He drinks, an swears, an’ plays at cartes,
Yet has sae monie takin’ arts,
Wi’ great and sma’,
Frae God’s ain priests the people’s hearts
He steals awa’.
An’ whan we chasten’d him therefore,
Thou kens how he bred sic a splore,
As set the warld in a roar
O’ laughin’ at us,
Curse thou his basket and his store,