They ither folk, for richt or wrang, But a' thir things are an emp'y sang It's a different thing that I demand, Tho' humble as can be A statement fair in my Maker's hand To a gentleman like me: A clear account writ fair an' broad, Or the deevil a ceevil word to God THEIR LAUREATE TO AN ACADEMY CLASS DINNER CLUB D EAR Thamson class, whaure'er I gang It aye comes ower me wi' a spang: "Lordsake! they Thamson lads-(deil hang Or else Lord mend them)!— An' that wanchancy annual sang Straucht, at the name, a trusty tyke, Pleased- although mebbe no pleased-like- "Weel," an' says you, wi' heavin' breist, 66 Sae far, sae guid, but what's the neist? Yearly we gaither to the feast, A' hopefü' men Yearly we skelloch 'Hang the beast· My lads, an' what am I to say? Her conduc', that to her's a play, Aft whan I sat an' made my mane, Ye judged me cauld's a chucky stane But saw ye ne'er some pingein' bairn Less üsed wi' guidin' horse-shoe airn Packed aff his lane, by moss an' cairn, Wae's me, for the puir callant than! Till, blaff! upon his hinderlan’ Behauld him landit. Sic-like - I awn the weary fac' Whan on my muse the gate I tak, To keek ahint her; To me, the brig o' Heev'n gangs black "Lordsake! we're aff," thinks I, "but whaur? An' will she just disgrace? or waur Kittle the quaere! But at least An' a' triumphant for your feast, Hae! there's your sonnet! EMBRO HIE KIRK HE Lord Himsel' in former days ΤΗ TWaled out the proper tünes for praise An' named the proper kind o' claes Preceese and in the chief o' ways He ordered a' things late and air'; An' pit pomatum on their hair The hale o' life by His commands An' God's religion in a' lands Is deid an' rotten. |