PRESCRIPT
OF THE
* *
What may this mean,
That thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel,
Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon,
Making night hideous; and we fools of nature,
So horridly to shake our disposition,
With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?
An' now auld Cloots, I ken ye're thinkin',
A certain Ghoul is rantin', drinkin',
Some luckless night will send him linkin',
To your black pit;
But, faith! he'll turn a corner jinkin',
And cheat you yet.
Creed.
We the * * reverently acknowledge the Majesty and Supremacy of the Divine being, and recognize the Goodness and Providence of the Same.
Preamble.