hitch,
An' owre the warf'd in the ditch: