There was a custom in Buckey-harbour, when they got a hearty drink, that they went down to dance among the boats; two or three of the oldest went into a boat to see the residence, and when they admitted a burgher, there was also a dance. One day they admitted gly’d Rob, who was a warlock, and made them all stop their dancing, for which he was carried before Wise Willie to answer for that, for which he was banished to the Isle of May, to carry coals to the Light House. [Illustration] THE DOMINIE DEPOSED, WITH THE SEQUEL. BY WILLIAM FORBES, A.M. LATE SCHOOLMASTER AT PETERCOULTER. TO WHICH IS ADDED, MAGGY JOHNSTON’S ELEGY. [Illustration] GLASGOW: PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS. PREFACE. If this offend when ye peruse, Pray, reader, let this me excuse, Myself I only here accuse, Who am the cause, That e’er ye had this piece of news To split your jaws. For had I right the gully guided, And wi’ a wife mysel’ provided, To keep me frae that wae betide it, That’s kent to a’, I’d stay’d at hame, or near beside it; Now that’s awa’. Be wiser then, and do what’s right, And mind your business wi’ might, Lest unexpected gloomy night, Should you surround An’ mingle a’ your pleasure bright, Wi’ grief profound. And, bonny lasses, mind this rhyme, As true as three and sax mak nine, If ye commit ye ken what crime, And turn unweel, There’ll something wamble in your wame Just like an eel. THE DOMINIE DEPOSED. PART I. Some Dominies are sae bias’d, That o’er the dyke themsells they cast, They drink an’ rant, an’ live sae fast, This drives them on, To draw a weapon at the last, That sticks Mess John. Thus going on from day to day, Neglecting still to watch and pray, And teach the little anes A, B, C, An’ Pater Noster, Quite ither thoughts our Lettergae, Begins to foster. For, laying by baith fear and shame, They slily venture on that game, _All Fours_, I think, they call’t by name, Baith auld an’ rife, Than in the play, Mess John is slain Wi’ his ain knife. ’Tis kind, therefore, I winna strive My doughty deeds here to descrive, A lightsome life still did I thrive, Did never itch, By out an’ in abouts to drive, For to mak rich. I ne’er laid money up in store, Into a hole behind the door, A shilling, penny, less or more, I aye did scatter, ’Tis just, now, I should drink, therefore, Sma’ beer or water.