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

Hech! what is this come owre us now?—
Our loopy tricks are a' seen through;
In turning round Coercion's screw,
We toil in vain,
For spite o' a' that we can do,
Its power is gane.

Wi' a' our simpering sauntly airs,
Our turned-up een and lengthy prayers,
We find mankind a set o' bears,
Sae curst uncivil,
That fient a ane about us cares,
Nor yet our Deevil.

We tried to steek ilk Public Room,
And mak' our day a day o' gloom,
Sae dark ye couldna see your thoomb
Before your een;
But O, the pack hae sealed our doom,
And nail'd us clean.

144

We tried by ilka wily quirk
To force the wretches to the kirk,
Whether to hear a calf or stirk,
It didna matter,
If we our ends could only work,
So much the better.

But now we're beat, Och on! Och on!
Nor left a leg to stand upon:
‘Othello's occupation's gone,’
‘His meal's a' daigh.’
Now we maun hurkle down and moan
Right loun and laigh.

They've nail'd our Wright, that godly chap,
And eke our dainty douce Dunlap,
Wha never wants for bite nor drap
On haly days:
An' mair than a' that, doesna stap
To yoke his chaise.

They've pinned our prim and pious K---e,
Wha made a grand and glorious ettle,
To keep us a' in Jewish fettle,
And haud us right,
Like ane o' true Mosaic mettle,
Baith stanch and tight.

But K---e, too, can boil his pot,
And tak' his dinner piping hot;

145

Yea, shave his beard, and dust the coat
That busks his body;
And prie a canny ‘drappie o't,’
In reeking toddy.

They've maul'd our mighty M---n,
That gaucy, gash-like gospel gun,
Wha ne'er left a gude cause undone,
E'en on a Sunday,
Nor let a weel-fledged client run
About till Monday.

O wae befa' this graceless nation,
Sae prone to Sabbath desecration;
It's perfect evendown profanation
The way they walk,
Their every Sunday's recreation
And idle talk.

And foul befa' that wicked pack,
Wha'd tatoe-boggles o' us mak',
And paint our doings aye sae black
In their vile papers,
The wuddie yet their craigs may rack
For their curst capers.

And O confound that Loyal Peter,
Wha puts us into wicked metre;
May he get Moloch's hettest heater
To birsle on,
For lashing wi' his tawse sae bitter,
Rab, James, and John!

University of Virginia Library

THE WAEFU' LAMENT OF THE AGNEWITES

OVER THEIR DEFEAT IN THE ROYAL EXCHANGE, GLASGOW, ON THE 30TH NOVEMBER, 1841,

When they were baffled in their attempt to Shut up the Public Reading-room on the first day of the week—not on the Jewish Sabbath. Rendered into ryhme, by HUMPHREY HENKECKLE, EGG-CADGER.

When they were baffled in their attempt to Shut up the Public Reading-room on the first day of the week—not on the Jewish Sabbath. Rendered into ryhme, by
HUMPHREY HENKECKLE, EGG-CADGER.