RIGHT, sir! your text Ill prove it true,
Tho heretics may laugh;
For instance, theres yourself just now,
God knows, an unco calf.
And should some patron be so kind,
As bless you wi a kirk,
I doubt na, sir but then well find,
Yere still as great a stirk.
But, if the lovers rapturd hour,
Shall ever be your lot,
Forbid it, evry heavenly Power,
You eer should be a stot!
Tho when some kind connubial dear
Your but-and-ben adorns,
The like has been that you may wear
A noble head of horns.
And, in your lug, most reverend James,
To hear you roar and rowt,
Few men o sense will doubt your claims
To rank amang the nowt.
And when yere numberd wi the dead,
Below a grassy hillock,
With justice they may mark your head
Here lies a famous bullock!
