He who disowns the ruin’d Fair-one,

And for her wants and woes does care none;

The wretch that can refuse subsistence

To those whom he has given existence;

He who when at a lass’s by-job,

Defrauds her wi a frig or dry bob;

The coof that stands on clishmaclavers

When women haflins offer favors: –

All who in any way or manner

Disdain the Fornicator’s honor,

We take cognisance thereanent,

The proper Judges competent.

First, Poet Burns he takes the chair,

Allow’d by a’, his title’s fair;

And pass’d nem. con. without dissension,

He has a duplicate pretension. –

Next, Merchant Smith, our worthy Fiscal,

To cow each pertinaceous rascal;

In this, as every other state,

His merit is conspicuous great:

Richmond the third, our trusty Clerk,

The minutes regular to mark,

And sit dispenser of the law,

In absence of the former twa;

The fourth our Messenger At Arms,

When failing all the milder terms,

Hunter, a hearty, willing brother,

Weel skill’d in dead and living leather.

Without Preamble less or more said,

We, body politic aforesaid,

With legal, due Whereas, and Wherefore,

We are appointed here to care for

The interests of our constituents,

And punish contravening truants,

Keeping a proper regulation

Within the lists of Fornication. –

Whereas, our Fiscal, by petition,

Informs us there is strong suspicion,

You, Coachman Dow, and Clockie Brown,

Baith residenters in this town;

In other words, you, Jock, and Sandy,

Hae been at wark at Houghmagandle;

And now when facts are come to light

The matter ye deny outright. –

First, You, John Brown, there’s witness borne,

And affidavit made and sworn,

That ye hae bred a hurly-burly

’Bout Jeany Mitchel’s tirlie-whirlie,

And bloosteed at her regulator,

Till a’ her wheels gang clitter-clatter.

And farther still, ye cruel Vandal,

A tale might even in hell be scandal!

That ye hae made repeated trials

Wi drugs and draps in doctor’s phials,

Mixt, as ye thought, wi fell infusion,

Your ain begotten wean to poosion.

And yet ye are sae scant o grace,

Ye daur to lift your brazen face,

And offer for to take your aith,

Ye never lifted Jeany’s claith. –

But tho’ ye should yourself manswear,

Laird Wilson’s sclates can witness bear,

Ae e’ening of a Mauchline fair,

That Jeany’s masts they saw them bare;

For ye had furled up her sails,

And was at play – at heads and tails. –

Next, Sandy Dow, you’re here indicted

To have, as publickly you’re wyted,

Been clandestinely upward whirlin

The petticoats o Maggy Borelan,

And giein her canister a rattle,

That months to come it winna settle. –

And yet, ye offer your protest,

Ye never herried Maggy’s nest;

Tho, it’s weel ken’d that at her gyvel

Ye hae gien mony a kytch and kyvel. –

Then Brown and Dow, before design’d,

For clags and clauses there subjoin’d,

We, Court aforesaid cite and summon,

That on the fifth o July comin,

The hour o cause, in our Court-ha’,

At Whitefoord’s arms, ye answer Law!