For a' the real judges rise, A lift that day. XV. What signifies his barren shine Or some auld pagan Heathen, That's right that day. XVI. In guid time comes an antidote Fast, fast, that day. A street so called, which faces the tent in XVII. Wee ****** niest, the guard relieves, An' Orthodoxy raibles, Tho' in his heart he weel believes, An' thinks it auld wives' fables: XVIII. Now butt an' ben, the change-house fills. An' there the pint-rtowp clatters; While thick an' thrang, an' loud an" lang Wi' logic, an' wi' Scripture, They raise a din, that in the end, Is like to breed a rupture O' wrath that day. XIX.. Leeze me on Drink! it gies us mair It kindles wit, it waukens lair, It never fails, on drinking deep, To kittle up our notion By night or day. XX. The lads an' lasses, blithely bent On this ane's dress, an' that ane's leuk, An' formin assignations To meet some day. XXI. But now the L-d's ain trumpet touts, His piercing words, like Highland swords, His talk o' H-ll, where devils dwell, Our vera sauls does harrow* Wi' fright that day. XXII. A vast, unbottom'd boundless pit, Wad melt the hardest whun-stane ! The half asleep start up wi' fear, Shakespeare's Hamlet. When presently it does appear, XXIII. "Twad be owre lang a tale, to tell How monie stories past, An' how they crowded to the yill, When they were a' dismist: How drink gaed round, in cogs an' caups, Amang the furms an' benches: An' cheese an' bread, frae women's laps, Was dealt about in lunches, An' dawds that day. XXIV. In comes a gaucie, gash Guidwife, Frae side to side they bother, An' gies them't like a tether, XXV. Waesucks! for him that gets nae lass, Sma' need has he to say a grace, Or melvie his braw claithing! O wives, be mindfu', ance yoursel, On sic a day! XXVI. Now Clinkumbell, wi' rattlin tow, Some swagger home, the best they dow, - Some wait the afternoon. At slaps the billies halt a blink, Wi' faith and hope, an' love an' drink, They're a' in famous tune, For crack that day. XXVII. How monie hearts this day converts O' sinners and o' lasses ! Their hearts o' stane gin night are gane, There's some are fou o' love divine; An' monie jobs that day begin, May end in Houghmagandio |