The cudgel in my nieve did shake, Each bristled hair stood like a stake, When wi’ an eldritch stoor ‘quaick, quaick,’ Amang the springs, Awa ye squatter’d like a drake On whistlin’ wings. Let warlocks grim an’ wither’d hags Tell how wi’ you on ragweed nags They skim the muirs, an’ dizzy crags Wi’ wicked speed; And in kirk-yards renew their leagues Owre howkit dead. Thence country wives, wi’ toil an’ pain, May plunge an’ plunge the kirn in vain; For oh! the yellow treasure’s taen By witchin’ skill; An’ dawtit twal-pint Hawkie’s gane As yell’s the bill. Thence mystic knots mak great abuse On young guidmen, fond, keen, an’ crouse; When the best wark-lume i’ the house, By cantrip wit, Is instant made no worth a louse, Just at the bit. When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord, An’ float the jinglin’ icy-boord, Then water-kelpies haunt the foord, By your direction, An’ ’nighted travelers are allur’d To their destruction. An’ aft your moss-traversing spunkies Decoy the wight that late an’ drunk is: The bleezin, curst, mischievous monkies Delude his eyes, Till in some miry slough he sunk is, Ne’er mair to rise. When masons’ mystic word an’ grip In storms an’ tempests raise you up, Some cock or cat your rage maun stop, Or, strange to tell! The youngest brither ye wad whip Aff straught to hell. Lang syne, in Eden’s bonnie yard, When youthfu’ lovers first were pair’d, And all the soul of love they shar’d, The raptur’d hour, Sweet on the fragrant flow’ry swaird, In shady bow’r; Then you, ye auld snick-drawing dog! Ye cam to Paradise incog. An’ play’d on man a cursed brogue, (Black be you fa!) An’ gied the infant warld a shog, ’Maist ruin’d a’. D’ye mind that day, when in a bizz, Wi’ reekit duds, an’ reestit gizz, Ye did present your smoutie phiz ’Mang better folk, An’ sklented on the man of Uz Your spitefu’ joke? An’ how ye gat him i’ your thrall, An’ brak him out o’ house an’ hal’, While scabs an’ blotches did him gall Wi’ bitter claw, An’ lows’d his ill-tongu’d wicked scawl, Was warst ava?