Here Holy Willie's sair worn clay Taks up its last abode; His saul has ta'en some other way, I fear, the left-hand road. Stop! there he is, as sure's a gun, Poor, silly body, see him; Nae wonder he's as black's the grun, Observe wha's standing wi' him. Your brunstane devilship, I see, Has got him there before ye; But haud your nine-tail cat a wee, Till ance you've heard my story. Your pity I will not implore, For pity ye have nane; Justice, alas! has gi'en him o'er, And mercy's day is gane. But hear me, Sir, deil as ye are, Look something to your credit; A coof like him wad stain your name, If it were kent ye did it. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GRENADIER by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN THE LAST CHANTEY by RUDYARD KIPLING CHRISTMAS EVE by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE MAN MUST DO MORE FOR MAN by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE UP TO ME by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE SOWINGS by MILLARD FILLMORE BUMGARNER A HYMN ON THE DIVINE OMNIPRESENCE by JOHN BYROM |