But, if the Lover's raptur'd hour Forbid it, every heavenly Power, Tho', when some kind, connubial Dear, The like has been that you may wear And in your lug, most reverend James, Few men o' sense will doubt your claims And when ye're number'd wi' the dead, Wi' justice they may mark your head- ADDRESS O Prince! O Chief of many throned Pow'rs, MILTON. O THOU! whatever title suit thee, Clos'd under hatches, Spairges about the brunstane cootie, To scaud poor wretches! Hear Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee, E'en to a deil, To skelp an' scaud poor dogs like me, Great is thy pow'r, an' great thy fame; An' tho' yon lowin heugh's thy hame, An' faith! thou's neither lag nor lame, Whyles, ranging like a roarin lion, Whyles, in the human bosom pryin, Unseen thou lurks. I've heard my reverend Graunie say, Nod to the moon, Ye fright the nightly wand'rer's way, Wi' eldritch croon. When When twilight did my Graunie summon, Or, rustlin, thro' the boortries comin, Ae dreary, windy, winter night, The stars shot down wi' sklentin light, Wi' you, mysel, I gat a fright, Ayont the lough; Ye, like a rash-bush stood in sight, The cudgel in my nieve did shake, Each bristl'd hair stood like a stake, When wi' an eldritch stour, quaick—quaick— Amang the springs, Awa ye squatter'd, like a drake, On whistling wings. Let Warlocks grim, an' wither'd hags, And in kirk-yards renew their leagues, Thence Thence countra wives, wi' toil an' pain, May plunge an' plunge the kirn in vain For, oh! the yellow treasure's taen By witching skill; An' dawtit, twal-pint Hawkie's gaen As yell's the Bill. Thence mystic knots mak great abuse, On young Guidman, fond, keen, an' crouse; When the best wark-lume i' the house, By cantrip wit, Is instant made no worth a louse, Just at the bit. When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord, An' float the jinglin icy-boord, Then Water-kelpies haunt the foord, By your direction, An' nighted Trav'llers are allur'd, To their destruction. An' aft your moss-traversing Spunkies Decoy the wight that late an' drunk is: The bleezin, curst, mischievous monkeys Delude his eyes, Till in some miry slough he sunk is, Ne'er mair to rise. When |