Page:The poetical works of Robert Burns.djvu/58

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THE POEMS OF BURNS.

THE HOLY FAIR.

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 à-la-mode. 
Upon a simmer Sunday morn, When Nature's face is fair,I walked forth to view the corn, An' snuff the caller air.The risin' 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 sae gay,Three Hizzies, early at the road, Cam skelpin up the way.Twa had manteels o' dolefu' black, But ane wi' lyart lining;The third, that gaed a wee a-back, Was in the fashion shininFu' gay that day.
The twa appear'd like sisters twin, In feature, form, an' claes;Their visage wither'd, lang an' thin, An' sour as ony slaes:The third cam up, hap-step-an'-lowp, As light as ony lambie,An' wi' a curchie low did stoop, As soon as e'er she saw me,Fu' kind that day.
Wi' bonnet aff, quoth I, 'Sweet lass, I think ye seem to ken me;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 gi'en the feck Of a' the ten comman'sA screed some day.
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