Or, your more dreaded hell to state, VI. Ye high exalted, virtuous dames, Before ye gie poor Frailty names, VII. Then gently scan your brother man, Tho' they may gang a kenning wrang, To step aside is human: One point must still be greatly dark, The moving why they do it; And just as lamely can ye mark VIII. Who made the heart, 'tis he alone Decidedly can try us; He knows each chord, its various tone, Then at the balance let's be mute, What's done we partly may compute But know not what's resisted THE TWA HERDS.* O'ye pious, godly flocks, Weel fed on pastures orthodox, Wha now will keep you frae the fox, Or wha will tent the waifs and crocks, The twa best herds in a' the wast, Hae had a bitter, black out-cast Atween themsel'. O M———y, man, and wordy R—————11, The L-d's cause ne'er gat sic a twistle O, sirs! whae'er wad hae expeckit, Ye, wha were ne'er by lairds respeckit To wear the plaid, * This piece was among the first of our author's productions whica he submitted to the public, and was occasioned by a dispute between >wo clergymen, near Kilmarnock. But by the brutes themselves eleckit What flock wi' M-y's flock could rank? Frae Calvin's well, ay clear, they drank, The thummart wil'-cat, brock, and tod, And weel he lik'd to shed their bluid, What herd like R-11 tell'd his tale? And saw gin they were sick or hale, He fine a mangy sheep could scrub, Could shake them o'er the burning dub, Sic twa! O do I live to see't! While new-light herds, wi' laughin spite, Say neither's lyin'! A' ye wha tent the gospel fauld, There's D ―n deep, and P---s shaul, But chiefly thou, apostle A—d, We trust in thee, That thou wilt work them, hot and cauld, Consider, sirs, how we're beset, There's scarce a new herd that we get, I hope frae heav'n to see them yet D e has been lang our fae, That aft hae made us black and blae, Anld W- -w lang has hatch'd mischief, Ane to succeed him; A chiel wha'll soundly buff our beef, And monie a ane that I could tell, There S-h for ane I doubt he's but a gray nick quill, O! a' ye flocks, o'er a' the hills, And get the brutes the pow'r themsels Then Orthodoxy yet may prance, Be banish'd o'er the sea to France; Then Shaw's and D'rymple's eloquence, And guid M’—————h, Wi' S-th, wha thrc' the heart can glance, May a pack aff. |