Robert Burns Poetry Bot

measure shorter By th' head some day. Come, bring the tither mutchkin in, And here's for a conclusion, To every New Light[18] mother's son, From this

decoys Shall here nae mair find quarter: Mackinlay, Russell, are the boys, That Heresy can torture: They'll gie her on a rape a hoyse, And cowe her

packed aff to hell, And banished our dominions, Henceforth this day. O, happy day! rejoice, rejoice! Come bouse about the porter! Morality's demure

Hear, how he gies the tither yell, Between his twa companions; See, how she peels the skin an' fell. As ane were peelin' onions! Now there--they're

Latin ditty; And Common Sense is gaun, she says, To mak to Jamie Beattie Her plaint this day. But there's Morality himsel', Embracing all opinions;

swingein' through the city; Hark, how the nine-tail'd cat she plays! I vow it's unco pretty: There, Learning, with his Greekish face, Grunts out some

them in his caudrons; But now his honour maun detach, Wi' a' his brimstane squadrons, Fast, fast this day. See, see auld Orthodoxy's faes She's

match We never had sic twa drones: Auld Hornie did the Laigh Kirk watch, Just like a winkin' baudrons: And ay' he catch'd the tither wretch, To fry

reflection on your lear, Ye may commence a shaver; Or to the Netherton repair, And turn a carpet-weaver Aff-hand this day. Mutrie and you were just a

day. Now, Robinson, harangue nae mair, But steek your gab for ever. Or try the wicked town of Ayr, For there they'll think you clever; Or, nae

its ruin: Our patron, honest man! Glencairn, He saw mischief was brewin'; And like a godly elect bairn He's wal'd us out a true ane, And sound this

lamb-tails flyin' Fu' fast this day! Lang Patronage, wi' rod o' airn, Has shor'd the Kirk's undoin', As lately Fenwick, sair forfairn, Has proven to

baby-clouts a-dryin': Come, screw the pegs, wi' tunefu' cheep, And o'er the thairms be tryin'; Oh, rare! to see our elbucks wheep, An' a' like

wale, No gi'en by way o' dainty, But ilka day. Nae mair by Babel's streams we'll weep, To think upon our Zion; And hing our fiddles up to sleep, Like

rowte out-owre the dale, Because thy pasture's scanty; For lapfu's large o' gospel kail Shall fill thy crib in plenty, An' runts o' grace the pick and

the breed, Gie them sufficient threshin', Spare them nae day. Now, auld Kilmarnock, cock thy tail, And toss thy horns fu' canty; Nae mair thou'lt

stipend is a carnal weed He taks but for the fashion; And gie him o'er the flock, to feed, And punish each transgression; Especial, rams that cross

Zipporah,[17] the scauldin' jad, Was like a bluidy tiger I' th' inn that day. There, try his mettle on the creed, And bind him down wi' caution, That

vigour, How graceless Ham[15] leugh at his dad, Which made Canaan a niger; Or Phineas[16] drove the murdering blade, Wi' wh-re-abhorring rigour; Or

wrang her, For Heresy is in her pow'r, And gloriously she'll whang her Wi' pith this day. Come, let a proper text be read, An' touch it aff wi'

An' lilt wi' holy clangor; O' double verse come gie us four, An' skirl up the Bangor: This day the Kirk kicks up a stoure, Nae mair the knaves shall

he's the boy will blaud her! He'll clap a shangan on her tail, An' set the bairns to daud her Wi' dirt this day. Mak haste an' turn King David owre,

that imp o' hell, Cam in wi' Maggie Lauder;[14] But Oliphant aft made her yell, An' Russell sair misca'd her; This day Mackinlay taks the flail, And

Laigh Kirk, ane an' a', An' there tak up your stations; Then aff to Begbie's in a raw, An' pour divine libations For joy this day. Curst Common-Sense,

THE ORDINATION. Kilmarnock wabsters fidge an' claw, An' pour your creeshie nations; An' ye wha leather rax an' draw, Of a' denominations, Swith to the

An' monie jobs that day begin May end in houghmagandie Some ither day.

o' lasses! Their hearts o' stane, gin night, are gane, As saft as ony flesh is. There's some are fou o' love divine; There's some are fou o' brandy;

their shoon: Wi' faith an' hope, an' love an' drink, They're a' in famous tune For crack that day. How monie hearts this day converts O' sinners and

tow, Begins to jow an' croon; Some swagger hame, the best they dow, Some wait the afternoon. At slaps the billies halt a blink, Till lasses strip

be mindfu' ance yoursel How bonnie lads ye wanted, An' dinna, for a kebbuck-heel, Let lasses be affronted On sic a day! Now Clinkumbell, wi' ratlin