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For Moodie speeds the holy door, Wi' tidings o' damnation. Should Hornie, as in ancient days, 'Mang sons o' God present him, The vera sight o'

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compose him; Which, by degrees, slips round her neck, An's loof upon her bosom, Unkenn'd that day. Now a' the congregation o'er Is silent expectation;

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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

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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

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thinkin' on their sins, An' some upo' their claes; Ane curses feet that fyl'd his shins, Anither sighs an' prays: On this hand sits a chosen swatch,

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titlin' jades, Wi' heaving breast and bare neck, An' there's a batch o' wabster lads, Blackguarding frae Kilmarnock For fun this day. Here some are

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shed to fend the show'rs, An' screen our countra gentry, There, racer Jess, and twa-three wh-res, Are blinkin' at the entry. Here sits a raw of

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show, On ev'ry side they're gath'rin', Some carrying dails, some chairs an' stools, An' some are busy blethrin' Right loud that day. Here stands a

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by the plate we set our nose, Weel heaped up wi' ha'pence, A greedy glowr Black Bonnet throws, An' we maun draw our tippence. Then in we go to see the

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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

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farmers gash, in ridin' graith Gaed hoddin by their cottars; There, swankies young, in braw braid-claith, Are springin' o'er the gutters. The lasses,

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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

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them 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'!"

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that's Hypocrisy. I'm gaun to Mauchline holy fair, To spend an hour in daffin: Gin ye'll go there, yon runkl'd pair, We will get famous laughin' At

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the feck, Of a' the ten commands A screed some day. "My name is Fun--your cronie dear, The nearest friend ye hae; An' this is Superstition here, An'

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sure I've seen that bonnie 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

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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

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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,

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But ane wi' lyart lining; The third, that gaed a-wee a-back, Was in the fashion shining Fu' gay that day. The twa appear'd like sisters twin, In

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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,

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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

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HYPOCRISY A-LA-MODE. 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

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like the gorget show'd, Dye-varying on the pigeon; And for a mantle large and broad, He wrapt him in Religion.

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THE HOLY FAIR. A robe of seeming truth and trust Did crafty observation; And secret hung, with poison'd crust, The dirk of Defamation: A mask that

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under noted; Then know all ye whom it concerns,

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little in your pat; Sae dinna put me in your buke. Nor for my ten white shillings luke. This list wi' my ain hand I wrote it, the day and date as

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dear pay for a saddle; My travel a' on foot I'll shank it, I've sturdy bearers, Gude be thankit. The kirk and you may tak' you that, It puts but

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license out I'm takin'; Frae this time forth, I do declare I'se ne'er ride horse nor hizzie mair; Thro' dirt and dub for life I'll paidle, Ere I sae

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I've paid enough for her already, An' gin ye tax her or her mither, B' the L--d! ye'se get them a'thegither. And now, remember, Mr. Aiken, Nae kind of

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wanted. My sonsie smirking dear-bought Bess, She stares the daddy in her face, Enough of ought ye like but grace; But her, my bonnie sweet wee lady,

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An' then, if kirk folks dinna clutch me, I ken the devils darena touch me. Wi' weans I'm mair than weel contented, Heav'n sent me ane mae than I

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I've nane in female servan' station, (Lord keep me ay frae a' temptation!) I ha'e nae wife--and that my bliss is, An' ye have laid nae tax on misses;

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Till, faith, wee Davock's turn'd sae gleg, Tho' scarcely langer than your leg, He'll screed you aff Effectual calling, As fast as ony in the dwalling.

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fother. I rule them as I ought, discreetly, An' aften labour them completely; An' ay on Sundays, duly, nightly, I on the Questions targe them tightly;

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trin'le. For men I've three mischievous boys, Run de'ils for rantin' an' for noise; A gaudsman ane, a thrasher t'other. Wee Davock hauds the nowt in

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feckly new; Ae auld wheelbarrow, mair for token, Ae leg an' baith the trams are broken; I made a poker o' the spin'le, An' my auld mither brunt the

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ran afore a tail. If he be spar'd to be a beast, He'll draw me fifteen pun' at least.-- Wheel carriages I ha'e but few, Three carts, an' twa are

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e'er in tug or tow was trac'd. The fourth's a Highland Donald hastie, A d--n'd red wud Kilburnie blastie! Forbye a cowt o' cowt's the wale, As ever

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to, (L--d pardon a' my sins an' that too!) I play'd my fillie sic a shavie, She's a' bedevil'd with the spavie. My fur ahin's[11] a wordy beast, As

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mony a time, In days when riding was nae crime-- But ance, whan in my wooing pride, I like a blockhead boost to ride, The wilfu' creature sae I pat

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been, An' wight, an' wilfu' a' his days been. My lan ahin's[9] a weel gaun fillie, That aft has borne me hame frae Killie,[10] An' your auld burro'

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aith. _Imprimis_, then, for carriage cattle, I have four brutes o' gallant mettle, As ever drew afore a pettle. My lan' afore's[8] a gude auld has

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OF THE TAXES. Sir, as your mandate did request, I send you here a faithfu' list, O' gudes, an' gear, an' a' my graith, To which I'm clear to gi'e my

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stain your name, If it were kent ye did it.

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nane; Justice, alas! has gi'en him o'er, And mercy's day is gaen. But hear me, sir, deil as ye are, Look something to your credit; A coof like him wad

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I see, Has got him there before ye; But hand your nine-tail cat a wee, Till ance you've heard my story. Your pity I will not implore, For pity ye hae

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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. Your brunstane devilship

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EPITAPH ON HOLY WILLIE. Here Holy Willie's sair worn clay Takes up its last abode; His saul has ta'en some other way, I fear the left-hand road. Stop!

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gear and grace may shine, Excell'd by nane, And a' the glory shall be thine, Amen, Amen!

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hear their pray'r; But for thy people's sake destroy 'em, And dinna spare. But, Lord, remember me an mine, Wi' mercies temp'ral and divine, That I for

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