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On this ane's drefs, an' that ane's leuk,

They're making obfervations;

While fome are cozie i' the neuk,

An' formin affignations

To meet fome day.

XXI.

But now the L-d's ain trumpet touts,

Till a' the hills are rairin,

An' echoes back return the fhouts :

Black ****** is na spairin:

His piercing words, like Highlan' fwords,
Divide the joints an' marrow;

His talk o' H-ll, whare devils dwell,

Our vera fauls does harrow *

Wi' fright that day.

* Shakespeare's Hamlet.

XXII.

XXII.

A vaft, unbottomb'd, boundless pit,
Fill'd fou o' lowin brunstane,

Wha's ragin flame, an' fcorchin heat,
Wad melt the hardest whun-ftane

The half asleep ftart up wi' fear,
An' think they hear it roarin,

When presently it does appear,
'Twas but fome neebor fnorin

Afleep that day.

XXIII.

"Twad be owre lang a tale, to tell

How monie ftories past,

An' how they crouded to the yill,

When they were a' difmift:

How drink gaed round, in cogs an' caups,

Amang the furms and benches;

VOL. I.

D

An'

An' cheese an' bread, frae women's laps,

Was dealt about in lunches,

An' dawds that day.

XXIV.

In comes a gaucie, gafh Guidwife,

An' fits down by the fire,

Syne draws her kebbuck an' her knife;

The laffes they are shyer.

The auld Guidmen, about the grace,
Frae fide to fide they bother,

Till fome ane by his bonnet lays,

An' gi'es them't like a tether,

Fu' lang that day.

XXV.

Waefucks for him that gets nae lass,
Or laffes that hae naething!
Sma' need has he to fay a grace,

Or melvie his braw claithing!

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O Wives be mindfu', ance yourfel
How bonie lads ye wanted,
An' dinna, for a kebbuck-heel,

Let laffes be affronted

On fic a day!

XXVI.

Now Clinkumbell, wi' rattlin tow,

Begins to jow an' croon;

Some swagger hame, the best they dow,

Some wait the afternoon.

At flaps the billies halt a blink,
Till laffes ftrip their fhoon :

Wi' faith an' hope, an' love an' drink,

They're a' in famous tune,

For crack that day.

XXVII.

How monie hearts this day converts

O' Sinners and o' Laffes !

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Their hearts o' ftane gin night are gane,

As faft as ony flesh is.

There's fome are fou o' love divine;
There's fome are fou o' brandy;

An' monie jobs that day begin,
May end in houghmagandie.

Some ither day.

DEATH

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