death and doctor hornbook
a true story
books are lies frae end to end,
and great lies were never penn&039;d:
ev&039;n isters they hae been kenn&039;d,
holy rapture,
a rog whid at tis to vend,
and nail&039;t wi&039; scripture
but this that i a gaun to tell,
which tely on a night befell,
is jt as true&039;s the deil&039;s hell
or dubl city:
that e&039;er he nearer es oursel&039;
&039;s a uckle pity
the cchan yill had ade canty,
i was na fou, but jt had plenty;
i stacher&039;d whiles, but yet too tent aye
to free the ditches;
an&039; hillocks, stanes, an&039; bhes, kenn&039;d eye
frae ghaists an&039; witches
the risg oon began to glowre
the distant cunock hills out-owre:
to unt her horns, wi&039; a y pow&039;r,
i set ysel&039;;
but whether she had three or four,
i u&039;d na tell
i was e round about the hill,
an&039; todl down on willie&039;s ill,
settg y staff wi&039; a&039; y skill,
to keep sicker;
tho&039; leeward whiles, agast y will,
i took a bicker
i there wi&039; thg did father,
that pat an eerie swither;
an&039; awfu&039; scythe, out-owre ae shouther,
clear-danglg, hang;
a three-tae&039;d leister on the ither
y, r an&039; ng
its stature see&039;d ng stch ells a,
the eerest shape that e&039;er i saw,
for fient a wa it had ava;
and then its shanks,
they were as th, as sharp an&039; sa&039;
as cheeks o&039; branks
“guid-een,” o&039; i; “friend! hae ye been a,
when ither folk are by sa!”
i see&039;d to ake a kd o&039; stan&039;
but naethg spak;
at length, says i, “friend! whare ye gaun?
will ye go back?”
it spak right howe,—“y na is death,
but be na fley&039;d”—h i, “guid faith,
ye&039;re aybe e to
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