And wha was it but grumphie

Asteer that night?

Meg fain wad to the barn gaen,

To winn three wechts o naething,

But for to meet the Deil her lane,

She pat but little faith in:

She gies the herd a pickle nits,

An twa red-cheekit apples,

To watch, while for the barn she sets,

In hopes to see Tam Kipples

That vera night.

She turns the key wi cannie thraw,

An owre the threshold ventures;

But first on Sawnie gies a ca’,

Syne bauldly in she enters:

A ratton rattl’d up the wa’,

An she cry’d Lord preserve her!

An ran thro midden-hole an a’,

An pray’d wi zeal and fervour,

Fu fast that night.

They hoy’t out Will, wi sair advice;

They hecht him some fine braw ane;

It chanc’d the stack he faddom’t thrice,

Was timmer-propt for thrawin;

He taks a swirlie, auld moss-oak

For some black, gruesome carlin;

An loot a winze, an drew a stroke,

Till skin in blypes cam haurlin

Aff’s nieves that night.

A wanton widow Leezie was,

As cantle as a kittlin;

But och! that night, amang the shaws,

She gat a fearful settlin!

She thro the whins, an by the cairn,

An owre the hill gaed scrievin;

Whare three lairds’ lands met at a burn,

To dip her left sark-sleeve in,

Was bent that night.

Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays,

As thro the glen it wimpl’t;

Whyles round a rocky scaur it strays,

Whyles in a wiel it dimpl’t;

Whyles glitter’d to the nightly rays,

Wi bickerin, dancin dazzle;

Whyles cookit underneath the braes,

Below the spreading hazel

Unseen that night.

Amang the brachens, on the brae,

Between her an the moon,

The Deil, or else an outler quey,

Gat up an gae a croon:

Poor Leezie’s heart maist lap the hool;

Near lavrock-height she jumpit,

But mist a fit, an in the pool

Out-owre the lugs she plumpit,

Wi a plunge that night.

In order, on the clean hearth-stane,

The luggies three are ranged;

An ev’ry time great care is taen

To see them duly changed;

Auld uncle John, wha wedlock’s joys

Sin’ Mar’s-year did desire,

Because he gat the toom dish thrice,

He heav’d them on the fire,

In wrath that night.

Wi merry sangs, an friendly cracks,

I wat they did na weary:

And unco tales, an funnie jokes,

Their sports were cheap an cheery:

Till butter’d so’ns, wi fragrant lunt,

Set a’ their gabs a steerin;

Syne, wi a social glass o strunt,

They parted aff careerin

Fu blythe that night.

ADDRESS TO THE DEIL

O Prince! O chief of many throned pow’rs!

That led th’embattl’d seraphim to war.

– MILTON

O Thou! whatever title suit thee –

Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie –

Wha in yon cavern grim an sootie,

Clos’d under hatches,

Spairges about the brunstane cootie,

To scaud poor wretches!

Hear me, Auld Hangie, for a wee,

An let poor damned bodies be;

I’m sure sma’pleasure it can gie,

Ev’n to a deil,