And set the warld in a roar

O’ laughin at us;

Curse Thou his basket and his store,

Kail an potatoes. –

Lord, hear my earnest cry and pray’r,

Against that Presbyt’ry o Ayr!

Thy strong right hand, Lord, mak it bare

Upo’ their heads!

Lord, visit them, an dinna spare,

For their misdeeds!

O Lord, my God! that glib-tongu’d Aiken,

My vera heart and flesh are quakin,

To think how we stood sweatin, shakin,

An pish’d wi dread,

While Auld, wi hingin lip, an sneakin,

And hid his head.

Lord, in Thy day o vengeance try him!

Lord, visit them wha did employ him!

And pass not in Thy mercy by them,

Nor hear their pray’r,

But for Thy people’s sake destroy them,

An dinna spare.

But, Lord, remember me and mine

Wi mercies temporal and divine,

That I for grace an gear may shine,

Excell’d by nane,

And a’ the glory shall be Thine!

Amen! Amen!

THE HOLY FAIR

A robe of seeming truth and trust

Hid crafty observation;

And secret hung, with poison’d crust,

The dirk of defamation:

A mask that like the gorget show’d,

Dye-varying on the pigeon;

And for a mantle large and broad,

He wrapt him in Religion.

– HYPOCRISY A-LA-MODE

Upon a simmer Sunday morn,

When Nature’s face is fair,

I walked forth to view the corn,

An snuff the caller air.

The rising sun, owre Galston Muirs

Wi glorious light was glintin;

The hares were hirplin down the furs,

The lavrocks they were chantin

Fu sweet that day.

As lightsomely I glowr’d abroad,

To see a scene sae gay,

Three hizzles, early at the road,

Cam skelpin up the way.

Twa had manteeles o dolefu black,

But ane wi lyart lining;

The third, that gaed a wee aback,

Was in the fashion shining,

Fu gay that day.

The twa appear’d like sisters twin,

In feature, form, an claes;

Their visage wither’d, lang an thin,

An sour as onie slaes;

The third cam up, hap-step-an-lowp

As light as onie lambie,

An wi a curchie low did stoop,

As soon as e’er she saw ine,

Fu kind that day.

Wi bonnet aff, quoth I, ‘Sweet lass,

I think ye seem to ken me;

I’m sure I’ve seen that bonie face,

But yet I canna name ye.’

Quo she, an laughin as she spak,

An taks me by the han’s,

‘Ye, for my sake, hae gien the feck

Of a’ the Ten Comman’s

A screed some day.

‘My name is Fun – your cronie dear,

The nearest friend ye hae:

An this is Superstition here,

An that’s Hypocrisy.

I’m gaun to Mauchline Holy Fair,

To spend an hour in daffin:

Gin ye’ll go there, yon runkl’d pair,

We will get famous laughin

At them this day.’

Quoth I, ‘Wi a’ my heart, I’ll do’t;

I’ll get my Sunday’s sark on,

An meet you on the holy spot;

Faith, we’se hae fine remarkin!’

Then I gaed hame at crowdie-time,

An soon I made me ready;

For roads were clad, frae side to side,