And in kirk-yards renew their leagues, * Owre howkit dead. * * When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord, An' nighted trav'llers are allur'd An' aft your moss-traversing spunkies Till in some miry slough he sunk is, When masons' mystic word an' grip, In storms an' tempests raise you up, Some cock or cat your rage maun stop, Or, strange to tell! The youngest Brother ye wad whip Aff straught to hell. Lang syne, in Eden's bonnie 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 swaird, In shady bow'r : Then you, ye auld, snec-drawing dog! Ye came to Paradise incog, An' play'd on man a cursed brogue, (Black be you fa!) An' gied the infant warld a shog, 'Maist ruin'd a'. But a' your doings to rehearse, Wad ding a' Lallan tongue, or Erse, But, fare you weel, auld Nickie-ben ! O wad ye tak a thought an' men'! Ye aiblins might — I dinna ken Still hae a stake I'm wae to think upo' yon den, ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUID, OR THE RIGIDLY RIGHTEOUS. My son, these maxims make a rule, The RIGID WISE anither: May hae some pyles o' caff in; For random fits o' daffin. SOLOMON, Eccles. vii. 16. YE wha are sae guid yoursel, Sae pious and sae holy, Ye've nought to do but mark and tell Your neebour's fauts and folly! Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill, Supply'd wi' store o' water, The heapet happer's ebbing still, Hear me, ye venerable Core, As counsel for poor mortals, That frequent pass douce Wisdom's door, I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes, Their donsie tricks, their black mistakes, Ye see your state wi' theirs compar'd But cast a moment's fair regard, And (what's aft mair than a' the lave) Think, when your castigated pulse Wi' wind and tide fair i̇' your tail, Right on ye scud your sea-way : But in the teeth o' baith to sail, See Social life and Glee sit down, All joyous and unthinking, O would they stay to calculate Ye high, exalted, virtuous Dames, Then gently scan your brother Man, One point must still be greatly dark, |