POEM.
A SHOT ROUND A CORNER, &c.
What ails ye noo ye graceless set ?
Yere maken sic palavers;
Sagacious Presbytery met
To listen tae yere havers.
What though yere filthy souls aye get
The choicest Heavenly favours;
This is the way ye pay your debt,
For a our best endeavours
For you ilk day.
Weel might we thole yere dreary craw,
Sic endless ways assertin’,
Like us the worthies o’ the Law
Hae thought ye aft devertin’;
But noo ye plague us waur then a’
Vile opposition startin’,
In yonder hell hound’s ceaseless jaw
Our principles aye thwartin.
What ere we dae.
Lord save us frae the hair-brain’d folk,
Sour milk and butter gentry,
Wha wad thy servants, Lord, provoke,
Tae drive them frae the kintra;
They want our siller and thy flock,
Be thou our guide and sentry;
Gin ere at Heaven’s door they knock,
Debar, oh Lord, their entry
Tae realms o’ day.
