Satan's warehouse door, or, Water Willie's new mode of purifying his hands

SATAN’S

WAREHOUSE DOOR;

OR

WATER WILLIE’S

New Mode of Purifying his HANDS:

BEING AN EXTRACT FROM

THE BOOK OF FATE.

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Then shewing me the Book o’ Fate,
That hidden myst’ries solved;
Besides, a Glass to penetrate
What was in doubt involved;
Said, “ I shall set before your eyes,
What mortal never saw yet;
The dusky tow’rs o’ terror rise,
Wi’ what is to befa’ yet.”

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GLASGOW: PRINTED BY D. McKENZIE, FOR THE AUTHOR,

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1808

SATAN’s WAREHOUSE DOOR,
&c. &c. &c.

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When martinmas is drawin’ near
⁠And trade Iooks flat an’ lowran.
It puts poor bodies in a steer
⁠To get a’ matters o’er han’—
Now fast approaching was the hour,
⁠The time the heal half year in,
The landlord, wi’ a greedy glowr,
⁠Comes for the tenant speerin’.

Good right had I to mind the laird—
⁠I push’d—I swat—I rumpet,
Wi' scarcely time to shave my beard,
⁠Aff to the warehouse stumpet;
Where sat a sample o’ our tribe,
⁠ That some has made their sport o’,
Wi’ looks sufficient to describe
⁠What telling would fa’ short o’.}}

I there forgather’d wi’ a crew
⁠O’ chills I brawly kent ance;
Then, o’er a glass we maun renew
⁠Our maist-run out acquaintance.
Wi’ right good-will, an’ merry glee,
⁠Aff to a houf we linket,
Whare ream’d the yill, an’ for a wee
⁠The stoupie loudly clinket.
The passing glass, and sight o’ mair.
⁠Set every heart a glowin’;
And now the frozen cords o’ Care
⁠Most rapidly were thowin’:
Mirth universally prevails.
⁠Each face wi’ pleasure brightens;
Whilst wit, in quick successive peals,
⁠The gloom o’ Care enlightens.

But Happiness! thou aim o’ life,
⁠Tho’ for a-wee victorious,
If Care contend, ay in the strife
⁠Thou fa’s, or flees inglorious.
Frugality now frae the nook
⁠Was takin’ observation.
And, wi’ a grave commanding look,
⁠Began this short narration;

“My worthy friends, ye little think
⁠That this is a’ delusion;
Por, in proportion as ye drink,
⁠Ye’re heapin’ up confusion;
The night, tho’ ye forget your lairds,
⁠Your every Care and sorrow,
Be ye assur’d, for your regards,
⁠ They’ll think of you to-morrow.
To part in peace is my advice;
⁠ Then cease your botheration,
Or it may cost you yet the price
⁠ O’ a sequestration.”

Then steering hame, wi’ something mair
⁠Than some folk reckons plenty,
I look’d on every thing as square,
⁠ And sung a sang how dainty.
Wi’ plans in plenty now afloat,
⁠ Wi’ mair in prospect rising,
And auld resolves amaist forgot,
⁠ I gaed to bed revising.

I clearly saw o’er every ill
⁠ That had sae lately grieved,
And wonder’d that my stupid skull
⁠ Nae sooner had perceived;
But scarcely had I clos’d my ee,
⁠ When I began a plungin’;
Then, as I thought, baith bed an’ me,
⁠ Into some darksome dungeon.

Now deep an’ deeper down I fell,
⁠ Terrific yet to think o’t,
I thought that I was gaun to hell,
⁠ An’ just upon the brink o’t,
When, lo! a voice frae Night’s dark womb,
⁠ Baith loud and shrill resounded,
And rapidly dispell’d the gloom
⁠ By which I was surrounded;
Then presently a hoary Sage,
⁠ Wi’ countenance commanding,
Who seem’d the vera sire o’ age,
⁠ Was at my elbock standing:
“O what art thou?—and where am I?”
⁠Were my interrogations.
“Come, follow me,” was the reply,
⁠“And have a little patience.”

Then shewing me the Book o’ Fate,
⁠ That hidden myst’ries solved;
Besides, a Glass to penetrate
⁠ What was in doubt involved;
Said, “I shall set before your eyes
⁠What mortal never saw yet;
The dusky tow’rs o’ terror rise,
⁠Wi’ what is to befa’ yet.”

In deep perplexity immur’d,
⁠A little on he led me,
Then something, just like Jonah’s gourd,
⁠He hoisted up to shed me.
“ See, then—there stands a vale in view,
⁠Whase rising sides, romantic,
Like prison wa’s, o’ dusky hue,
⁠Are mouldering, rude, an’ antique;
Yon grand procession, at the end,
⁠Wha seem sae sair dejected,

In G———w ance were brawly ken’d,
⁠And muckle there respected,
They’re gaun to Satan’s warehouse-door,
⁠’Twixt hope and fear suspended,
Although their wark has gane before,
⁠ And loudly there commended,
Yon chosen guards, wha tak’ the lead,
⁠Keep watching late and early,
Wi’ their bold champion on their head—
⁠ Spring Water W——— ———}}

“He’s fashion’d o’ a cross-grain stock.
⁠That’s sooner broke than bendit;
Yet he’s bell wedder o’ the flock.
⁠Resolving to defend it;
He never yet a step would take
⁠That conscience over-reached;
But when his interest lay at stake,
⁠It canniely was stretched;
And when disputes, o’ church or state,
⁠Ca’d forth his tongue to wield it,
Sae skill'd in law, he would, tho’ beat,
⁠Be sooner damn’d than yield it.

