The wark o’ an Egyptian Tory—
I kent the loon.
Your tale o’ Job, the man o’ Uz,
Wi’ reekit claes, and reested guiz,
My hornie hooves, and brockit phiz,
Wi’ ither clatter,
Is maistly, after a’ the bizz,
A moonshine matter.
Auld Job, I kent the carl right weel;
An honest, decent, kintra chiel’