| Share page | Visit Us On FB |
|
IX. MISCELLANEOUS |
3°9 |
||
|
D'rymple mild, D'rymple mild, Tho' your heart's like a child, And your life like the new-driven snaw ; Yet that winna save ye, Auld Satan must have ye For preaching that three's ane and twa— D'rymple mild ! For preaching that three's ane and twa.
Calvin's sons, Calvin's sons,
Scour your spiritual guns, Ammunition you never can need ;
Your hearts are the stuff
Will be powther enough, And your skulls are a storehouse o' lead— Calvin's sons! And your skulls are a storehouse o* lead.
Rumble John ! Rumble John!
Mount the steps with a groan, Cry:—' The book is wi' heresy cramm'd ';
Then out wi' your ladle,
Deal brimstone like adle, And roar ev'ry note o' the damn'd— Rumble John ! And roar ev'ry note o' the damn'd.
Simper James ! Simper James,
Leave the fair Killie dames^ There's a holier chase in your view ;
I'll lay on your head
That the pack ye'll soon lead, For puppies like you there 's but few— Simper James ! For puppies like you there 's but few.
Singet Sawnie! Singet Sawnie,
Are ye huirding the penny, Unconscious what evils await ?
Wi' a jump, yell, and howl,
Alarm ev'ry soul, For the foul thief is just at your gates, Singet Sawnie ! For the foul thief is just at your gates.
Poet Willie ! Poet Willie,
Gie the Doctor a volley, Wi' your ' Liberty's chain' and your wit;
O'er Pegasus' side
Ye ne'er laid a stride,
Ye but smelt, man, the place where he ------
Poet Willie ! Ye but smelt, man, the place where he ------ |
|||