 | The Poetical Works of Walter C. Smith |  |
35
THE COMPLAINT OF DEACON BIRSE,
Burgess, Aberdeen
1
A plague on their kirks and their covenants both!And their preachings long and rife!
I wot not how many a test and oath
I have ta'en for a quiet life.
First I must swear to Master Cant,
And then to the Solemn League;
And then they would have me both recant,
And join some other intrigue.
2
I've sworn at their bidding black and white,And signed and sealed and declared;
I've boxed the compass round outright,
And the feint a boddle I cared;
And I hardly know what I am to-day,
Or what was the last I swore;
But hey! for the friar of orders gray!
He's ready to clear my score.
3
A plague on them all—their mitre and bishop,Their presbyter and their Book!
Can't they leave me alone to barrel my fish up?
And hang my pot on the crook?
A bonny kirk! as poor as a rat,
And hungry as ever a beagle,
A brat that an imp of the devil begat,
The Protestant wallydraigle!
4
I want to trade in timber and hide,And salmon from the Dee,
And the bonny white pearls from Ythan side,
And the herring that crowds the sea;
For silk to busk my lady fine,
Or brandy in the flask,
Or a drop of the kindly claret wine,
Or malvoisie in the cask.
5
I've a lugger good with Tarland woodFor Flushing ready to sail;
And my dainty smack, by the almanac,
Should be home from Portingale;
But what with their kirk and their covenant work,
Hardly a wind blows right;
And we'll never have luck till the ancient kirk
Comes to her own some night.
6
That's a vintage coming from Portingale,Will make old Rothes smack;
And the tippling Chancellor pays me well,
When he sends me a cargo back—
A cargo of canting preachers for't,
To sell in the new plantation;
Hee! they set me once in a sackcloth shirt
To win my soul's salvation.
7
A plague on them all! but they won't grow fatIn my old schooner's hold,
With a skipper who knows what I would be at,
And who likes the chink of the gold.
And, if some of them happen to die on the way,
Who forced their oaths down my throat;
It's hey! for the friar of orders gray
Who assoilzies me all for a groat.
| The Poetical Works of Walter C. Smith | |