THE TWA HERDS.* Blockheads with reason wicked wits abhor, POPE. O A' ye pious godly flocks, Weel fed in pastures orthodox, Or wha will tent the waifs and crocks, The twa best herds in a' the wast, Hae had a bitter black out-cast, Atween themsel. VAR. 1 fifty. ་ * In the MS. entitled, The Holy Tulzie.' + Burns informed Dr. Moore, that "The first of my poetic offspring that saw the light was a burlesque lamentation on a quarrel between two reverend Calvinists, both of them dramatis persona in my Holy Fair. I had a notion myself, that the piece had some merit; but to prevent the worst, I gave a copy of it to a friend who was very fond of such things, and told him that I could not guess who was the author of it, but that I thought it pretty clever. With a certain description of the clergy, as well as laity, it met with a roar of applause." The parties mentioned in these verses O, Moodie, man, and wordy Russel, The Lord's cause ne'er gat sic a twistle, O, Sirs, whae'er wad hae expeckit But by the brutes themselves eleckit To be their guide. What flock wi' Moodie's flock could rank, He let them taste, Frae Calvin's well, aye clear, they drank : The thummart wil'-cat, brock and tod, VAR. 2 fountain head. were Mr. Moodie, minister of Riccarton, and Mr. Russel, assistant to the minister of Kilmarnock. " Though both apostles of the old light," says Allan Cunningham, "they quarrelled during a discussion on Effectual Calling, on their way home from the Monday sermon of a Sacrament, and from words proceeded to blows." Such an event was not likely to be lost upon Burns, and he accordingly recorded it in the following satirical ballad, which has been collated with a copy in the Poet's own hand. He did not insert it in any edition of his works, and it was printed in the Glasgow Collection of his poems in 1801. He smell'd their ilka hole and road, Baith out and in, And weel he lik'd to shed their bluid, What herd like Russel tell'd his tale, And saw gin they were sick or hale, He fine a mangy sheep could scrub, 3 And new-light herds could nicely drub, Or pay their skin, Could shake them owre the burning dub, Or heave them in. Sic twa-O! do I live to see't, Sic famous twa should disagreet, 6 An' names, like villain,'' hypocrite,' While new-light herds wi' laughin' spite, A' ye wha tent the gospel fauld, There's Duncan deep, and Peebles shaul, But chiefly thou," apostle Auld, VAR. 3 swing. 4 enemies. 5 And chiefly gird. 6 Thee. We trust in thee, That thou wilt work them, hot and cauld, Till they agree.7 Consider, Sirs, how we're beset, There's scarce a new herd that we get, I hope frae3 Heaven to see them yet Dalrymple has been lang our fae, That aft hae made us black and blae, Auld Wodrow lang has hatch'd' mischief, We thought aye 10 death wad bring relief, But he has gotten, to our grief, Ane to succeed him, A chiel wha'll soundly buff our beef; And monie a ane that I could tell, There's Smith for ane, I doubt he's but a grey nick quill, And that ye'll fin’. O! a' ye flocks, ow're a' the hills, And get the brutes the power themsels Then Orthodoxy yet may prance, Be banish'd owre the seas to France; Then Shaw's and D'rymple's eloquence, And guid M Math, Wi' Smith, wha thro' the heart can glance, May a' pack aff. * The MS. copy ends here. |