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Β Ε Α Τ Η
A TRUÉ STORY.
SOME books are lies frae end to end,
In holy rapture,
And nail't wi' Scripture.
But this that I am gaun to tell,
Or Dublin city :
'S a muckle pity.
The Clachan yill had made me canty,
To free the ditches :
Frae ghaists an' witches.
The rising moon began to glow'r
To count her horns, wi' a' my pow'r,
I set mysel;
I cou'd na tell.
I was come round about the hill,
å To keep me sicker ; Tho' leeward whyles, against my will,
1. I took a bicker.
I there wi' Something did forgather,
Lay, large an' lang.
Its stature seem'd lang Scotch ells twe,
And then, its shanks,
L'As cheeks o' branks :
Guid-een,' quo' I; Friend! hge ye been mawin,
When ither folk are busy sawin ?* It seem'd to mak a kind o stan',
But naething spak ;
This rencounter happened in-seed-time, 1786
At length, says I, Friend, whare ye gaun, o'? • Will ye go back?'
isdi It spak right howe, My name is Death, • But be na' fley'd' Quoth I, Guid faith, Ye're may be come to stap my breath ; 9 en I
But tent me billie ; .. I red ye weel, tak care o' skaith, ,
* See, there's a gully!
• Guidman,' quo' he, put ap your whittle,
; "To be mislcard, i cr' • I wad na'mind it, no, that spittle
• Weel, weel!' says I, a bargain be't ;
Come, gies your hand, an' sae we're gree't ; "We'll ease our shanks an' tak a seat,
Come, gies your news; • This while* ye hae been mony a gates:
* At móny a house.'
“Ay, ay !' quo' he, an' shook his head,
• An choke the breath :" de,** * Folk maun do something for their bread, ;
An' sae maun Death.
An epidemical fever was then raging in that eountry.
• Sax thousand years are near hand ied.
• To stap or scar me;
An' faith, he'll waur me.
"Ye ken Jock Hornbook i' the Clachan,
An' ither chaps,
And pouk my hips.
See, here's a scythe, and there's a dart, • They hae pierc'd mony a gallant heart; • But Doctor Hornbook, wi' his art
* And cursed skill, • Has made them baith no worth a f-t,
• Damn'd haet they'll kill.
• 'Twas but yestreen, nae farther gaen,
• But deil-ma-care, • It just play'd dirl on the bane,
But did nae mair.
* This gentleman, Dr Hornbook, is professionally, a brother of the Sovereign Order of the Ferula ; but, by intuition and ins spiration, is at once an Apothecary, Surgeon, and Physician,
Buchan's Domestic Medicine,
• Hornbook was by, wi' ready art,
And had sae fortify'd the part, * That when I looked to my dart,
• It was sae blunt, * Fient haet o't wad-hae pierc'd the heart: HIT
Of a kail-runt.
I drew my scythe in sic a fury,
Withstood the shock; $ I might as weel hae try'd a quarry
O'hard whin rock.
$ Ev’n them he canna get attended,
• As soon he smells't,
At once he tells't.
. And then a' doctor's saws and whittles.
* He's sure to hae; Their Latin names as fast he rattles
* As A B C.
* Calces o' fossils, earth, and trees;
True Sal-marinum, o' the seas; *The Farina of beans and