No. From Their thrones amid the stars
They glower athwart the land
Implacable, with 'eye like Mars
To threaten and command.'
Too cold, too truculent, to stay
The awful bolt They fling,
They make no bones about it—They
Are pleased to do this thing!
Blind to the victim's mask of woe,
Deaf to his poignant howls,
No pity stirs Their bosoms, no
Reluctance wrings Their bow'ls!
By prompt and ready cash alone
Their wrath shall be appeased
Who pile it on like gods, and own,
Like men, to being pleased.
THE WOOIN' O' TUMMAS
After R. B.
Tummas Katt cam' roun' to woo,
Ha, ha, the wooin' o't;
Lichtly sang ta lang nicht thro',
Ha, ha, the mewin' o't;
Tabbie, winsome, tim'rous beast,
Speakit: 'Tummas, hand tha' weist!
Girt auld Tummas 'gan inseest;
Ha, ha, the doin' o't!
Tabbie laucht, an' brawly fleired,
Ha, ha, the fleirin' o't;
Tummas,—ech! but Tummas speired
Ha, ha, the speirin' o't;
Sic an awesome, fearfu' screep,
Wakin' a' aroun' frae sleep;
Fegs, it gar'd the Gudeman weep!
Ha, ha, the hearin' o't!
Quoth the Gudeman: 'Dairm his een!'
Ha, ha, the swearin' o't;
'Muckle fasht was I yestreen,
A' thro' the bearin' o't!
Ere the sonsie moon was bricht,
Clean awa' till mornin' licht,
Mickle sleep was mine the nicht;
Ha, ha, the wearin' o't!'
'Where are noo ma booties twa?
Ha, ha, the stoppin' o't;
'Tis mysel' shall gar him fa';
Ha, ha, the coppin' o't!
'Gin a bootie, strang an' stoot,
Sneckit Tummas roun' ta snoot,
Winna Tummas gang frae oot?
Ha, ha, the droppin' o't!'