epistle to john ranke
enclosg poes
o rough, rude, ready-witted ranke,
the wale o&039; cks for fun an&039; drk!
there&039;s ony godly folks are thk,
your dreas and tricks
will send you, korah-like, a-sk
straught to auld nick&039;s
ye hae saw ony cracks an&039; cants,
and your wicked, drucken rants,
ye ak a devil o&039; the saunts,
an&039; fill the fou;
and then their failgs, fws, an&039; wants,
are a&039; seen thro&039;
hypocrisy, rcy spare it!
that holy robe, o dna tear it!
spare&039;t for their sakes, wha aften wear it—
the ds bck;
but your curst wit, when it es near it,
rives&039;t aff their back
thk, wicked sner, wha ye&039;re skaithg:
it&039;s jt the be-gown bad an&039; cithg
o&039; saunts; tak that, ye lea&039;e the naethg
to ken the by
frae ony unrenerate heathen,
like you or i
i&039;ve sent you here rhyg ware,
a&039; that i barga&039;d for, an&039; air;
sae, when ye hae an hour to spare,
i will expect,
yon sang ye&039;ll sen&039;t, wi&039; cannie care,
and no neglect
tho&039; faith, sa&039; heart hae i to sg!
y e dow scarcely spread her g;
i&039;ve py&039;d ysel a bonie sprg,
an&039; danc&039;d y fill!
i&039;d better gaen an&039; sair&039;t the kg,
at bunkjer&039;s hill
&039;as ae night tely, y fun,
i gaed a rov&039; wi&039; the gun,
an&039; brought a paitrick to the grun&039;—
a bonie hen;
and, as the ilight was begun,
thought nane wad ken
the poor, wee thg was little hurt;
i straikit it a wee for sport,
ne&039;er thk they wad fash for&039;t;
but, deil-a-care!
body tells the poacher-urt
the hale affair
auld, &039;d hands had taen a note,
that sic a hen had got a shot;
i was spected for the
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