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e thy pasture&039;s scanty;

for pfu&039;s r o&039; gospel kail

shall fill thy crib plenty,

an&039; runts o&039; grace the pick an&039; wale,

no gi&039;en by way o&039; daty,

but ilka day

nae air by babel&039;s streas we&039;ll weep,

to thk upon our zion;

and hg our fiddles up to sleep,

like baby-clouts a-dry!

e, screw the pegs wi&039; tunefu&039; cheep,

and o&039;er the thairs be try;

oh, rare to see our elbucks wheep,

and a&039; like b-tails fly

fu&039; fast this day

ng, patrona, with rod o&039; airn,

has shor&039;d the kirk&039;s undo;

as tely fenwick, sair forfairn,

has proven to its ru:

our patron, honest an! glencairn,

he saw ischief was bre;

an&039; like a godly, elect bairn,

he&039;s waled out a true ane,

and und, this day

now robertn harangue nae air,

but steek your gab for ever;

or try the wicked town of ayr,

for there they&039;ll thk you clever;

or, nae reflection on your lear,

ye ay nce a shaver;

or to the herton repair,

an&039; turn a carpet weaver

aff-hand this day

u&039;trie and you were jt a atch,

we never had sic a drones;

auld hornie did the igh kirk watch,

jt like a k baudrons,

and aye he catch&039;d the tither wretch,

to fry the his caudrons;

but now his honour aun detach,

wi&039; a&039; his bristone sadrons,

fast, fast this day

see, see auld orthodoxy&039;s faes

she&039;s s thro&039; the city!

hark, how the ne-tail&039;d cat she pys!

i vow it&039;s un pretty:

there, learng, with his greekish face,

grunts out t ditty;

and on-sense is gaun, she says,

to ak to jaie beattie

her pt this day

but there&039;s orality hisel&039;,

ebracg all opions;

hear, how he gies the tither yell,