Then you, ye auld, sneck-drawing dog!
Ye came to Paradise incog.,
An' played on man a cursèd brogue,
(Black be your fa'!)
An' gied the infant world a shog,
'Maist ruined a'.
D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz,
Wi' reekit duds and reestit gizz,
Ye did present your smoutie phiz
'Mang better folk,
An' sklented on the man of Uz
Your spitefu' joke?
An' how ye gat him in your thrall,
An' brak him out o' house an' hall,
While scabs and blotches did him gall
Wi' bitter claw,
An' lowsed his ill-tongued wicked scaw,
Was warst ava?
But a' your doings to rehearse,
Your wily snares an' fechtin' fierce,
Sin' that day Michael did you pierce,
Down to this time,
Wad ding a Lallan tongue, or Erse,
In prose or rhyme.
An' now, auld Cloots, I ken ye're thinkin'
A certain Bardie's rantin', drinkin',
Some luckless hour will send him linkin'
To your black pit;
But faith, he'll turn a corner, jinkin',
And cheat you yet.
But, fare ye weel, auld Nickie-ben!
O wad ye tak a thought and men'!
Ye aiblins might—I dinna ken—
Still hae a stake—
I'm wae to think upon yon den,
Even for your sake!"
TAM O' SHANTER.
"When chapman billies leave the street,
And drouthy neebors, neebors meet,
As market days are wearing late,
An' folk begin to tak the gate;
While we sit bousing at the nappy,
An' gettin' fou an' unco happy,
We think na on the lang Scots miles,
The mosses, waters, slaps, an' styles,
That lie between us and our hame,
Where sits our sulky sullen dame,
Gathering her brows like gathering storm,
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.
This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter,
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter;
(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a toun surpasses,
For honest men and bonny lasses.)