This past for certain, undisputed; An' muckle din there was about it, Baith loud an' lang. Some herds, weel learn'd upo' the beuk, Wad threap auld folk the thing misteuk; For 'twas the auld moon turn'd a newk An' out o' fight, An' backlins-comin, to the leuk, She grew mair bright. This was deny'd, it was affirm'd; The herds an' biffels were alarm'd; The rev'rend gray-beards rav'd an' ftorm'd, That beardlefs laddies Should think they better were inform'd, Than their auld dadies. Frae less to mair it gaed to sticks; Frae words an' aiths to clours an' nicks; EPISTLE TO J. R** ENCLOSING SOME POEMS. O Rough, rude, ready-witted R ****** The wale o' cocks for fun an' drinkin! There's monie godly folks are thinkin, Your dreams * an' tricks Will fend you, Korah-like, a finkin, Straught to auld Nick's. Ye hae fae monie cracks an' cants, And in your wicked, druken rants, Ye mak a devil o' the Saunts, An' fill them fou; And then their failings, flaws an' wants, Are a' feen thro'. * A certain humorous dream of his was then making a noife in the world. Hypocrify, in mercy spare it! That holy robe, O dinna tear it! Spare't for their fakes wha aften wear it, The lads in black; But your curft wit, when it comes near it, Think, wicked Sinner, wha ye're skaithing: It's just the Blue-gown badge an' claithing, O' Saunts; tak that, ye lea'e them naething, To ken them by, Frae ony unregenerate Heathen, I've sent you here, fome rhymin ware, A' that I bargain'd for, an' mair; Sae when ye hae an hour to spare, I will expect, Yon Sang* ye'll fen't, wi' cannie care, And no neglect. Tho' faith, fma' heart hae I to fing! My Mufe dow scarcely spread her wing: * A Song he had promised the Author. EPISTLE TO J. R ENCLOSING SOME POEMS. Rough, rude, ready-witted R The wale o' cocks for fun an' drinkin! There's monie godly folks are thinkin, Your dreams* an' tricks Will fend you, Korah-like, a finkin, Straught to auld Nick's. Ye hae fae monie cracks an' cants, And in your wicked, druken rants, Ye mak a devil o' the Saunts, An' fill them fou; And then their failings, flaws an' wants, Are a' seen thro'. * A certain humorous dream of his was then making a noife in the world. Hypocrify, in mercy spare it! That holy robe, O dinna tear it! Spare't for their fakes wha aften wear it, The lads in black; But your curft wit, when it comes near it, Think, wicked Sinner, wha ye're skaithing: It's just the Blue-gown badge an' claithing, O' Saunts; tak that, ye lea'e them naething, To ken them by, Frae ony unregenerate Heathen, Like you or I. I've sent you here, fome rhymin ware, A' that I bargain'd for, an' mair; Sae when ye hae an hour to spare, I will expect, Yon Sang* ye'll fen't, wi' cannie care, And no neglect. Tho' faith, fma' heart hae I to fing! My Mufe dow scarcely spread her wing: * A Song he had promifed the Author. |