O Moodie, man, an' wordy Russell,

How could you raise so vile a bustle?

Ye'll see how New-Light herds will whistle, [Notes]

What flock wi' Moodie's flock could rank,

Sae hale an' hearty every shank ?

Nae poison'd, soor Arminian stank

He let them taste;

But Calvin's fountainhead they drank

O, sic a feast!

sound; leg

pond

polecat, wildcat, badger and fox

VI

The thummart, wilcat, brock, an' tod
Weel kend his voice thro' a' the wood;
He smell'd their ilka hole an' road,
Baith out and in;

An' weel he lik'd to shed their bluid
An' sell their skin.

every

if

VII

What herd like Russell tell'd his tale?
His voice was heard thro' muir and dale;
He kend the Lord's sheep, ilka tail,
O'er a' the height;

An' tell'd gin they were sick or hale
At the first sight.

scabbed

puddle

VIII

He fine a mangy sheep could scrub ;
Or nobly swing the gospel club ;
Or New-Light herds could nicely drub
And pay their skin;
Or hing them o'er the burning dub

Or heave them in.

should have

IX

Sic twa-O, do I live to see 't?

Sic famous twa sud disagree't,

Cont.

THE TWA HERDS

23

An' names like villain, hypocrite,

Ilk ither gi'en,

While New-Light herds wi' laughin spite
Say neither's liein!

X

A' ye wha tent the gospel fauld,

Thee Duncan deep, an' Peebles shaul',
But chiefly great apostle Auld,

We trust in thee,

That thou wilt work them hot an' cauld
Till they agree!

XI

Consider, sirs, how we're beset:

There's scarce a new herd that we get

But comes frae 'mang that cursed set
I winna name:

I hope frae heav'n to see them yet
In fiery flame!

XII

Dalrymple has been lang our fae,
M'Gill has wrought us meikle wae,
An' that curs'd rascal ca'd M'Quhae,
An' baith the Shaws,
That aft hae made us black an' blae
Wi' vengefu' paws.

Each other

lying

shallow

will not

much

blue

fellow; bang

XIII

Auld Wodrow lang has hatch'd mischief:
We thought ay death wad bring relief,
But he has gotten to our grief

Ane to succeed him,

A chield wha 'll soundly buff our beef-
I meikle dread him.

more

Besides

[Notes]

XIV

An' monie mae that I could tell,
Wha fain would openly rebel,
Forby turn-coats amang oursel :

There's Smith for ane-

I doubt he's but a greyneck still,
An' that ye'll fin'!

bogs; hillsides

daunt

XV

O a' ye flocks o'er a' the hills,

By mosses, meadows, moors, an' fells,
Come, join your counsel and your skills
To cowe the lairds,

An' get the brutes the power themsels

To chuse their herds!

halter

XVI

Then Orthodoxy yet may prance,
An' Learning in a woody dance,