Kilmarnock wabsters, fidgean’ claw,
An’ pour your creeshienations;
An’ ye whaleather raxan’ draw,
Of a’ denominations;
Swithto the Ligh Kirk, ane an’ a’
An’ there takup your stations;
Then aff to Begbie’s in a raw,
An’ pour divine libations
For joy this day.
Curst Common-sense, that imp o’ hell,
Camin wi’ Maggie Lauder;^1
But Oliphant^2aftmade her yell,
An’ Russell^3sair misca’d her:
This day Mackinlay^4taks the flail,
An’ he’s the boy will blaudher!
He’ll clapa shangan on her tail,
An’ setthe bairns to daudher
Wi’ dirt this day.
Mak haste an’ turn King David owre,
And liltwi’ holy clangor;
O’ double verse come gie us four,
An’ skirlup the Bangor:
This day the kirk kicks up a stoure;
Nae mair the knaves shall wrangher,
For Heresy is in her pow’r,
And gloriously she’ll whangher
Wi’ pith this day.
Come, let a proper text be read,
An’ touch it aff wi’ vigour,
How graceless Ham^5leughat his dad,
Which made Canaan a nigger;
Or Phineas^6drove the murdering blade,
Wi’ whore-abhorring rigour;
Or Zipporah,^7the scauldin jad,
Was like a bluidytiger
I’th’ inn that day.
There, try his mettle on the creed,
An’ bind him down wi’ caution,
That stipend is a carnal weed
He taks by for the fashion;
And gie him o’er the flock, to feed,
And punish each transgression;
Especial, rams that cross the breed,
Gie them sufficient threshin;
Spare them nae day.
Now, auld Kilmarnock, cockthy tail,
An’ tossthy horns fu’ canty;
Nae mair thou’lt rowt out-owre the dale,
Because thy pasture’s scanty;
For lapfu’s large o’ gospel kail
Shall fill thy crib in plenty,
An’ runts o’ grace the pick an’ wale,
Nogi’en by way o’ dainty,
But ilka day.
Nae mair by Babel’s streams we’ll weep,
To think upon our Zion;
And hingour fiddles up to sleep,
Like baby-clouts a-dryin!
Come, screw the pegs wi’ tunefu’ cheep,
And o’er the thairms be tryin;
Oh, rare to see our elbucks wheep,
And a’ like lamb-tails flyin
Fu’fast this day.
Lang, Patronage, with rod o’airn,
Has shor’d the Kirk’s undoin;
As lately Fenwick, sairforfairn,
Has proven to its ruin:^8
Our patron, honest man! Glencairn,
He sawmischief was brewin;
An’ like a godly, elect bairn,
He’s waled us out a true ane,
And sound, this day.
Now Robertson^9harangue nae mair,
But steekyour gabfor ever;
Or try the wicked town of Ayr,
For there they’ll think you clever;
Or, nae reflection on your lear,
Ye may commence a shaver;
Or to the Netherton^10repair,
An’ turn a carpet weaver
Mu’trie^11and you were just a match,
We never had sictwa drones;
Auld Horniedid the LaighKirkwatch,
Just like a winkin baudrons,
And aye he catch’d the tither wretch,
To fry them in his caudrons;
But now his Honour maundetach,
Wi’ a’his brimstone squadrons,
Fast, fast this day.
See, see auldOrthodoxy’s faes
She’s swingein thro’ the city!
Hark, how the nine-tail’d cat she plays!
I vow it’s uncopretty:
There, Learning, with his Greekish face,
Grunts out some Latin ditty;
And Common-sense is gaun, she says,
To makto Jamie Beattie
Her plaint this day.
Butthere’s Morality himsel’,
Embracing all opinions;
Hear, how he gies the tither yell,
Between his twacompanions!
See, how she peels the skin an’ fell,
As anewere peelin onions!
Now there, they’re packed aff to hell,
An’banish’d our dominions,
Henceforth this day.
O happy day! rejoice, rejoice!
Come bouse about the porter!
Morality’s demure decoys
Shall here naemair find quarter:
Mackinlay, Russell, are the boys
That heresy can torture;
They’ll gieher on a rapea hoyse,
And coweher measure shorter
Byth’ head some day.
Come, bring the tithermutchkinin,
And here’s-for a conclusion-
To ev’ry New Light^12mother’s son,
From this time forth, Confusion!
If mairthey deaveus wi’their din,
We’ll light a spunk, and ev’ry skin,
We’ll rinthem affin fusion
Like oil, some day.