II. As lightsomely I glowr'd abroad, Three Hizzies, early at the road, Twa had manteeles o' dolefu' black, The third, that gaed a-wee a-back, 4 Was in the fashion shining, Fu' gay that day. III. The twa appear'd like sisters twin, The third cam up, hap-step-an'-lowp, As light as ony lambie, An' wi' a curchie low did stoop, As soon as e'er she saw me, Fu' kind that day. ` IV. Wi' bonnet aff, quoth I, Sweet lass, 'But yet I canna name ye.' Quo' Quo' she, an' laughin as she spak, "Ye, for my sake, hae gi'en the feck "Of a' the ten commands • A screed some day. V. 'My name is Fun-your cronie dear, The nearest friend ye hae; 'An' this is Superstition here, An' that's Hypocrisy. 'I'm gaun to ********* Holy Fair, To spend an hour in daffin : 'Gin ye'll go there, yon runkl'd pair, We will get famous laughin At them this day.' VI. Quoth I, With a' my heart, I'll do't; I'll get my Sunday's sark on, 'An' meet you on the holy spot; 'Faith we'se bae fine remarkin!' Then I gaed hame at crowdie-time An' soon I made me ready; For roads were clad, frae side to side, Wi' monie a wearie body, In droves that day. VII. Here farmers gash, in ridin graith In silks an' scarlets glitter; Wi' sweet-milk cheese, in monie a whang, An' farls bak'd wi' butter, Fu' crump that day. VIII. When by the plate we set our nose, Some carrying dales, some chairs an' stools, An' some are busy blethrin Right loud that day. IX. Here stands a shed to fend the show'rs, Are blinkin at the entry. Here Here sits a raw of tittlin jades, -ck, For fun this day. X. Here some are thinkin on their sins, On this hand sits a chosen swatch, To chairs that day, XI. O happy is that man an' blest! Wi' arm repos'd on the chair-back, Which, by degrees, slips round her neck, An's loof upon her bosom. Unkenn'd that day. XII. Now a' the congregation o'er For ****** speels the holy door, Wi' fright that day. XIII. Hear how he clears the points o' faith Wi' rattlin an' thumpin! Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath, Oh, how they fire the heart devout, Like cantharidian plasters, On sic a day! XIV. But hark! the tent has chang'd its voice; There's peace an' rest nae langer: For a' the real judges rise, They canna sit for anger. VOL. III. D ***** opens |