A robe of seeming truth and trust
Hid crafty Observation;
And secret hung, with poison’d crust,
The dirk of Defamation:

A mask that like the gorget show’d,
Dye-varying on the pigeon;
And for a mantle large and broad,
He wrapt him in Religion.
Hypocrisy A-La-Mode

Upon a simmerSunday morn
When Nature’s face is fair,
I walked forth to view the corn,
An’ snuff the callerair.
The rising sun owre Galston muirs
Wi’ glorious light was glintin;
The hares were hirplin down the furrs,
The lav’rocks they were chantin
Fu’ sweet that day.

As lightsomely I glowr’d abroad,
To see a scene saegay,
Three hizzies, early at the road,
Cam skelpin up the way.
Twa had manteeles o” dolefu’ black,
But ane wi’ lyartlining;
The third, that gaed a wee a-back,
Was in the fashion shining
Fu’ gay that day.

The twaappear’d like sisters twin,
In feature, form, an’ claes;
Their visage wither’d, lang an’ thin,
An’ sour as only slaes:
The third camup, hap-stap-an’-lowp,
As light as ony lambie,
An’ wi’a curchielowdid stoop,
As soon as e’ershe sawme,
Fu’ kind that day.

Wi’ bonnet aff, quoth I, “Sweet lass,
I think ye seem to kenme;
I’m sure I’ve seen that bonie face
But yet I canna name ye.”
Quo’she, an’ laughin as she spak,
An’ taks me by the han’s,
“Ye, for my sake, hae gienthe feck
Of a’ the ten comman’s
A screedsome day.”

“My name is Fun-your croniedear,
The nearest friend ye hae;
An’ this is Superstitution here,
An’ that’s Hypocrisy.
I’m gaunto Mauchline Holy Fair,
To spend an hour in daffin:
Gin ye’ll go there, yonrunkl’dpair,
We will get famous laughin
At them this day.”

Quoth I, “Wi’ a’ my heart, I’ll do’t;
I’ll getmy Sunday’s sarkon,
An’ meet you on the holy spot;
Faith, we’sehae fine remarkin!”
Then I gaed hame at crowdie-time,
An’ soon I made me ready;
For roads were clad, frae side to side,
Wi’ mony a weary body
In droves that day.

Here farmers gash, in ridin graith,
Gaed hoddinby their cotters;
There swankiesyoung, in braw braid-claith,
Are springing owre the gutters.
The lasses, skelpin barefit, thrang,
In silks an’ scarlets glitter;
Wi’ sweet-milk cheese, in mony a whang,
An’ farls, bak’d wi’ butter,
Fu’ crumpthat day.

When by the plate we set our nose,
Weel heaped up wi’ ha’pence,
A greedy glowr black-bonnetthrows,
An’ we maundraw our tippence.
Then in we go to see the show:
On ev’ry side they’re gath’rin;
Some carrying dails, some chairs an’ stools,
An’ some are busy bleth’rin
Right loud that day.

Here stands a shed to fend the show’rs,
An’ screen our countragentry;
There Racer Jess,^2an’ twa-threewhores,
Are blinkinat the entry.
Here sits a rawo’ tittlinjads,
Wi’ heaving breast an’ bare neck;
An’ there a batcho’ wabsterlads,
Blackguarding frae Kilmarnock,
For fun this day.

Here, some are thinkin on their sins,
An’ some upo’ their claes;
Ane curses feet that fyl’d his shins,
Anithersighs an’ prays:
On this hand sits a chosen swatch,
Wi’ screwed-up, grace-proud faces;
On that a seto’ chaps, at watch,
Thrangwinkin on the lasses
To chairs that day.

O happy is that man, an’ blest!
Nae wonder that it pride him!
Whase ain dear lass, that he likes best,
Comes clinkindown beside him!
Wi’ arms repos’d on the chair back,
He sweetly does compose him;
Which, by degrees, slips round her neck,
An’s loof upon her bosom,
Unkendthat day.

Now a’ the congregation o’er
Is silent expectation;
For Moodie^3speels the holy door,
Wi’ tidings o’ damnation:

Should Hornie, as in ancient days,
‘Mang sons o’ God present him,
The vera sight o’ Moodie’s face,
To ‘s ain hethame had sent him
Wi’ fright that day.

Hear how he clears the point o’ faith
Wi’ rattlin and wi’ thumpin!
Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath,
He’s stampin, an’ he’s jumpin!
His lengthen’d chin, his turned-up snout,
His eldritchsqueel an’ gestures,
O how they fire the heart devout,
Like cantharidian plaisters
On sic a day!

