An' screeden down, wi' wicked han',
0' my deep laid successfu' plan;
Vexed at the idlest o' man,
Your faither Adam;
That got him sent to till the lan',
Him and his madam.
You are like money I ha'e saw,
For though ye kenned I caused the fa',
An' as ye say, "maist ruined a',"
In that same hour,
You did na strive to get ava
Out o' my power
At Kirk you'd neither pray nor praise,
But on the lassies ye wad gaze,
Notice neat feet, blue eyes, fine claes,
Or Jenny's bonnet,
An makin rhyme on what ye ha'e,
Seen creeping on it.
Hech Rab ye were na blate ava,
Ae time ye're mockin Kirk an' a',
An' then tae me ye gie' your jaw,
Or my abode,
An' tell how weel I laid my claw
On patient Job.
Aye! an' although ye richt weel knew
That I wi' masons had to do
Ye could na' rest, oh, no, not you!
Till numbered wi' them;
Gi'en your "heart's warm fond adieu,"
When gaun to lea them.
An' aft ye did your sire provoke,
By jest and jeer at better folk,
A' solemn thought wad end in smoke,
Sae wad his teachin',
And fun wad fly in jibe an' joke
At lang faced preachin'.
The mair they frowned, you joked the mair,
0' grave ye had a scanty share,
The verra text ya wadna spare,
Be't e'er sae holy,
An' rhymin' ower the pithy prayer
O' pious Willie
Aye' Rab, ye, rail it at me and mine,
Yet hungert after things divine,
I kenn'd how sairly ye wad pine,
For deeds ill done;
Ower talents lost, ower wasted time,
For sake o' fun
An' then remorse wi' pickled rod,
Wad gie' ye mony a lash an' prod,
But aye ye went the rantin' road,
An prone tae err,
You sair misca'd douce men o' God
An Holy Fair.
I winna say it is untrue
What's certified o' me by you,
If ilka ane their duty'd do
As quick an' weel,
As I, my certie! they'd get through,
Spite o' the De'il.