epistle to the rev john &039;ath
sept 13, 1785
closg a py of “holy willie&039;s prayer,”
which he had reested, sept 17, 1785
while at the stook the shearers w&039;r
to shun the bitter bud&039; show&039;r,
or gulrava rn swr
to pass the ti,
to you i dedicate the hour
idle rhy
y ie, tir&039;d wi&039; ony a n
on gown, an&039; ban&039;, an&039; doe bck bon,
is grown right eerie now she&039;s done it,
lest they should b her,
an&039; roe their holy thunder on it
an anathe her
i own &039;as rash, an&039; rather hardy,
that i, a siple, untry bardie,
should ddle wi&039; a pack sae sturdy,
wha, if they ken ,
can easy, wi&039; a sgle wordie,
lowse hell upon
but i gae ad at their griaces,
their sigh, cant, grace-proud faces,
their three-ile prayers, an&039; half-ile graces,
their rax nscience,
whase greed, reven, an&039; pride disgraces
waur nor their nonsense
there&039;s gaw&039;n, isca&039;d waur than a beast,
wha has air honour his breast
than ony sres as guid&039;s the priest
wha sae ab&039;d hi:
and ay a bard no crack his jest
what way they&039;ve &039;d hi?
see hi, the poor an&039;s friend need,
the ntlean word an&039; deed—
an&039; shall his fa an&039; honour bleed
by worthless, skels,
an&039; not a e erect her head
to we the blels?
o pope, had i thy satire&039;s darts
to gie the rascals their deserts,
i&039;d rip their rotten, hollow hearts,
an&039; tell aloud
their juggl hoc-poc arts
to cheat the crowd
god knows, i&039; no the thg i should be,
nor a i even the thg i uld be,
but enty tis i rather would be
an atheist clean,
than under gospel lours hid be
jt for a screen
an honest an ay like a gss,
an
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