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A robe of seeming truth and trust

Hid crafty Observotion;
And secret bung, with poison'd crust,

The dirk of Defamation:
A mask that like the gorget show'd,

Dye-varying on the pigeon;
And for a mantle large and broad,
He wrapt bim in Religion.


Upon a simmer Sunday morn,

When Nature's face is fair,
I walked forth to view the corn,

An' snuff the caller air,
The rising sun owre Galston muirs,

Wi' glorious light was glintin ;
The hares were hirplin down the furs,
The lav'rocks they were chantin

Fu’ sweet that day.

As lightsomely I glowr'd abroad,

To see a scene sae gay,
Three Hizzies, early at the road,

Cam skelpin up the way ;
Twa had manteeles o' dolefu' black,

But ane wi' lyart lining :
The third, that gaed a-wee-a-back,
Was in the fashion shining,

Fu'gay that day. • Holy Fair is a common phrase in the West of Scotland for a sacramental occasion.


The twa appear'd like sisters twin,

In feature, form, an' claes !
Their visage, wither'd, lang, an' thin,

An' sour as ony slaes :
The third cam up, hap-step-an'-lowp,

As light as ony lambie,
An' wi' a curchie low did stoop,
As soon as e'er she saw me,

Fu' kind that day.



Wi' bonnet aff, quoth I, 'Sweet lass,

I think ye seem to ken me; • I'm sure I've seen that bonie face,

* But yet I canna name ye.' Quo' she, an' laughin as she spak,

An' taks me by the hands, “Ye, for my sake, hae gi'en the feck • Of a' the ten commands

A screed some day.


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My name is Fun-your cronie dear,

• The nearest friend ye
• An' this is Superstition here,

• An' that's Hypocrisy. • I'm gaun to

Holy Fair, 'To spend an hour in daffin: Gin ye'll go there, yon runkl’d pair, • We will get famous laughin

At then this day.'',


Quoth I,. With a' my heart, I'll do't;

• I'll get my Sunday's sark on, An' meet you on the holy spot;

Faith we'se hae fine remarkin!'
Then I gaed hame at crowdie-time

An' soon I made me ready ;
For roads were clad; frae side to side,
Wi' monie a wearie body,

In droves that day.

Here farmers gash, in ridin graith

Gaed hoddin by their cotters;
There, swankies, young, in braw braid-claith

Are springin o’er the gutters.
The lasses, skelpin barefit, thrang,

In silks an' scarlets glitter;
Wi' sweet-milk cheese, in monie a whang,
An' farls bak'd wi' butter

Fu' crump that day.

When by the plate we set our nose,

Weel heap'd up wi' ha'pence,
A greedy glowr Black Bonnet throws,

An' we maun draw our tippence.
Then in we go to see the show,

On ev'ry side they're gathrin, Some carrying dales, some chairs an’ stools, An' some are busy blethrin

Right loud that day.


Here stands a shed to fend the show'rs,

An' screen our countra Gentry.
There, racer Jess, an' twa-three wh-res,

Are blinkin at the entry. Here sits a raw of tittlin jades,

Wi' heaving breast and bare neck, An' there a batch of of wabster lads, Blackguarding frae K-ck

For fun this day.

Here some are thinkin on their sins,

An' some upo' their claes;
Ane curses feet that fyld his shins,

Anither sighs an' prays:
On this hand sits a chosen swatch,

Wi' screw'd up grace-proud faces ;
On that a set o'chaps at watch,
Thrang winkin on the lasses

To chairs that day.


O happy is that man an' blest!

Nae wonder that it pride him !
Wha's ain dear lass, that he likes best,

Comes clinkin down beside him!
Wi' arm repos'd on the chair back,

He sweetly does compose him !
Which, by degrees, slips round her neck,
An's loof upon her bosom,

Unken'd that day.


XII. Now a’ the congregation o’er

Is silent expectation ; For

speels the holy door, Wi' tidings o' d

mn-t-n. Should Hornie, as in ancient days,

'Mang sons o' G- present him, The vera sight o' *****'s face, To's ain het hame had sent him

Wi' fright that day.

Hear how he clears the points o' faith

Wi' rattlin an' thumpin !
Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath,

He's stampin an' he's jumpin !
His lengthen'd chin, his turn’d up snout,

His eldritch squeel and gestures, Oh how they fire the heart devout, Like cantharidian plasters,

On sic a day!




But hark! the tent has chang’d its voice ;

There's peace an' rest nae langer :
For a' the real judges rise,
They canna sit for anger.

opens out his cauld harangues,
On practice and on morals ;
An'aff the godly pour in thrangs,
To gie the jars an' barrels

A lift that day.

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