That purity ye pride in,

And (what's aft mair then a' the lavek)
Your better art o' hiding.

Think, when your castigated pulse
Gies now and then a wallop,
What ragings must his veins convulse,
That still eternal gallop :

Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail,
Right on ye scud your sea-way;
But in the teeth o' baith' to sail,
It maks an uncom lee-way.

See social life and glee sit down,
All joyous and unthinking,
Till, quite transmugrify'd, they 're grown
Debauchery and drinking:

O, would they stay to calculate
Th' eternal consequences;
Or, your more dreaded hell to state,
Damnation of expenses !

Ye high, exalted, virtuous dames,
Ty'd up in godly laces,

Before ye gie poor Frailty names,
Suppose a change

cases;

A dear lov'd lad, convenience snug,

A treacherous inclination--

But, let me whisper i' your lug,
Ye're aiblins nae temptation.

Then gently scan your brother man,

Still gentler sister woman;

Tho' they may gang a

kennin'o

wrang;

To step aside is human:

One point must still be greatly dark,

The moving why they do it:

And just as lamely can ye mark,
How far perhaps they rue it.

All the rest.

l Both. m Awkward. o A little, a small matter.

"Perhaps.

Who made the heart, 'tis He alone
Decidedly can try us,

He knows each chord-its various tone
Each spring-its various bias :

Then at the balance let's be mute,

We never can adjust it:

What's done we partly may compute,

But know not what's resisted.

THE TWA HERDS.*

The Twa Herds' were Mr. Moodie, minister of Riccarton, and Mr. John Russel, then minister of Kilmarnock, and afterwards of Stirling.

O A'ye pious godly flocks,

Weel fed on pastures orthodox,

Wha now will keep ye frae the fox,

Or worrying tykes,P

Or wha will tent the waifs and cracks,"

About the dykes?

The twa best Herds in a' the wast,
That e'er gae gospel horn a blast,
These five-and-twenty simmers past,
O, dools to tell!

Hae had a bitter, black outcast

Atween themsel.

O M'Kinlay, man; and wordy" Russel,
How could you raise so vile a bustle,
Ye'll see how new-light herds will whistle,
And think it fine?

The Lord's cause ne'er gat sic a twistle,"
Sin' I hae min'.

O, Sirs! whae'er wad hae expeckit,

Your duty ye wad sae negleckit,

This is the first of my poetic offspring that saw the light. Burns' Letters.

p Dogs.

-Ewes too old for breeding. u Worthy.

q Strayed, and not yet claimed.

s Sorrowful.
w To twist, to twine.

Quarrel.

Ye wha were ne'er by lairds respeckit,

To wear the plaid,

But by the brutes themselves eleckit,*
To be their guide.

What flock wi' M'Kinlay's flock could rank,
Sae hale and hearty every shank,
Nae poison'd sour Arminian stank,ÿ
He let them taste,

Frae Calvin's well, ay clear they drank-
sic a feast!

The thummartz wil'-cat, brocka and tod,b
Weel kenn'd his voice thro' a' the wood,
He smell'd their ilka hole and road,
Baith out and in,

And weel he lik'd to shed their bluid,
And sell their skin.

What herd like Russel tell'd his tale?
His voice was heard thro' muir and dale

He kenn'd the Lord's sheep, ilka tail,

O'er a' the height,

And saw gine they were sick or hale,d
At the first sight.

He fine a mangy sheep could scrub,
Or nobly fling the gospel club,

And new-light herds could nicely drub,
Or pay their skin;

Could shake them o'er the burnin' dub,*
Or heave them in.

Sic twa!-O, do I live to see 't?
Sic famous twa should disagreet,
An' names, like villain, hypocrite,
Ilk ither gien,f

While new-light herds, wi' laughin' spite,
Say neither 's liein'!

Elected.

y

Pool of standing water.

If

z Pole-cal

d Healthy. Each other give.

A' ye wha tent the gospel fauld,
There's D--n deep, and P-
But chiefly thou, apostle Auld,

We trust in thee,

-s shaul;'

That thou wilt work them, hot and cauld, Till they agree.

Consider, Sirs, how we 're beset,

There's scarce a new herd that we get,
But comes frae 'mang that cursed set,
I winna name,

I hope frae heav'n to see them yet
In fiery flame.

Dalrymple has been lang our fae,
M'Gill has wrought us meikle wae,g
And that curs'd rascal ca'd M-

-e,

And baith the Shaws,

That aft hae made us black and blae,

Wi' vengefu' paws.

Auld Ww lang has hatch'd mischief, We thought ay death wad bring relief, But he has gotten, to our grief,

Ane to succeed him,

A chiel wha 'll soundly buff our beef
I meikle dread him.

And monie a ane that I could tell,
Wha fain would openly rebel,
Forbye turn-coats amang oursel,

There's S-h for ane,

I doubt he's but a grey-nick quill,
An' that 'll fin'.

ye

And get the brutes the power themsels,
To choose their herds.

Then Orthodoxy yet may prance,
And Learning in a woodie dance,i
And that fell cur ca'd Common Sense,
That bites sae sair,

Be banish'd o'er the sea to France;
Let him bark there.

Then Shaw's and D'rymple's eloquence,
M'Gill's close nervous excellence,
M'Q's pathetic manly sense,

And guid M'Math,k

Wi' Smith, wha thro' the heart can glance,
May a' pack aff.

THE KIRK'S ALARM.!

ORTHODOX, Orthodox,

Wha believe in John Knox,

Let me sound an alarm to your conscience;
There's a heretic blast,

Has been blawn in the wast,

That what is no sense must be nonsense.

Dr. Mac,m Dr. Mac,

You should stretch on a rack,

To strike evil-doers wi' terror;
To join faith and sense
Upon onie pretence,

Is heretic, damnable error.

Town of Ayr, town of Ayr,
It was mad, I declare,

To meddle wi' mischief a-brewin';
Provost John is still deaf

To the church's relief,

And orator Bob" is its ruin.

Dance in a rope, i. e. be hanged.

This poem was written a short time after the publication of

* See page 210.

Dr. M'Gill's Essay. m Dr. M'Gill.

n Robert Aiken