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epistle to john ranke

enclosg poes

o rough, rude, ready-witted ranke,

the wale o&039; cks for fun an&039; drk!

there&039;s ony godly folks are thk,

your dreas and tricks

will send you, korah-like, a-sk

straught to auld nick&039;s

ye hae saw ony cracks an&039; cants,

and your wicked, drucken rants,

ye ak a devil o&039; the saunts,

an&039; fill the fou;

and then their failgs, fws, an&039; wants,

are a&039; seen thro&039;

hypocrisy, rcy spare it!

that holy robe, o dna tear it!

spare&039;t for their sakes, wha aften wear it—

the ds bck;

but your curst wit, when it es near it,

rives&039;t aff their back

thk, wicked sner, wha ye&039;re skaithg:

it&039;s jt the be-gown bad an&039; cithg

o&039; saunts; tak that, ye lea&039;e the naethg

to ken the by

frae ony unrenerate heathen,

like you or i

i&039;ve sent you here rhyg ware,

a&039; that i barga&039;d for, an&039; air;

sae, when ye hae an hour to spare,

i will expect,

yon sang ye&039;ll sen&039;t, wi&039; cannie care,

and no neglect

tho&039; faith, sa&039; heart hae i to sg!

y e dow scarcely spread her g;

i&039;ve py&039;d ysel a bonie sprg,

an&039; danc&039;d y fill!

i&039;d better gaen an&039; sair&039;t the kg,

at bunkjer&039;s hill

&039;as ae night tely, y fun,

i gaed a rov&039; wi&039; the gun,

an&039; brought a paitrick to the grun&039;—

a bonie hen;

and, as the ilight was begun,

thought nane wad ken

the poor, wee thg was little hurt;

i straikit it a wee for sport,

ne&039;er thk they wad fash for&039;t;

but, deil-a-care!

body tells the poacher-urt

the hale affair

auld, &039;d hands had taen a note,

that sic a hen had got a shot;

i was spected for the