Spent wi’ frequent prayer and fasting.
A’ ceas’d when thae twin butchers roar’d,
And hell’s grim hangman stopt and glowr’d.
‘Fy, gar bake a pie in haste,
Knead it of infernal paste,’
Quo’ Satan; and in his mitten’d hand
He hynt up bluidy Cumberland,
And whittled him down like bow-kail castock,
And in his hettest furnace roasted.
Now hell’s black tableclaith was spread,