XV. What signifies his barren shine Or some auld pagan Heathen, That's right that day. XVI. In guid time comes an antidote Fast, fast, that day. Wec XVII. **, niest, the Guard relieves, An' Orthodoxy raibles, Tho' in his heart he weel believes, An' thinks it auld wives' fables: At times that day. * A street so called, which faces the tent in XVIII. Now butt an' ben, the Change-house fills, They raise a din, that in the end, Is like to breed a rupture O' wrath that day. XIX. Leeze me on Drink! it gies us mair It never fails, on drinking deep, By night or day. XX. The lads an' lasses, blythely bent To mind baith saul an' body, Sit round the table weel content, An' steer about the toddy. On this ane's dress, an' that ane's leuk, They're making observations; While some are cozie i' the neuk, An' formin assignations, XXI. But now the L-d's ain trumpet touts, Till a' the hills are rairin, An' echoes back return the shouts : His piercing words, like Highland swords, His talk o' Hell, where devils dwell, Our vera sauls does harrow* Wi' fright that day. XXII. A vast, unbottom'd, boundless pit, Wad melt the hardest whun-stane! The half asleep start up wi' fear, Asleep that day. XXIII. 'Twad be owre lang a tale, to tell How monie stories past, An' how they crowded to the yill, How drink gaed round, in cogs an' caups, An' cheese an' bread, frae women's laps, Was dealt about in lunches, An' dawds that day. * Shakspeare's Hamlet. XXIV. In comes a gaucie, gash Guidwife, Syne draws her kebbuck an' her knife, The auld Guidmen, about the grace, Till some ane by his bonnet lays, An gi'es them't like a tether, Fu' lang that day. XXV. Waesucks! for him that gets nae lass, Let lasses be affronted On sic a day! XXVI. Now Clinkumbell, wi' rattlin tow, Begins to jow an' croon; Some swagger hame, the best they dow, At slaps the billies halt a blink, Wi' faith and 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' lasses! Their hearts o' stane, gin night are gane, There's some are fou o' love divine; An' monie jobs that day begin, May end in Houghmagandie Some ither day. DEATH AND DR. HORNBOOK. A TRUE STORY. SOME books are lies frae end to end, In holy rapture, A rousing whid, at times, to vend, And nail't wi' Scripture. But this that I am gaun to tell, Or Dublin city: That e'er he nearer comes oursel 'S a muckle pity. The Clachan yill had made me canty, |