But hark! the tent has chang’d its voice,
There’s peace an’ rest nae langer;
For a’ the real judges rise,
They cannasit for anger,
Smith^4opens out his cauldharangues,
On practice and on morals;
An’ affthe godly pour in thrangs,
To giethe jars an’ barrels
A liftthat day.

What signifies his barren shine,
Of moral powers an’ reason?
His English style, an’ gesture fine
Are a’ clean out o’ season.
Like Socrates or Antonine,
Or some auld pagan heathen,
The moral man he does define,
But ne’er a word o’ faith in
That’s right that day.

In guidtime comes anantidote
Against sic poison’d nostrum;
For Peebles,^5frae the water-fit,
Ascends the holy rostrum:

See, up he’s got, the word o’ God,
An’ meek an’ mimhas view’d it,
While Common-sense has taenthe road,
An’ aff, an’ up the Cowgate^6
Fast, fast that day.

WeeMiller^7neistthe guard relieves,
An’ Orthodoxy raibles,
Tho’ in his heart he weel believes,
An’ thinks it auld wives’ fables:
But faith! the birkiewants a manse,
So, canniliehe hums them;
Altho’ his carnal wit an’ sense
Like hafflins-wise o’ercomes him
At times that day.

Now, buttan’ ben, the change-housefills,
Wi’ yill-caupcommentators;
Here ‘s cryin out for bakesand gills,
An’ there the pint-stowp clatters;
While thickan’ thrang, an’ loud an’ lang,
Wi’ logic an’ wi’ scripture,
They raisea din, that in the end
Is like to breed a rupture
O’ wrath that day.

Leeze me ondrink! it gies us mair
Than either school or college;
It kindles wit, it waukens lear,
It pangs us fou o’ knowledge:
Be’t whisky-gill or penny wheep,
Or ony stronger potion,
It never fails, or drinkin deep,
To kittleup our notion,
By night or day.

The lads an’ lasses, blythely bent
To mindbaithsaulan’ body,
Sit round the table, weelcontent,
An’ steer about the toddy:

On this ane’s dress, an’ that ane’s leuk,
They’re makin observations;
While some are cozie i’the neuk,
An’ forming assignations
To meet some day.

But now the Lord’s aintrumpet touts,
Till a’ the hills are rairin,
And echoes back return the shouts;
Black Russell is nasparin:
His piercin words, like Highlan’ swords,
Divide the joints an’ marrow;
His talk o’ Hell, whare devils dwell,
Our vera”sauls does harrow”
Wi’ fright that day!

A vast, unbottom’d, boundless pit,
Fill’d fou o’ lowinbrunstane,
Whaseraging flame, an’ scorching heat,
Wadmelt the hardest whun-stane!
The half-asleep start up wi’ fear,
An’ think they hear it roarin;
When presently it does appear,
‘Twas butsome neiborsnorin
Asleep that day.

‘Twad be owrelang a tale to tell,
How mony stories past;
An’ how they crouded to the yill,
When they were a’ dismist;
How drink gaedround, in cogs an’ caups,
Amangthe furms an’ benches;
An’ cheese an’ bread, frae women’s laps,
Was dealt about in lunches
An’ dawdsthat day.

In comes a gawsie, gashguidwife,
An’ sits down by the fire,
Synedraws her kebbuckan’ her knife;
The lasses they are shyer:
The auldguidmen, about the grace
Fraeside to side they bother;
Till some anebyhis bonnet lays,
An’ gies them’t like a tether,
Fu’langthat day.

Waesucks! for him that gets naelass,
Or lasses that haenaething!
Sma’need has he to say a grace,
Ormelviehis brawclaithing!
O wives, be mindfu’ anceyoursel’
How bonielads ye wanted;
An’ dinnafor a kebbuck-heel
Let lasses be affronted
On sica day!

Now Clinkumbell, wi’ rattlin tow,
Begins to jowan’ croon;
Some swagger hamethe best they dow,
Some wait the afternoon.
At slaps the billies halt a blink,
Tilllasses strip their shoon:
Wi’faith an’ hope, an’ love an’ drink,
They’re a’in famous tune
For crackthat day.

How mony hearts this day converts
O’ sinners and o’ lasses!
Their hearts o’ stane, ginnight, are gane
As saftas ony flesh is:
There’s some are fou o’ love divine;
There’s some are fouo’brandy;
An’mony jobs that day begin,
May end in houghmagandie
Some itherday.