There'll be, if that date come, I'll wad a bod- | Gaunt, ghastly, ghaist-alluring edifices,
dle, Some fewer whigmeleeries in your noddle.
Auld Vandal, ye but show your little mense, Just much about it wi' your scanty sense; Will your poor, narrow foot-path of a street, Where twa wheel-barrows tremble when they meet,
Your ruin'd, formless bulk o' stane an' lime, Compare wi' bonnie Brigs o' modern time?
Hanging with threat'ning jut, like precipices; O'er arching, mouldy, gloom-inspiring coves Supporting roofs fantastic, stony groves: Windows and doors, in nameless sculpture drest,
With order, symmetry, or taste unblest; Forms like some bedlam statuary's dream, The craz'd creations of misguided whim; Forms might be worshipp'd on the bended knee,
And still the second dread command be free, Their likeness is not found on earth, in air, or
There's men o' taste would tak the Ducat-Mansions that would disgrace the building
Tho' they should cast the very sark an swim, Ere they would grate their feelings wi' the
Of sie an ugly Gothic hulk as you.
Conceited gowk! puff'd up wi' windy pride!
This monie a year I've stood the flood an' tide; And tho' wi' crazy eild I'm sair forfairn, I'll be a Brig, when ye're a shapeless cairn! As yet ye little ken about the matter, But twa-three winters will inform you better, When heavy, dark, continued, a'-day rains, Wi' deepening deluges o'erflow the plains; When from the hills where springs the brawl- ing Coil,
Or stately Lugar's mossy fountains boil,
Or where the Greenock winds his moorland course,
Or haunted Garpalt draws his feeble source, Arous'd by blust'ring winds an' spotting
In mony a torrent down his sna-broo rowes; While crashing ice, borne on the roaring speat, Sweeps dams, an' mills, an' brigs, a to the gate;
Of any mason, reptile, bird, or beast; Fit only for a doited Monkish race, Or frosty maids forsworn the dear embrace, Or cuifs of later times, wha held the notion That sullen gloom was sterling true devotion; Fancies that our guid Brugh denies protection, And soon may they expire, unblest with re- surrection!
O ye, my dear-remember'd, ancient yealings, Were ye but here to share my wounded feel- ings!
Ye worthy Proreses, an' mony a Bailie, Wha in the paths o' righteousness did toil ay; Ye dainty Deacons, and ye douce Conveeners, To whom our moderns are but causey-clean-
Ye godly Councils wha hae blest this town; Ye godly Brethren of the sacred gown, Wha meckly gie your hurdies to the smiters; And (what would now be strange) ye godly Writers:
A'ye douce folk I've borne aboon the broo, Were ye but here, what would ye say or do? How would your spirits groan in deep vex- ation,
And from Glenbuck,‡ down to the Rotton-To see each melancholy alteration;
Auld Ayr is just one lengthen'd, tumbling sea; Then down ye'll hurl, deil nor ye never rise! And dash the gumlie jaups up to the pouring
And, agonizing, curse the time and place When ye begat the base, degen'rate race! Nae langer Rev'rend Men, their country's glory,
In plain braid Scots hold forth a plain braid story!
Nae langer thrifty Citizens, an' douce, Meet owre a pint, or in the Council-house; But staumrel, corky-headed, graceless Gentry, The herryment and ruin of the country; Men, three-parts made by Tailors and by Bar- bers,
Wha waste your well-hain'd gear on d-d new Brigs and Harbours!
Now haud you there! for faith ye've said enough,
And muckle mair than ye can mak to through.
As for your priesthood, I shall say but little, Corbies and Clergy are a shot right kittle: But under favour o' your langer beard, Abuse o' Magistrates might.weel be spar'd: To liken them to your auld-warld squad, I must needs say, comparisons are odd. In Ayr, Wag-wits nae mair can hae a handle To mouth "a Citizen," a term o' scandal: Nae mair the Council waddles down the street,
In all the pomp of ignorant conceit;
Men wha grew wise priggin owre hops an'
Or gather'd lib'ral views in Bonds and Seisins. If haply Knowledge, on a random tramp, Had shor'd them with a glimmer of his lamp, And would to Common-sense, for once be- tray'd them,
Plain, dull Stupidity stept kindly in to aid them.
No man can tell; but all before their sight, A fairy train appear'd in order bright: Adown the glittering stream they featly danc'd;
Bright to the moon their various dresses glanc'd:
They footed o'er the watry glass so neat, The infant ice scarce bent beneath their feet: While arts of Minstrelsy among them rung, And soul-ennobling Bards heroic ditties sung. O had M'Lauchlan,* thairm-inspiring Sage, Been there to hear this heavenly band engage, When thro' his dear Strathspeys they bore with Highland rage,
Or when they struck old Scotia's melting airs, The lover's raptur'd joys or bleeding cares; How would his Highland lug been nobler fir'd, And ev'n his matchless hand with finer touch
For sense they little owe to Frugal Heaven.To please the Mob they hide the litile given.
KILMARNOCK Wabsters fidge an' claw An' pour your creeshie nations; An' ye wha leather rax an' draw,
Of a' denominations,
Swith to the Laigh Kirk, ane an' a'
An' there tak up your stations; Then aff to B-gb-'s in a raw, An' pour divine libations For joy this day
Curst Common Sense that imp o' h-ll, Cam in wi' Maggie Lauder ;* But O ******* aft made her yell, An' R***** sair misca'd her; This day M******* takes the flail, And he's the boy will blaud her! He'll clap a shangan on her tail, An' set the bairns to daub her Wi' dirt this day.
Mak haste an' turn king David owre, An' lilt wi' holy clangor;
*Alluding to a scoffing ballad which was made on the admission of the late Reverend and worthy Mr. L. to the Laigh Kirk
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