| |
| DIRE was the hate at old Harlaw, | |
| That Scot to Scot did carry; | |
| And dire the discord Langside saw | |
| For beauteous, hapless Mary: | |
| But Scot to Scot ne’er met so hot, | 5 |
| Or were more in fury seen, Sir, | |
| Than ’twixt Hal and Bob for the famous job, | |
| Who should be the Faculty’s Dean, Sir. | |
| |
| This Hal for genius, wit and lore, | |
| Among the first was number’d; | 10 |
| But pious Bob, ’mid learning’s store, | |
| Commandment the tenth remember’d: | |
| Yet simple Bob the victory got, | |
| And wan his heart’s desire, | |
| Which shews that heaven can boil the pot, | 15 |
| Tho’ the devil piss in the fire. | |
| |
| Squire Hal, besides, had in this case | |
| Pretensions rather brassy; | |
| For talents, to deserve a place, | |
| Are qualifications saucy. | 20 |
| So their worships of the Faculty, | |
| Quite sick of merit’s rudeness, | |
| Chose one who should owe it all, d’ye see, | |
| To their gratis grace and goodness. | |
| |
| As once on Pisgah purg’d was the sight | 25 |
| Of a son of Circumcision, | |
| So may be, on this Pisgah height, | |
| Bob’s purblind mental vision— | |
| Nay, Bobby’s mouth may be opened yet, | |
| Till for eloquence you hail him, | 30 |
| And swear that he has the angel met | |
| That met the ass of Balaam. | |
| |
| In your heretic sins may you live and die, | |
| Ye heretic Eight-and-Tairty! | |
| But accept, ye sublime Majority, | 35 |
| My congratulations hearty. | |
| With your honours, as with a certain king, | |
| In your servants this is striking, | |
| The more incapacity they bring, | |
| The more they’re to your liking. | 40 |
| |
