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| O ROUGH, rude, ready-witted Rankine, | |
| The wale o’ cocks for fun an’ drinkin! | |
| There’s mony godly folks are thinkin, | |
| Your dreams and tricks | |
| Will send you, Korah-like, a-sinkin | 5 |
| Straught to auld Nick’s. | |
| |
| Ye hae saw mony cracks an’ cants, | |
| And in your wicked, drucken rants, | |
| Ye mak a devil o’ the saunts, | |
| An’ fill them fou; | 10 |
| And then their failings, flaws, an’ wants, | |
| Are a’ seen thro’. | |
| |
| Hypocrisy, in mercy spare it! | |
| That holy robe, O dinna tear it! | |
| Spare’t for their sakes, wha aften wear it— | 15 |
| The lads in black; | |
| But your curst wit, when it comes near it, | |
| Rives’t aff their back. | |
| |
| Think, wicked Sinner, wha ye’re skaithing: | |
| It’s just the Blue-gown badge an’ claithing | 20 |
| O’ saunts; tak that, ye lea’e them naething | |
| To ken them by | |
| Frae ony unregenerate heathen, | |
| Like you or I. | |
| |
| I’ve sent you here some rhyming ware, | 25 |
| A’ that I bargain’d for, an’ mair; | |
| Sae, when ye hae an hour to spare, | |
| I will expect, | |
| Yon sang ye’ll sen’t, wi’ cannie care, | |
| And no neglect. | 30 |
| |
| Tho’ faith, sma’ heart hae I to sing! | |
| My muse dow scarcely spread her wing; | |
| I’ve play’d mysel a bonie spring, | |
| An’ danc’d my fill! | |
| I’d better gaen an’ sair’t the king, | 35 |
| At Bunker’s Hill. | |
| |
| ’Twas ae night lately, in my fun, | |
| I gaed a rovin’ wi’ the gun, | |
| An’ brought a paitrick to the grun’— | |
| A bonie hen; | 40 |
| And, as the twilight was begun, | |
| Thought nane wad ken. | |
| |
| The poor, wee thing was little hurt; | |
| I straikit it a wee for sport, | |
| Ne’er thinkin they wad fash me for’t; | 45 |
| But, Deil-ma-care! | |
| Somebody tells the poacher-court | |
| The hale affair. | |
| |
| Some auld, us’d hands had taen a note, | |
| That sic a hen had got a shot; | 50 |
| I was suspected for the plot; | |
| I scorn’d to lie; | |
| So gat the whissle o’ my groat, | |
| An’ pay’t the fee. | |
| |
| But by my gun, o’ guns the wale, | 55 |
| An’ by my pouther an’ my hail, | |
| An’ by my hen, an’ by her tail, | |
| I vow an’ swear! | |
| The game shall pay, o’er muir an’ dale, | |
| For this, niest year. | 60 |
| |
| As soon’s the clockin-time is by, | |
| An’ the wee pouts begun to cry, | |
| Lord, I’se hae sporting by an’ by | |
| For my gowd guinea, | |
| Tho’ I should herd the buckskin kye | 65 |
| For’t in Virginia. | |
| |
| Trowth, they had muckle for to blame! | |
| ’Twas neither broken wing nor limb, | |
| But twa-three draps about the wame, | |
| Scarce thro’ the feathers; | 70 |
| An’ baith a yellow George to claim, | |
| An’ thole their blethers! | |
| |
| It pits me aye as mad’s a hare; | |
| So I can rhyme nor write nae mair; | |
| But pennyworths again is fair, | 75 |
| When time’s expedient: | |
| Meanwhile I am, respected Sir, | |
| Your most obedient. | |
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