Offerin and Aaron,
Ye burn hert and brain;
And dertin and daurin,
Flee back to yer ain!
Ye wee minor prophet,
It's 'maist my belief
'At I'm doon in Tophet,
And you abune grief!
Ye've deavt me and daudit
And ca'd me a fule:
I'm nearhan' persuaudit
To gang to your schule!
For, birdie, I'm thinkin
Ye ken mair nor me—
Gien ye haena been drinkin,
And sing as ye see.
Ye maun hae a sicht 'at
Sees gay and far ben,
And a hert, for the micht o' 't,
Wad sair for nine men!
There's somebody's been til
Roun saft to ye wha
Said birdies are seen til,
And e'en whan they fa'!
GODLY BALLANTS.
I.—THIS SIDE AN' THAT.
The rich man sat in his father's seat—
Purple an' linen, an' a'thing fine!
The puir man lay at his yett i' the street—
Sairs an' tatters, an' weary pine!
To the rich man's table ilk dainty comes,
Mony a morsel gaed frae't, or fell;
The puir man fain wud hae dined on the crumbs,
But whether he got them I canna tell.