* This while ye hae been mony a gate, At mony a house.' Ay, ay!' quo' he an fhook his head, It's e'en a lang, lang time indeed Sin I began to nick the thread, 'An' choke the breath: • Folk maun do fomething for their bread, 'An' fae maun Death. 'SAX thoufand years are near hand fled 'Sin' I was to the butching bred, An' mony a scheme in vain's been laid, To ftap or fear me; 'Till ane Hornbook's * ta'en up the trade, *An epidemical fever was then raging in that country. This gentleman, Dr Hornbook, is professonally, a brother of the sovereign Order of the Ferula; but, by intuition and inspiration, is at once an Apothecary, Surgeon, and Physician. Ye ken Jock Hornbook i' the Clachan, · Deil mak his king's-hood in a spleuchan! 'He's grown fae weel acquaint wi' Buchant An' ither chaps, The weans had out their fingers laghin, SEE here's a scythe, and there's a dart, They hae pierc'd mony a gallant heart; 'But Doctor Hornbook, wi' his art And curfed skill, Has made them baith no worth a f→t, Damn'd haet they'll kill! 'Twas but yeftreen, nae farther gaen, 'I threw a noble throw at ane; + Buchan's Domestic Medicine. Wi' 'Wi' lefs, I'm fure, I've hundred's flain; But deil ma-care, 'It just play'd dirl on the bane, But did nae mair. Hornbcok was by, wi' ready art, And had fae fortify'd the part, That when I looked to my dart, It was fae blunt, Fient haet o't wad hae pierc'd the heart Of a kail-runt. I DREW my fcythe in fic a fury, I nearhand cowpit wi' my hurry, But yet the bauld Apothecary Withstood the fhock; I might as weel hae try'd a quarry 'O' hard whin rock.' 6 Ev'N them he canna get attended, 'Altho' their face he ne'er had kend it, Juft in a kail-blade, and fend it, 'As foon's he fmell's't, Baith their difeafe, and what will mend it, 'At once he tells't. AND then a' doctors saws and whittles, ◄ Of a' dimensions, shapes, an' mettles, A' kinds o' boxes, mugs, an' bottles, 'He's fure to hae ; Their Latin names as fast he rattles 'Calces o' foffils, earths, and trees; True Sal-marinum o' the feas; The Farina of beans and pease, 'He has't in plenty; Aqua Aqua-fontis, what you please, 'He can content ye. 'FORBYE fome new, uncommon weapons, 'Urinus Spiritus of capons; 'Or Mite-horn fhavings, filings, fcrapings, • Diftill'd per se ; 'Sal alkali o' Midge-tail-clippings, 'WAES me for Johbnny Ged's Hole * now,' Quoth I, if that thae news be true! 'His braw calf-ward where gowans grew, Sae white and bonie, 'Nae doubt they'll rive it wi' the plew; |