16 THE DOMINIE DEPOS'D.
Conſider, ſirs, now this his crime, 'Tis no like hers, or yours, or mine, He's juſt next thing to a divine, An' wow, 'tis odd, Sic men ſhou'd a' their ſenſes tine, An' fear o' God.
'Tis ſtrange what maks kirk fouk ſae ſtupid, To mak or meddle wi' the fuca'it, Or mint to preach in fic a pu’pit, The ſenſeleſs fools, Far better for them hunt the tyouchet Or teach their ſchools.
They hunt about frae houſe to houſe, Juſt as a taylor hunts a louſe, Still girding at the barley-juice, An' aft get drunk, They plump into ſome open fluice, Where a' is funk.
A plague upo' that oil o' ma't, That weary drink is a' their fau't, It made our Dominie to hau't; The text fulfil Which bids caſt out the fateleſs fa's On the dunghill.
They are fae fed, they ly fae faſt, They are ſae hain'd, they grow ſae daft; This breeds ill wiles, ye ken, fu' aft In the black coat, poor Meſs John, an' the prieſt-craft, Gaes ti' the pot.
I tald
