13
Then Satan, bending frae his throne,
Most heartily caress’d him,
And in a sweet paternal tone,
Endearingly address’d him:
Ye’re welcome to your weel won hame.
My true and trusty servant,
For ye were neither lag nor lame
To make yoursel’ deservin’t;
Haud up your face, and look na blate,
Depend I’ll not neglect ye.
Ye’ve gtown sae like myseP o’ late,
I canna but respect ye.
The child o’ self—your patron’s pride,—
The brag o’ my dominions;
For when your interest chang’d its side,
Then chang’d ye your opinions;
For when wi’ Paisley flock ye fed.
Ye bleather’d loud amang them;
But when ye got to yon Green-bead,
Ye turn’d about to bang them!—
Then, nane wi’ greater glee reveal’d
Another’s fau’ts an’ failings,
But ay right prudently conceal’d
Your ain unhallow’d dealings.
