Изображения страниц
PDF
EPUB

DE AT H

AND

DOCTOR HORNBOOK,

A

TRUE STORY.

SOME books are lies frae end to end,

And fome great lies were never penn'd:
Ev'n Minifters they hae been kenn'd,

In holy rapture,

A

A roufing whid, at times, to vend,

And nail't wi' Scripture.

But this that I am gaun to tell,

Which lately on a night befel,

Is juft as true's the Deil's in h--ll

Or Dublin city:

That e'er he nearer comes ourfel

'S a muckle pity.

THE Clachan yill had made me canty,

I was na fou, but just had plenty;

I ftacher'd whyles, but yet took tent ay

To free the ditches;

An' hillocks, ftanes, an' bushes, kenn'd ay

Frae ghaifts an' witches.

The rifing Moon began to glowr

The diftant Cumnock hills out-owre!

To

1

To count her horns, wi' a' my pow'r,

I fet myfel;

But whether he had three or four,

I cou'd na tell.

I was come round about the hill,
And todlin down on Willie's mill,

Setting my ftaff wi' a' my skill,

To keep me ficker;

Tho' leeward whyles, against my will,

I took a bicker.

I THERE wi' Something did forgather,

That pat me in an eerie fwither;

An awfu' fcythe, out-owre ae fhouther,

Clear dangling, hang;

A three-tae'd leifter on the ither

Lay, large an' lang.

ITs ftature feem'd lang Scotch ells twa

The queereft fhape that e'er I faw,

For fient a wame it had ava;

And then its shanks,

They were as thin, as fharp an' fma'

As cheeks o' branks.

'Guid-een,' quo' I; Friend! hae ye been mawin,

'When ither folk are bufy fawin *?

It feem'd to mak a kind o' ftan,'

But naething spak;

At length, fays I, 'Friend, whare ye gaun,

Will ye go back!'

IT spak right howe,

My name is Death,

But be na' fley'd.'-Quoth I, ' Guid faith,

[blocks in formation]

*This recounter happened in seed-time, 1785.

Ye're

Ye're maybe come to ftap my breath;

'But tent me billie;

'I red ye weel, tak care o' skaith,

See there's a gully!'

'Gudeman,' quo' he, 'put up your whittle,

I'm no defign'd to try its mettle;

"But if I did, I wad be kittle

To be mislear'd,

'I wad na mind it, no that fpittle

'Out-owre my beard.'

'Weel, weel!' fays I, a bargain be't;

[ocr errors]

Come, gies your hand, an' fae we're gree't;

'We'll ease our fhanks an' tak a feat,

Come, gies your news;

This

« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »