Lord, bless Thy chosen in this place,
For here Thou hast a chosen race:
But God confound their stubborn face,
And blast their name,
Wha bring Thy elders to disgrace
And public shame.
Lord, mind Cawn Hamilton's deserts,
He drinks, and swears, and plays at cartes[224],
Yet has sae mony takin' arts,
Wi' grit an' sma'[225],