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Lord, hear my earnest cry an' pray'r,
Against that presbyt'ry o' Ayr;

Thy strong right hand, Lord, make it bare,
Upo' their heads;

Lord, weigh it down, and dinna spare,
For their misdeeds.

O Lord my God, that glib-tongu❜d P Aiken,
My very heart and saul are quakin',
To think how we stood sweatin', shakin',
An' p-d wi' dread,

While he, wi' hingin' lips an' snakin',
Held up his head.

Lord, in the day of vengeance try him;
Lord, visit them wha did employ him,
And pass not in thy mercy by 'em,

Nor hear their pray'r;

But, for thy people's sake, destroy 'em,
And dinna spare.

But, Lord, remember me and mine
Wi' mercies temp'ral and divine,
That I for gear and grace may shine,
Excell'd by nane,

An' a' the glory shall be thine,

Amen, Amen.


HERE Holy Willie's sair worn clay,
Taks up its last abode;

His saul has taen some other way,
I fear the left-hand road.

Stop! there he is, as sure's a gun,
Poor silly body, see him;
Nae wonder he 's as black 's the grun,
Observe wha's standing wi' him.

p Having readiness of speech.

Your brunstane devilship, I see,
Has got him there before ye;
But haud your nine-tail cat a-wee,
Till ance you've heard my story.
Your pity I will not implore,
For pity ye have nane;
Justice, alas! has gien him o'er,
And mercy's day is gane.

But hear me, sir, deil as ye are,
Look something to your credit;
A coof like him wad stain your name,
If it were kent ye did it.



On his text, Malachi iv. 2.- And they shall go forth, and grow up, like calves of the stall."

RIGHT, Sir! your text I'll prove it true,
Tho' heretics may laugh;

For instance, there's yoursel just now,
God knows, an uncoa calf!

And should some patron be so kind,
As bless you wi' a kirk,

I doubt na, sir, but then we 'll find
Ye're still as great a stirk !r

But, if the lover's raptur'd hour
Shall ever be your lot,
Forbid it, ev'ry heavenly power,
You e'er should be a stot !

Tho', when some kind, connubial dear,
Your butt-and-bent adorns,

The like has been, that you may wear
A noble head of horns!

9A very calf.

r A yearling bullock.
The country kitchen and parlour.

• An ox.

And in your lug, most reverend James,
To hear you roar and rowte,"
Few men o' sense will doubt your claims
To rank amang the nowte !"

And when ye 're number'd wi' the dead,
Below a grassy hillock,

Wi' justice they may mark your head-
'Here lies a famous bullock !'


On seeing one on a Lady's Bonnet at Church.
HA! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin'* ferlie ?"
Your impudence protects you sairly;
I canna say but ye strunt rarely

Owre gauze and lace;
Tho', faith, I fear ye dine but sparely
On sic a place.

Ye ugly, creepin', blastit wonner,a
Detested, shunn'd, by saunt an' sinner,
How dare you set your fitb upon her,
Sae fine a lady!

Gae somewhere else and seek your dinner,
On some poor body.

Swith, in some beggar's haffet squattle;e
There ye may creep, and sprawl and sprattle
Wi' ither kindred, jumpin' cattle

In shoals and nations;

Whare horn nor bane ne'er dare unsettle
Your thick plantations.

Now haud ye there, ye're out o' sight,
Below the fatt'rils, snug and tight;
Na, faith ye yet! ye'll no be right
Till ye 've get on it,

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The vera tapmost, tow'ring height
O' Miss's bonnet.

My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose out, As plump and gray as onie grozet ;8

O for some rank, mercurial rozet,h

Or fell, red smeddum,1

I'd gie you sic a hearty doze o't,

Wad dress your droddum !*

I wad na be surpris'd to spy
You on an auld wife's flainen toy ;'
Or aiblins some bit duddie" boy,
On's wyliecoat;

But Miss's fine Lunardi' fie,

How dare ye do't?

O Jenny, dinna toss your head,
An' set your beauties a' abread !P
Ye little ken what cursed speed

The blastie's makin'!
Thael winks and finger-ends I dread,
Are notice takin'!

O wad some pow'r the giftie gie us
To see oursels as others see us!

It wad frae monie a blunder free us

And foolish notion:

What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us,
And ev'n devotion !



DWELLER in yon dungeon dark,
Hangman of creation! mark
Who in widow-weeds appears
Laden with unhonour'd years,

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? An ancient head-dress.

• A fannel vest.

p Abroad.

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Noosing with care a bursting purse,
Baited with many a deadly curse!


View the wither'd beldam's face-
Can thy keen inspection trace

Aught of humanity's sweet melting grace?
Note that eye, 'tis rheum o'erflows,
Pity's flood there never rose.

See those hands, ne'er stretch'd to save,
Hands that took-but never gave.
Keeper of Mammon's iron chest,

Lo! there she goes-unpitied and unblest!
She goes but not to realms of everlasting rest!


Plunderer of armies, lift thine eyes (Awhile forbear, ye tort'ring fiends), Seest thou whose step unwilling hither bends? No fallen angel, hurl'd from upper skies; 'Tis thy trusty quondam mate, Doom'd to share thy fiery fate,

She, tardy, hell-ward plies.


And are they of no more avail,
Ten thousand glitt'ring pounds a-year?
In other worlds can Mammon fail,
Omnipotent as he is here?

O, bitter mock'ry of the pompous bier,
While down the wretched vital part is driv'n!

The cave-lodg'd beggar, with a conscience clear, Expires in rags, unknown, and goes to heav'n.


On a Lady famed for her caprice.

How cold is that bosom which folly once fir'd! How pale is that cheek where the rouge lately glisten'd!

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