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Quoth I, ' With a' my heart, I'll do't;

• I'll get my Sunday's sark on,
An' meet you on the holy spot;
• Faith we'fe hae fine remarkin!'

Then I gaed hame at crowdie-time,

An' soon I made me ready;
For roads were clad, frae fide to side,
Wi' monie a wearie body,

In droves that day.


HERE, farmers gash, in ridin graith,

Gaed hoddin by their cotters;

There, swankies young, in braw braid-claith,

Are springing owre the gutters, The laffes, skelpin barefit, thrang,

In filks an’ scarlets glitter ;


Wi' sweet-milk cbeese, in monie a whang,

An' farls bak'd wi butter,

Fu' crump that day.


WHEN by the plate we set our nose,

Weel heaped up wi' ha'pence,

A greedy glow'r Black Bonnet throws,

An' we maun draw our tippence.
Then in we go to see the shrw,

On ev'ry side they're gath'rin;
Some carryin dails fome chairs an' ftools,
An' some are busy bleth'rin

Right loud that day.


HERE stands a shed to fend the show'rs,

An' screen our countra gentry,


There, racer Jess, an' twa three wh-res,

Are blinkin at the entry.

Here fits a raw o'tittlin jads,

Wi' heaving breast an' bare neck;

An' there, a batch o' wabfter lads,

Blackguarding frae K*******ck

For fun this day.


HERE, some are thinkin on their fins,

An' some upo' their claes ;
Ane curses feet that fyld his shins,

Anither fighs an' prays :

On this hand fits a chofen fwatch,

Wr screw'd-up, grace-proud faces; On that, a fet o' Chaps, at watch,

Thrang winkin on the laffes

To chairs that day,


O HAPPY is that man, an' bleft ?

Nae wonder that it pride him!
Wha's ain dear lafs, that he likes best,

Comes clinkin down befide him!

Wi' arm repos'd on the chair-back,

He fweetly does compofe him;
Which, by degrees, slips found her neck,
An's loof upon her bofom

Unkend that day.


Now a'the congregation o'er

Is ülent expectation ;
For ****** speels the holy door,

Wi' tidings o' d-mn-t--n.
Should Hornie, as in ancient days,

'Mang sons o'G- present him,


The vera fight o' ******s face,

To's ain het hame had sent him

Wi' fright that day.


HEAR how he clears the points o' Faith.

Wi' rattlin an' thumpin!
Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath,

He's stampin, an he's jumpin!
His lengthen'd chin, his turn'd up snout,

His eldritch squeel an' geftures,
O how they fire the heart devout,
Like :cantharidian plasters.,

On sic a day!


But hark! the tent has chang'd its voice;

There's peace an' rest nae langer ;


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