Ha! whare ye gaun, ye crowlan ferlie!

Your impudence ha' swinged ye sairly:

I maun but say ye'll strunt more rarely,

I' gumlie water;

An' nae a blessed hour too earlie,

Ye bow't extorter!

Ye chuffie, warly, jinkin Clootie,

Wha staw the auld fo'k's gear for bootie;

Ye'll nae soom lang wi' a' your lootie,

An' a' your wit:

Sic drumlie gawd is e'en too smoutie

For your black pit!

Ye ugly, creepan, blastet wonner,

Detested, shunn'd, by saunt an' sinner,

Ye stech by makin ithers thinner,

But now ye're drummock!

An' brawnie herrin find their dinner

I' your fyl't stomach.

Now haud you there, ye're out o' sight,

Wi' water-kelpies faddom't tight;

Na faith ye yet! Ye'll no be right

'till they fear ye;

An' then ye'll flether every sprite

That comes near ye.

O wad some Pow'r the giftie gie us

To see sic gowks afore they see us!

It wad frae monie a devel free us

An' wrack'd emotion:

An' nae wi' lowin' brunstane rea'e us

O' Devotion!

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