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D A TH
D Ε Α Τ Η

AND

DOCTOR HORNBOOK,

А

TRUE STORY.

SOME books are lies frae end to end,

, And some great lies were never penn'd: Ev’n Ministers 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 just as true's the Deil's in h--11

Or Dúblin city :

That e'er he nearer comes oursel

'S a muckle pity.

a

THE Clachan yill had made me canty,

I was na fou, but just had plenty ;
I stacher'd whyles, but yet took tent ay

To free the ditches;

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

Frae ghaists an' witches.

The rising Moon began to glowr..'
The distant Cumnock hills out-owre!

To

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

I set mysel;

But whether she 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 staff 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’ scythe, out-owre ae shouther,

Clear dangling, hang;

A three-tae'd leifter on the ither

Lay, large an? lang.

Its Itature seem'd lang Scotch ells twa.

The queerest shape that e'er I saw,

For fient a wame it had ava ;

And then its fhanks,

They were as thin, as sharp an’sima'

As cheeks o' branks.

• ' '

Guid-een,' quo'-I ; Friend ! hae ye been mawin, • When ither folk are busy fawin *?' It seem'd to mak a kind o' stan,'

But naething spak; At length, says I, 'Friend, whare ye gaun,

Will ye go back!

It spak right howe, - My name is Deatb,
* But be na? fley'd.'-Quoth I, 'Guid faith,

VOL, I,

G

Ye're

* This recounter happened in sced-time, 1785.

• Ye're maybe come to stap my breath;

• But tent me billie;

'I red ye weel, tak care o skaith,

«See there's a gully!'

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Gudeman,' quo' he, 'put up your whittle, ? I'm no design'd to try its mettle ; "But if I did, I wad be kittle

< To be mislear'd,

• I wad na mind i!, no that spittle

Out-owre my beard.'

• Weel, weel !' says I, a bargain be't;

a Come, gies your hand, an' sae we're gree't.;

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

Come, gies your news;

This

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