Page:The poetical works of Robert Burns.djvu/65

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THE POEMS OF BURNS.
19
Waesucks! for him that gets nae lass,Or lasses that hae naething! Sma' need has he to say a grace,Or melvie his braw claithing! O Wives, be mindfu', ance yourselHow bonie lads ye wanted, An' dinna, for a kebbuck-heel,Let lasses be affrontedOn sic a day!
Now Clinkumbell, wi' rattling tow,Begins to jow and croon; Some swagger hame, the best they dow,Some wait the afternoon. At slaps the billies halt a blink,Till lasses strip their shoon: Wi' faith an' hope, an' love an' drink,They're a' in famous tuneFor crack that day.
How mome hearts this day convertsO' sinners and o' lasses! Their hearts o' stane, gin night, are ganeAs saft as ony flesh is. There's some are fou o' love divine,There's some are fou o' brandy; An' monie jobs that day begin,May end in HoughmagandieSome ither day.

DEATH AND DOCTOR HORNBOOK.

A TRUE STORY.

Some books are lies frae end to end, And some great lies were never penn'd: Ev'n Ministers, they hae been kenn'd,In holy rapture, Great lies and nonsense baith to vend,And nail't wi' Scripture.
But this that I am gaun to tell, Which lately on a night befell, Is just as true's the Deil's in hellOr Dublin city: That e'er he nearer comes oursel'S a muckle pity.
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