That frequent pass douce Wisdom's door,
For glaiket Folly's portals:

I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes,
Would here propone defences,

Their donsie tricks, their black mistakes
Their failings and mischance".

III.

Ye see your state wi' their's compar'd,
And shudder at the niffer;

But cast a moment's fair regard,
What makes the mighty differ:
Discount what scant occasion gave,
That purity ye pride in,

And (what's aft mair than a' the lave),
Your better art o' hiding.

IV.

Think, when your castigated pulse
Gies now and then a wallop,
What ragings must his veins convulse
That still eternal gallop:

Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail,

Right on ye scud your sea-way;

But in the teeth o' baith to sail,

It maks an unco leeway.

V.

See social life and glee sit down,
All joyous and unthinking,
Till quite transmogrify'd they're grown
Debauchery and drinking;

O would they stay to calculate

Th' eternal consequences;

Or, your more dreaded hell to state,
Damnation of expenses!

VI.

Ye high exalted, virtuous dames,
Tied up in godly laces,

Before ye gie poor Frailty names,
Suppose a change o' cases:
A dear-lov'd lad, convenience snug,
A treacherous inclination;
But, let me whisper i' your lug,
Ye're aiblins nae temptation.

VII.

Then gently scan your brother man,
Still gentler sister woman;

Tho' they may gang a kenning wrang:
To step aside is human:

One point must still be greatly dark,
The moving why they do it;

And just as lamely can ye mark
How far perhaps they rue it.

VIII.

Who made the heart, 'tis he alone

Decidedly can try us;

He knows each chord, its various tone, Each spring, its various bias:

Then at the balance let's be mute,

We never can adjust i.;

What's done we partly may compute But know not what's resisted

THE TWA HERDS.*

O'ye pious, godly flocks,

Weel fed on pastures orthodox,

Wha now will keep you frae the fox,
Or worrying tykes,

Or wha will tent the waifs and crocks,
About the dykes?

The twa best herds in a' the wast,
That e'er gaed gospel horn a blast,
These five-and-twenty simmers past,
O' dool to tell,

Hae had a bitter, black out-cast

Atween themsel'.

O M -y, man, and wordy R-11,
How could you raise so vile a bustle,
Ye'll see how new-light herds will whistle,
And think it fine;

The L-d's cause ne'er gat sic a twistle
Sin' I hae min'.

O, sirs! whae'er wad hae expeckit,
Your duty ye wad sae negleckit,

Ye, wha were ne'er by lairds respeckit
To wear the plaid,

7 is piece was among the first of our author's productions which

be sut nitted to the public, and was occasioned by a dispute between wo clergymen, near Kilmarnock.

But by the brutes themselves eleckit
To be their guide.

What flock wi' M-y's flock could rank? Sae hale and hearty ev'ry shank,

Nae poison'd, sour, Arminian stank

He let them taste;

Frae Calvin's well, ay clear, they drank,
O sic a feast!

The thummart wil'-cat, brock, and tod,
Weel kenn'd his voice thro' a' the wood,
He smelt their ilka hole and road,
Baith out and in,

And weel he lik'd to shed their bluid,
And sell their skin.

What herd like R- -Il tell'd his tale?
His voice was heard thro' muir and dale,
He kenn'd the Lord's sheep, ilka tail,
O'er a' the height,

And saw gin they were sick or hale,
At the first sight.

He fine a mangy sheep could scrub,
Or nobly fling the gospel club,
And new-light herds could nicely drub,
Or pay their skin,

Could shake them o'er the burning dub,
Or heave them in.

Sic twa! -O do I live to see't!
Sic famous twa should disagreet,
An names, like villain, hypocrite,
Ilk ither gien,

While new-light herds, wi' laughin spite,
Say neither's lyin'!

A' ye wha tent the gospel fauld,
There's D ―n deep, and P-
But chiefly thou, apostle A-d,
We trust in thee,

-s shaul,

That thou wilt work them, hot and cauld,
Till they agree.

Consider, sirs, how we're beset,

There's scarce a new herd that we get,
But comes frae 'mang that cursed set,
I winna name;

I hope frae heav'n to see them yet
In fiery flame.

D

-e has been lang our fae,
M-1 has wrought us meikle wae,
And that curs'd rascal ca'd M—e,
And baith the S-s,

That aft hae made us black and blae,
Wi' vengefu' paws.

Auld W -w lang has hatch'd mischief,
We thought ay death wad bring relief,
But he has gotten, to our grief,

Ane to succeed him;

A chiel wha'll soundly buff our beef,
I meikle dread him.

And monie a ane that I could tell,
Wha fain would openly rebel,
Forbye turn-cats amang oursel';

There S-h for ane