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The creature grain’d an eldritch laugh,
nae' fear :
They'll a' be trench'd wi’ mony a fheugh.
In twa-three year.
"WHARE I kill d ane a fair ftrae death,
. By loss o' blood or want of breath, • This night I'm free to tak my aith,
6 That Hornbook's skill
• Has clad a score i' their last claith,
• By drap an' pill.
"An honeft Wabfter to his trade,
Whase wife's twa nieves were scarce weel
& Gat tippence-worth to mend her head,
"When it was fair ;
• The wife flade cannie to her bed,
'But ne'er fpak mair.
A countra Laird had ta'en the batts, Or fome curmurring in his guts, • His only fon for Hornbook sets,
• Au pays him well. · The lad, for twa guid gimmer-pets,
. Was Laird himsel.
A BONIE lass, ye kend her name,
Some ill-brewn drink had hov'd her wame;
• She trusts hersel, to hide the shame,
. In Hornbook's care ;
• Horn sent her aff to her lang hame,
• To hide it there.
• That's just a swatch o' Hornbook's way; • Thus goes he on from day to day,
· Thus does he poison, kill, an' flay,
• An's weel paid for't;
6 Yet stops me o' my lawfu'
• But, hark! I'll tell you of a plot, • Tho' dinna ye be speakin o't;
l'll nail the self-conceited Sot,
• As dead's a herrin :
• Niest time we meet, I'll wad a groat,
'He get's his fairin!'
But just as he began to tell,
The auld kirk-hammer strak the bell
Some wee short hour ayont the twal,
Which rais'd us baith:
I took the way that pleas'd mysel,
And sae did Death.
Τ Η Ε
INSCRIBED TO'J. B*********, Ese. AYR,
The fimple Bard, rough at the rustic
plough, Learning his tuneful trade from ev'ry bough: The chanting linnet, or the mellow thrufh, Hailing the setting fun, sweet in the green
thorn bush ;
The roaring lark, the perching red-breaft
fhrill, Or deep-ton'd plovers, grey wild-whistling
o'er the hill; Shall he, nurst in the Peasant's lowly shed,
To hardy Independance bravely bred,
Shall he be guilty of their hireling crimes,
sings. And throws his hand uncouthly o’er the