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Then hand in nieve some day we 'll knot it, fist

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Then Muse-inspirin aqua-vitæ

Shall mak us baith sae blythe an' witty,

Till ye forget ye're auld an' gatty,

And be as canty

As ye were nine year less than thretty

Sweet ane an' twenty!

enervated

jolly

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INCLOSING A COPY OF HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER
WHICH HE HAD REQUESTED, SEPT. 17, 1785

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sedate; [Notes]

II

My Musie, tir'd wi' monie a sonnet
On gown an' ban' an' douse black-bonnet,

Is grown right eerie now she's done it,
Lest they should blame her,

An' rouse their holy thunder on it,

And anathém her.

fearful

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Their sighin, cantin, grace-proud faces,

Their three-mile prayers an' hauf-mile graces,

Their raxin conscience,

Whase greed, revenge, an' pride disgraces

Waur nor their nonsense.

There's Gau'n, misca'd waur than a beast,

Wha has mair honor in his breast

Than monie scores as guid's the priest

Wha sae abus't him :

And may a Bard no crack his jest

What way they've use't him?

furious

elastic

Worse than

[Notes]

railers

daunt; blusterers

VI

See him, the poor man's friend in need,
The gentleman in word an' deed-
An' shall his fame an' honor bleed

By worthless skellums,

An' not a Muse erect her head

To cowe the blellums ?

VII

O Pope, had I thy satire's darts
To gie the rascals their deserts,
I'd rip their rotten, hollow hearts,
An' tell aloud

Their jugglin, hocus-pocus arts

To cheat the crowd!

VIII

God knows, I'm no the thing I should be,

Nor am I even the thing I could be,

But twenty times I rather would be

An atheist clean

Than under gospel colors hid be

Just for a screen.

IX

An honest man may like a glass,

An honest man may like a lass;

But mean revenge an' malice fause

He'll still disdain

An' then cry zeal for gospel laws

Like some we ken.

X

They take Religion in their mouth,

They talk o' Mercy, Grace, an' Truth :

For what?

To gie their malice skouth

On some puir wight;

An' hunt him down, o'er right an' ruth,

To ruin streight.

XI

All hail, Religion! Maid divine,
Pardon a Muse sae mean as mine,
Who in her rough imperfect line

Thus daurs to name thee.

To stigmatise false friends of thine

Can ne'er defame thee.

XII

Tho' blotch't and foul wi' monie a stain

An' far unworthy of thy train,

With trembling voice I tune my strain

To join with those

Who boldly dare thy cause maintain

In spite of foes:

false

play

against

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