O THOU! whatever title suit thee
Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie,
Wha in yon cavern grim an sootie,
Closd under hatches,
Spairges about the brunstane cootie,
To scaud poor wretches!
Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee,
An let poor damned bodies be;
Im sure sma pleasure it can gie,
Evn to a deil,
To skelp an scaud poor dogs like me,
An hear us squeel!
Great is thy powr an great thy fame;
Far kend an noted is thy name;
An tho yon lowin heuchs thy hame,
Thou travels far;
An faith! thous neither lag nor lame,
Nor blate, nor scaur.
Whiles, ranging like a roarin lion,
For prey, a holes and corners tryin;
Whiles, on the strong-windd tempest flyin,
Tirlin the kirks;
Whiles, in the human bosom pryin,
Unseen thou lurks.
Ive heard my revrend graunie say,
In lanely glens ye like to stray;
Or where auld ruind castles grey
Nod to the moon,
Ye fright the nightly wandrers way,
Wi eldritch croon.
When twilight did my graunie summon,
To say her prayrs, douse, honest woman!
Aftyont the dyke shes heard you bummin,
Wi eerie drone;
Or, rustlin, thro the boortrees comin,
Wi heavy groan.
Ae dreary, windy, winter night,
The stars shot down wi sklentin light,
Wi you, mysel I gat a fright,
Ayont the lough;
Ye, like a rash-buss, stood in sight,
Wi wavin sough.
The cudgel in my nieve did shake,
Each bristld hair stood like a stake,
When wi an eldritch, stoor quaick, quaick,
Amang the springs,
Awa ye squatterd like a drake,
On whistlin wings.
Let warlocks grim, an witherd hags,
Tell how wi you, on ragweed nags,
They skim the muirs an dizzy crags,
Wi wicked speed;
And in kirk-yards renew their leagues,
Owre howkit dead.
Thence countra wives, wi toil and pain,
May plunge an plunge the kirn in vain;
For oh! the yellow treasures taen
By witchin skill;
An dawtit, twal-pint hawkies gane
As yells the bill.
Thence mystic knots mak great abuse
On young guidmen, fond, keen an crouse,
When the best wark-lume i the house,
By cantrip wit,
Is instant made no worth a louse,
Just at the bit.
When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord,
An float the jinglin icy boord,
Then water-kelpies haunt the foord,
By your direction,
And nighted travllers are allurd
To their destruction.
And aft your moss-traversin Spunkies
Decoy the wight that late an drunk is:
The bleezin, curst, mischievous monkies
Delude his eyes,
Till in some miry slough he sunk is,
Neer mair to rise.
When masons mystic word an grip
In storms an tempests raise you up,
Some cock or cat your rage maun stop,
Or, strange to tell!
The youngest brither ye wad whip
Aff straught to hell.
Lang syne in Edens bonie yard,
When youthfu lovers first were paird,
An all the soul of love they shard,
The rapturd hour,
Sweet on the fragrant flowry swaird,
In shady bower; 1
Then you, ye auld, snick-drawing dog!
Ye cam to Paradise incog,
An playd on man a cursèd brogue,
(Black be your fa!)
An gied the infant warld a shog,
Maist ruid a.
Dye mind that day when in a bizz
Wi reekit duds, an reestit gizz,
Ye did present your smoutie phiz
Mang better folk,
An sklented on the man of Uzz
Your spitefu joke?
An how ye gat him i your thrall,
An brak him out o house an hal,
While scabs and botches did him gall,
Wi bitter claw;
An lowsd his ill-tongud wicked scaul,
Was warst ava?
But a your doings to rehearse,
Your wily snares an fechtin fierce,
Sin that day Michael 2 did you pierce,
Down to this time,
Wad ding a Lallan tounge, or Erse,
In prose or rhyme.
An now, auld Cloots, I ken yere thinkin,
A certain bardies rantin, drinkin,
Some luckless hour will send him linkin
To your black pit;
But faith! hell turn a corner jinkin,
An cheat you yet.
But fare-you-weel, auld Nickie-ben!
O wad ye tak a thought an men!
Ye aiblins might-I dinna ken
Stil hae a stake
Im wae to think up yon den,
Evn for your sake!
Note 1. The verse originally ran:
Lang syne, in Edens happy scene
When strappin Adams days were green,
And Eve was like my bonie Jean,
My dearest part,
A dancin, sweet, young handsome quean,
O guileless heart.
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Note 2. Vide Milton, Book vi.R. B. [back]