Hear how he clears the point o’ faith Wi’ rattlin and wi’ thumpin! Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath, He’s stampin, an’ he’s jumpin! His lengthen’d chin, his turned-up snout, His eldritch squeel an’ gestures, O how they fire the heart devout, Like cantharidian plaisters On sic a day! 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, Smith^4 opens out his cauld harangues, On practice and on morals; An’ aff the godly pour in thrangs, To gie the jars an’ barrels A lift that day. What signifies his barren shine, Of moral powers an’ reason? His English style, an’ gesture fine Are a’ clean out o’ season. Like Socrates or Antonine, Or some auld pagan heathen, The moral man he does define, But ne’er a word o’ faith in That’s right that day. In guid time comes an antidote Against sic poison’d nostrum; For Peebles,^5 frae the water-fit, Ascends the holy rostrum: [Footnote 4: Rev. George Smith of Galston.] [Footnote 5: Rev. Wm. Peebles of Newton-upon-Ayr.] See, up he’s got, the word o’ God, An’ meek an’ mim has view’d it, While Common-sense has taen the road, An’ aff, an’ up the Cowgate^6 Fast, fast that day. Wee Miller^7 neist the guard relieves, An’ Orthodoxy raibles, Tho’ in his heart he weel believes, An’ thinks it auld wives’ fables: But faith! the birkie wants a manse, So, cannilie he hums them; Altho’ his carnal wit an’ sense Like hafflins-wise o’ercomes him At times that day. Now, butt an’ ben, the change-house fills, Wi’ yill-caup commentators; Here ’s cryin out for bakes and gills, An’ there the pint-stowp clatters; While thick an’ thrang, an’ loud an’ lang, Wi’ logic an’ wi’ scripture, They raise a din, that in the end Is like to breed a rupture O’ wrath that day. Leeze me on drink! it gies us mair Than either school or college; It kindles wit, it waukens lear, It pangs us fou o’ knowledge: Be’t whisky-gill or penny wheep, Or ony stronger potion, It never fails, or drinkin deep, To kittle up our notion, By night or day. The lads an’ lasses, blythely bent To mind baith saul an’ body, Sit round the table, weel content, An’ steer about the toddy: [Footnote 6: A street so called which faces the tent in Mauchline.—R. B.] [Footnote 7: Rev. Alex. Miller, afterward of Kilmaurs.] On this ane’s dress, an’ that ane’s leuk, They’re makin observations; While some are cozie i’ the neuk, An’ forming assignations To meet some day.