O Wives be mindfu', ance yourfel, An' dinna, for a kebbuck-heel, Let laffes be affronted On fic a day! XXVI. Now Clinkumbell, wi' rattlan tow, Begins to jow an' croon; Some swagger hame, the best they dow, Some wait the afternoon. At flaps the billies halt a blink, Wi' faith an' hope, an' love an' drink, They're a' in famous tune For crack that day. XXVII. How monie hearts this day converts, O' finners and o' Laffes! Their hearts o' ftane, gin night are gane, As faft as ony flesh is. There's fome are fou o' love divine; An' monie jobs that day begin, Some ither day. ADDRESS то THE DE IL. O Prince, O chief of many throned pow'rs, MILTON. O Thou, whatever title fuit thee! Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie, Wha in yon cavern grim an' footie, Clof'd under hatches, Spairges about the brunftane cootie, To fcaud poor wretches! Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee, Ev'n to a deil, To skelp an' fcaud poor dogs like me, An' hear us fqueel! Great is thy pow'r, an' great thy fame; Far kend an' noted is thy name; An' tho' yon lowan heugh's thy hame, Thou travels far; An' faith! thou's neither lag nor lame, Nor blate nor fcaur. Whyles, ranging like a roaran lion, For prey, a' holes an' corners tryin; Whyles, on the ftrong-wing'd Tempest flyin, Tirlan the kirks; Whyles, in the human bosom pryin, Unfeen thou lurks. I've heard my rev'rend Graunie fay, In lanely glens ye like to stray; Or where auld, ruin'd caftles, gray, Nod to the moon, Ye fright the nightly wand'rer's way, Wi' eldritch croon. When twilight did my Graunie fummon, To say her pray'rs, doufe, honeft woman! Aft 'yont the dyke fhe's heard you bum man, Wi' eerie drone; Or, rustling, thro' the boortries coman, Wi' heavy groan. Ae dreary, windy, winter night, The ftars fhot down wi' fklentan light, Wi' you, myfel, I gat a fright, Ayont the lough; Ye, like a rafb-bufs, stood in fight, Wi' waving fugh. The cudgel in my nieve did shake, Each briftl'd hair stood like a stake, When wi' an eldritch, ftoor quaick, quaick, Amang the springs, G |