“ He’s set beyond the fear o’ hell,
⁠By conscious approbation,
An’ wish’d his weavers like himsel’,
⁠Were wordy o’ salvation.
He lang had seen the arrogance
⁠Prosperity ingender’d,
And griev’d to think, that by the fence
⁠Sae thoughtlessly they wander’d:
He saw, that keeping up the price
⁠Was just the way to damn them;
But taking aff the tither slice
⁠Was just the way to tame them———

Now wi’ humility an’ rue,
⁠Already he has cram’d them,
And left them just as scant o’ woo
⁠As when their mothers lamb’d them—
Thus he rescues them frae the Tod,
⁠Tho’ maist within his clutches,
A double aim—It serves his God,
⁠And fills his greedy poutches.

But then, to save the thoughtless brutes,
⁠That here and there had dauner’d,
Sae eager were his sharp look-outs,
⁠That he himsel’ has wander’d;
He thinks na he’s sae near the den
⁠Where Lowrie lurks to watch him,
He blindly goes, nor well he ken,
⁠Till he spring out and snatch him.

See! yonder stands the dismal gate,
⁠Just opening to receive them,
Whilst their last hope, to hear it grate,
⁠Is on the wing to leave them:
Hae, put this trumpet to your lug.
⁠And for a weeock rest ye,
Then ye shall hear, and see incog.
⁠Wi’ naething to molest ye!’

Then I beheld the Service-room,
⁠Black, horrible, and dusky,
Wi’ bleezes mingling wi’ the gloom,
⁠That look’d like lowan whiskey;
And'warkmanship o’ blackest grain,
⁠Wi’ twa three chosen swatches,
That, faith! for some o’ Satan’s ain,
⁠Was even mair than matches;
The fleecing sheers were also there,
⁠Besides the screw and grunstane,
Wi’ Satan, in an easy chair,
⁠O het an’ lowan brunstane,
His under strappers at his lug,
⁠Gleg on the watch were station’d.
Each, like a true Rat-catcher’s dog.
⁠As nimble as impatient.
The grand procession, snug and tight,
⁠Were in the lobby ranged.
And Satan at the pleasing sight,
⁠Frae black to blacker changed.—

O Willy, were na ye a fool
⁠Although ye dinna think it,
Your Colleagues made o’ you a tool,
⁠To echo what they clinket—
But, hark! a sound! now gaping Hell
⁠Re-echoes from its centre,
And you O Willie! at the bell,
⁠As first in hand maun enter.

He scarcely poppet in his nose,
⁠When Hell began to thunder,
Wi’ peals on peals, o’ loud applause;
⁠For Willie was a wonder.

But Satan, frowning, rais’d his voice,
“ Forbear, nor set so high a price
⁠⁠On sic a worthless thing;
Is it for him—For sic as he,
That’s neither good for God nor me,
⁠⁠That hell should loudly ring?
Forbear your cheering for a–wee
⁠⁠There’s plenty at the door
Deserving a’ that ye can gie,
⁠⁠And even rather more—
Then let now, the Gloit now,
⁠⁠Be quickly handed hence,
⁠And moor’d, and secur’d in
⁠⁠The dungeon o’ suspense.”

Then Willie, just like ane o’ worth,
⁠Was by a Daemon handed
Ben to the snug and canny birth,
⁠As Satan had commanded;
But gied a squeak, like oney rat,
⁠In horrid desperation,
When seiz’d securly by the Cat,
⁠And kens there's nae salvation.

Now A———w M———tentily,
⁠Was station’d at the key-hole,
And brawly he cou’d hear and see;
⁠For it was not a wee hole.—
Struck with his predecessor’s fate,
⁠Though loudly ca’d to enter,
The first time in his life grew blate,
⁠And laith was he to venture.

He ca’d on Courage to his aid;
⁠But Courage didna hear him:
He ca’d on Hope; but Hope had fled,
⁠And Mercy cou’d na bear him—
What must be must—He ventures ben,
⁠Wi’ heavy heart, an’daunted,
And, looking just as blunt as ane
⁠That had na been acquainted.

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.

For instance—there’s yon lawless shot—
⁠And hapless she that felt it—
Had not the Third—ye would your throat
⁠Hae sooner cut than tell’d it;
But ye denied as lang’s ye cou’d,
⁠Regardless tho’ ye wrang’d her,
Although, when in yon merry mood,
⁠Ye brewly kent ye bang’d her.

“Let Hell resound,” then Satan cries,
⁠“ Behold a brother in disguise,
That merits your applause;
⁠Tho’ ance clad in a wedder’s skin,
It happet hut a Ted within,
⁠Wi’ gaping, greedy jaws
Just like mysel’—The lyart clock—
⁠AJy chosen hap and biel’,
By which, upon the thonghtless flock,
⁠Insensibly I steal.
⁠Then, hark ye, i’ll mark ye.
⁠⁠Exalted ye shall be,
⁠And fondled, and dandled,
⁠⁠Upon your daddie’s knee.”

Then catching A––w by the lugs,
⁠First face and features traces,
Then fondly his dear darling huggs,
⁠In his rude rough embraces—

Now Humphy G———, your name is cried,
⁠Ye’re noted down a true ane;—
As good a hand as ever tried
⁠The twisting or the screwin’;
Tho’ ye, amang the Vulture breed,
⁠Were never reckon’d ponderous;
Yet, like the Sparrow-Hawk, your greed
⁠An’ cunning has been wonderous,
For ay the Fleecing-Sheers ye plied
⁠Wi’ activeness and keenness,
And gart them bear upon the hide,
⁠Whiles deeper than the skin is:
But yonder stands your just account,
⁠O’ broad and lengthened pages,
O’ which ye’ll get the full amount
⁠O’ your weel earned wages.
Then hearing, as he thought, his praise,
⁠Nae langer douhtfu’ saunter’d,
But just (to use a sodger’s phrase)
⁠Right shoulders forward enter’d.