Stray Leaves from the Portfolios of Alisander the Seer, Andrew Whaup, and Humphrey Henkeckle ::

Shonny Cammel's my name—frae the Highlands I come;
I've exchanged the braw tartans that hung round my —
For a black coat, and gravat sae white.
I've exchanged the oak cudgel, and brogue of Argyle,
For the gold-headed cane, and the fine English style;
I've exchanged the clay-bigging, and coarse Highland cheer,
For this braw preaching place, and some hundreds a year,—
Wi' my black coat, and gravat sae white.

And here I retail out the word o' the lord,
At a far cheaper rate than I weel can afford,
For a black coat, and gravat sae white.
But the lord whom I speak of—whose word I retail,
Is the lord whose dominion extends o'er each jail;
Yea, even the blessed Lord Sidmouth's the lord
Whom I piously serve, by retailing his word,
In my black coat, and gravat sae white.

And here, too, I rule, like a Turkish Bashaw,
To mak' the poor people look upwards wi' awe
To my black coat, and gravat sae white.
But, troth, I have whiles rather meikle to do,
For some of the blockheads I canna bring to;
Was ever there seen sic a parcel o' fools?
They winna submit to be driven like mules,
By the black coats, and gravats sae white.

I once was Reformer—though not from the heart,
But now I have chosen the far better part,
For a black coat, and gravat sae white.
For lately, at ‘Reekie’ some new light I got,
Which made me determined on turning my coat;
And the new light shone clear through a good swinging purse,
So, homewards I came,—the Reformers to curse,
In my black coat, and gravat sae white.

Now come unto me, all ye loyal and true,
And I will instruct you in what you must do,
Wi' my black coat, and gravat sae white.
Renounce all connection with Radical knaves,—
Bow down to Lord Sidmouth,—be his willing slaves;
And listen to me, with devotion and awe,
While I, from this high place, promulgate his law,
In my black coat, and gravat sae white.

His law, then, is this, that ye spend not your cash
In purchasing wicked and blasphemous trash
Against black coats, and gravats sae white.
The ‘Spirit of the Union’ no more you must read,
For it is the spirit of the devil indeed;
And its publisher ought to be whippit through—,
For publishing truths unbecoming to tell,
About black coats, and gravats sae white.

But depart ye from me, all ye Radical crew,
With you I will henceforth have nothing to do,
In my black coat, and gravat sae white.

Your breath is rank poison—your tongues are sharp stings,
Directing your venom at priests and at kings;
You're foes to the Kirk, as you're foes to the State,
And therefore ye merit the rancour and hate
Of each black coat, and gravat sae white.

Ye scoff at our gospel, which brings us our bit,
And ye wickedly point your satirical wit
At our block coats, and gravats sae white.
Instead of your paying us proper respect,
Ye say that we're wolves in sheeps' clothing bedeck't;
That we're thieves who have slyly slipt into the fauld:
Now these, though they're facts, yet they shouldna be tauld
Upon black coats, and gravats sae white.

Yet rich are the comforts our gospel affords,
To those useful playthings ca'd kings, dukes, and lords,
And to black coats, and gravats sae white.
It teacheth the people submission and awe
To anything we are inclined to make law;
It fattens the lads at the altar who serve,
And makes them to live who would otherwise starve,—
Even black coats, and gravats sae white.

But the gospel we preach was not known to St John,
Nor to Matthew, nor Mark, nor yet Luke,—'tis our own,
With our black coats, and gravats sae white.
Such gospel as theirs would not do now-a-days,
For providing fine dwellings, rich food, and braw claes:

A fisherman's net, or a camel's rough hide,
Would ill suit the dignity, splendour, and pride
Of our black coats, and gravats sae white.

Then depart ye from me, and that quickly, I say,
All ye who implicit respect winna pay
To my black coat, and gravat sae white.
'Twere better to want such a cross, thrawart breed,
For never a bit will you drive nor yet lead;
'Twere better to speak to the stanes and the sticks,
Than to you who can see through the sly loopy tricks
Of our black coats, and gravats sae white.

University of Virginia Library

SHONNY CAMMEL;

OR, THE TURN-COAT PRIEST.