FullReads

XIX

For noo’s the time whan pows are seen
Nid-noddin’ like a mandareen;
When tenty mithers stap a preen
In sleepin’ weans;
An’ nearly half the parochine
Forget their pains.

XX

There’s just a waukrif’ twa or three:
Thrawn commentautors sweer to `gree,
Weans glowrin’ at the bumlin’ bee
On windie-glasses,
Or lads that tak a keek a-glee
At sonsie lasses.

XXI

Himsel’, meanwhile, frae whaur he cocks
An’ bobs belaw the soundin’-box,
The treesures of his words unlocks
Wi’ prodigality,
An’ deals some unco dingin’ knocks
To infidality.

XXII

Wi’ snappy unction, hoo he burkes
The hopes o’ men that trust in works,
Expounds the fau’ts o’ ither kirks,
An’ shaws the best o’ them
No muckle better than mere Turks,
When a’s confessed o’ them.

XXIII

Bethankit! what a bonny creed!
What mair would ony Christian need? –
The braw words rumm’le ower his heid,
Nor steer the sleeper;
And in their restin’ graves, the deid
Sleep aye the deeper.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

It may be guessed by some that I had a certain parish in my eye, and this makes it proper I should add a word of disclamation. In my time there have been two ministers in that parish. Of the first I have a special reason to speak well, even had there been any to think ill. The second I have often met in private and long (in the due phrase) “sat under” in his church, and neither here nor there have I heard an unkind or ugly word upon his lips. The preacher of the text had thus no original in that particular parish; but when I was a boy he might have been observed in many others; he was then (like the schoolmaster) abroad; and by recent advices, it would seem he has not yet entirely disappeared.