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Stand still as others aft hae stood,
And count your gains.
I mourn, alas ! your ill-starred fate,
Will still ye blame;
And blast your name.
Ye stars in Caldstream's moral sky,
I'll no say where;
Their lingo there.
Eneugh, aye mair I will engage,
It living Moses to enrage,
Or Matthew Hale, your patron sage,
To heard sic crew Traduce our grand Commission stage
Till a' was blue.
Or Board, your Worships, I'm mistaken:
In very wrath my nieve is shaken—
"What hae they dune," they'll spier," as makin',
Humbuggin', piddlin', Teazin' us till our souls are achin',
Our pouches diddlin'.
"Was not our toon as weel afore—
Wi' a' their power:
A rattlin' shower.
"Commissioners, what but a name 1
By jing, they'll find it— The partial cringing gang the same,
As I've divined it.
"Just twig yon strutting, harnessed tool— Yon counter-knighted fop and fool, 'Side Winter-face, wi' square and rule:
I'd send the ganers Ance mair to Willie's skelpin' school
To mend their manners."
Doon wi' that duckdub, captious warlin', That hairbrained imp eternal snarlin', And blast yon cod-head, drouthy carlin',
He's but a blether; 'Twad suit him better, than sic quarr'llin',
To rax his leather.
Again, confound sic clitter clatters;
I'm sure they're saxty times your debtors;
And by the Act
The lawless pack.
By a' that's guid, lay on the rod,
To some appear—
The devils fear.
'Tis aye the readiest way to reason,
When puir folk thus get out o' season:
"What hae they dune 1"—blasphemy, treason—
Yea, warse than that: By Jupiter, sirs, if ye please, sune
I'll show them what.
"What hae they dune V what hae they not?
Ye sons o' bitches 1
Among sic wretches.
"What hae they dune V look through our town, Syne ne'er upon our rulers frown; How nice we're cribbet a' ye'll own,
And paved and spooted,
And which our "moral dub and loan"
Hence for sic benefits ilk lairdie,
In fleecing tussle? Twas for your guid: refuse hoo daur ye
To pay the whistle 1
And mark the sanitary air
Our streets, our lanes, and closes wear;
To show their vigilance be fair,
Just tak a sample— For " Zion Lane" ye needna care
As an example.
Just tak our ain, our famous street,
Our wrath to raise,
The meed o' praise.
Again, nae mair in public parts
We peel our shanks o'er trams o' carts,
When social Islay glads our hearts,
And toil is o'er; I'm sure, wi' a' our takin' arts,
They were a bore.
Noo let your cart stand, if ye choose,
Baith keen and crouse aye— Afore our Court, let Mack disclose
Hoo they will souce ye.
Though gigs and coaches are excepted,
By sic a law 1
A fig for a' your worth and wit—
The ready tin,
Ye canna sin.
Be up, be zealous, richt or wrang,
The legless mere,
But gallop here.
Wae's me for him, 'neth poortith's load!