Lowse hell upon me. Loose
But I gae mad at their grimaces,
Their sighin', cantin', grace-proud faces,
Their three-mile prayers, and half-mile graces,
Their raxin' conscience, elastic
Whase greed, revenge, an' pride disgraces
Waur nor their nonsense. Worse than
There's Gau'n, misca't waur than a beast,
Wha has mair honour in his breast
Than mony scores as guid's the priest good as