A vast, unbottomed, boundless pit, Filled fou o' lowin brunstane, Whase ragin flame an' scorchin heat Wad melt the hardest whun-stane! The half-asleep start up wi' fear, An'think they hear it roarin, When presently it does appear 'Twas but some neebor snorin, Asleep that day. 'Twad be owre lang a tale to tell How monie stories passed, An' how they crouded to the yill, When they were a' dismissed; How drink gaed round, in cogs an' caups, Amang the furms an' benches, An' cheese an' bread, frae women's laps, Was dealt about in lunches An' dawds that day. In comes a gawsie, gash guidwife, An' sits down by the fire, Syne draws her kebbuck an' her knife; The lasses they are shyer; The auld guidmen about the grace Frae side to side they bother, Till some ane by his bonnet lays And gi'es them 't, like a tether, Fu' lang that day. Waesueks for him that gets nae lass, Or lasses that hae naething! Sma' need has he to say a grace, Or melvie his braw claithing! O wives, be mindfu', ance yoursel How bonie lads ye wanted, An' dinna for a kebbuck-heel Let lasses be affronted On sic a day! Now Clinkumbell, w' rattlin tow, Begins to jow an' croon; Some swagger hame the best they dow, Some wait the afternoon, At slaps the billies halt a blink, Till lasses strip their shoon; Wi' faith an' hope, an' love an' drink, They're a' in famous tune For crack that day. How monie hearts this day converts O' sinners and o' lasses! Their hearts o' stane, gin night, are gaen As saft as onie flesh is. There's some are fou o' love divine, There's some are fou o' brandy; An' monie jobs that day begin, May end in houghmagandie Some ither day. TO A LOUSE ON SEEING ONE ON A LADY'S BONNET AT CHURCH Ha! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie? Your impudence protects you sairly; I canna say but ye strunt rarely Ower gauze and lace, Tho', faith, I fear ye dine but sparely On sic a place, Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner, Detested, shunned by saunt an' sinner, How daur ye set your fit upon her, Sae fine a lady! Gae somewhere else, and seek your dinner On some poor body. Swith! in some beggar's hauffet squattle; There ye may creep and sprawl and sprattle Wi' ither kindred jumping cattle, In shoals and nations, Whare horn nor bane ne'er daur unsettle Your thick plantations. Now haud you there! ye're out o' sight, Below the fatt'rils, snug an'tight; Na, faith ye yet! ye'll no be right Till ye've got on it, The vera tapmost, tow'ring height O' Miss's bonnet. My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose out, As plump an' grey as onie grozet; O for some rank, mercurial rozet Or fell red smeddum! I'd gie ye sic a hearty dose o't Wad dress your droddum! I wad na been surprised to spy You on an auld wife's flainen toy, Or aiblins some bit duddie boy, On's wyliecoat; But Miss's fine Lunardi--fie! How daur ye do't!