ORTHODOX! orthodox, who believe in John Knox,
Let me sound an alarm to your conscience:
A heretic blast has been blown in the West,
That what is no sense must be nonsense,
Orthodox! That what is no sense must be nonsense.
Doctor Mac! Doctor Mac, you should streek on a rack,
To strike evil-doers wi terror:
To join Faith and Sense, upon any pretence,
Was heretic, damnable error,
Doctor Mac! 1 Twas heretic, damnable error.
Town of Ayr! town of Ayr, it was mad, I declare,
To meddle wi mischief a-brewing, 2
Provost John 3 is still deaf to the Churchs relief,
And Orator Bob 4 is its ruin,
Town of Ayr! Yes, Orator Bob is its ruin.
Drymple mild! Drymple mild, tho your hearts like a child,
And your life like the new-driven snaw,
Yet that winna save you, auld Satan must have you,
For preaching that threes ane an twa,
Drymple mild! 5 For preaching that threes ane an twa.
Rumble John! rumble John, mount the steps with a groan,
Cry the book is with heresy crammd;
Then out wi your ladle, deal brimstone like aidle,
And roar evry note of the Dd.
Rumble John! 6 And roar evry note of the Dd.
Simper James! simper James, leave your fair Killie dames,
Theres a holier chase in your view:
Ill lay on your head, that the pack youll soon lead,
For puppies like you theres but few,
Simper James! 7 For puppies like you theres but few.
Singet Sawnie! singet Sawnie, are ye huirdin the penny,
Unconscious what evils await?
With a jump, yell, and howl, alarm evry soul,
For the foul thief is just at your gate.
Singet Sawnie! 8 For the foul thief is just at your gate.
Poet Willie! poet Willie, gie the Doctor a volley,
Wi your Libertys Chain and your wit;
Oer Pegasus side ye neer laid a stride,
Ye but smelt, man, the place where he sh-t.
Poet Willie! 9 Ye but smelt man, the place where he sh-t.
Barr Steenie! Barr Steenie, what mean ye, what mean ye?
If ye meddle nae mair wi the matter,
Ye may hae some pretence to havins and sense,
Wi people that ken ye nae better,
Barr Steenie! 10 Wipeople that ken ye nae better.
Jamie Goose! Jamie Goose, ye made but toom roose,
In hunting the wicked Lieutenant;
But the Doctors your mark, for the Lords holy ark,
He has cooperd an cad a wrang pin int,
Jamie Goose! 11 He has cooperd an cad a wrang pin int.
Davie Bluster! Davie Bluster, for a saint ye do muster,
The core is no nice o recruits;
Yet to worth lets be just, royal blood ye might boast,
If the Ass were the king o the brutes,
Davie Bluster! 12 If the Ass were the king o the brutes.
Cessnock-side! Cessnock-side, wi your turkey-cock pride
Of manhood but sma is your share:
Yeve the figure, tis true, evn your foes will allow,
And your friends they dare grant you nae mair,
Cessnock-side! 13 And your friends they dare grant you nae mair.
Muirland Jock! muirland Jock, when the Ld makes a rock,
To crush common-sense for her sins;
If ill-manners were wit, theres no mortal so fit
To confound the poor Doctor at ance,
Muirland Jock! 14 To confound the poor Doctor at ance.
Andro Gowk! Andro Gowk, ye may slander the Book,
An the Book nought the waur, let me tell ye;
Tho yere rich, an look big, yet, lay by hat an wig,
An yell hae a calfs-had o sma value,
Andro Gowk! 15 Yell hae a calfs head o sma value.
Daddy Auld! daddy Auld, therea a tod in the fauld,
A tod meikle waur than the clerk;
Tho ye do little skaith, yell be in at the death,
For gif ye canna bite, ye may bark,
Daddy Auld! 16 Gif ye canna bite, ye may bark.
Holy Will! holy Will, there was wit in your skull,
When ye pilferd the alms o the poor;
The timmer is scant when yere taen for a saunt,
Wha should swing in a rape for an hour,
Holy Will! 17 Ye should swing in a rape for an hour.
Calvins sons! Calvins sons, seize your spiritual guns,
Ammunition you never can need;
Your hearts are the stuff will be powder enough,
And your skulls are a storehouse o lead,
Calvins sons! Your skulls are a storehouse o lead.
Poet Burns! poet Burns, wi your priest-skelpin turns,
Why desert ye your auld native shire?
Your muse is a gipsy, yet were she een tipsy,
She could caus nae waur than we are,
Poet Burns! She could caus nae waur than we are.
PRESENTATION STANZAS TO CORRESPONDENTSFactor John! Factor John, whom the Lord made alone,
And neer made anither, thy peer,
Thy poor servant, the Bard, in respectful regard,
He presents thee this token sincere,
Factor John! He presents thee this token sincere.
Aftons Laird! Aftons Laird, when your pen can be spared,
A copy of this I bequeath,
On the same sicker score as I mentiond before,
To that trusty auld worthy, Clackleith,
Aftons Laird! To that trusty auld worthy, Clackleith.
Note 1. Dr. MGill, Ayr.R. B. [back]
Note 2. See the advertisement.R. B. [back]
Note 3. John Ballantine,R. B. [back]
Note 4. Robert Aiken.R. B. [back]
Note 5. Dr. Dalrymple, Ayr.R. B. [back]
Note 6. John Russell, Kilmarnock.R. B. [back]
Note 7. James Mackinlay, Kilmarnock.R. B. [back]
Note 8. Alexander Moodie of Riccarton.R. B. [back]
Note 9. William Peebles, in Newton-upon-Ayr, a poetaster, who, among many other things, published an ode on the Centenary of the Revolution, in which was the line: And bound in Libertys endering chain.R. B.
[back]
Note 10. Stephen Young of Barr.R. B. [back]
Note 11. James Young, in New Cumnock, who had lately been foiled in an ecclesiastical prosecution against a Lieutenant MitchelR. B. [back]
Note 12. David Grant, Ochiltree.R. B. [back]
Note 13. George Smith, Galston.R. B. [back]
Note 14. John Shepherd Muirkirk.R. B. [back]
Note 15. Dr. Andrew Mitchel, Monkton.R. B. [back]
Note 16. William Auld, Mauchline; for the clerk, see Holy Willies Prayer.R. B. [back]
Note 17. Vide the Prayer of this saint.R. B. [back]