There, try his mettle on the creed,
     An’ bind him down wi’ caution,
     That stipend is a carnal weed
     He taks by for the fashion;
     And gie him o’er the flock, to feed,
     And punish each transgression;
     Especial, rams that cross the breed,
     Gie them sufficient threshin;
     Spare them nae day.

     Now, auld Kilmarnock, cock thy tail,
     An’ toss thy horns fu’ canty;
     Nae mair thou’lt rowt out-owre the dale,
     Because thy pasture’s scanty;
     For lapfu’s large o’ gospel kail
     Shall fill thy crib in plenty,
     An’ runts o’ grace the pick an’ wale,
     No gi’en by way o’ dainty,
     But ilka day.

     [Footnote 5:  Genesis ix. 22.—­R.  B.]

     [Footnote :  Numbers xxv. 8.—­R.  B.]

     [Footnote 7:  Exodus iv. 52.—­R.  B]

     Nae mair by Babel’s streams we’ll weep,
     To think upon our Zion;
     And hing our fiddles up to sleep,
     Like baby-clouts a-dryin! 
     Come, screw the pegs wi’ tunefu’ cheep,
     And o’er the thairms be tryin;
     Oh, rare to see our elbucks wheep,
     And a’ like lamb-tails flyin
     Fu’ fast this day.

     Lang, Patronage, with rod o’ airn,
     Has shor’d the Kirk’s undoin;
     As lately Fenwick, sair forfairn,
     Has proven to its ruin:^8
     Our patron, honest man!  Glencairn,
     He saw mischief was brewin;
     An’ like a godly, elect bairn,
     He’s waled us out a true ane,
     And sound, this day.

     Now Robertson^9 harangue nae mair,
     But steek your gab for ever;
     Or try the wicked town of Ayr,
     For there they’ll think you clever;
     Or, nae reflection on your lear,
     Ye may commence a shaver;
     Or to the Netherton^10 repair,
     An’ turn a carpet weaver
     Aff-hand this day.

     Mu’trie^11 and you were just a match,
     We never had sic twa drones;
     Auld Hornie did the Laigh Kirk watch,
     Just like a winkin baudrons,
     And aye he catch’d the tither wretch,
     To fry them in his caudrons;
     But now his Honour maun detach,
     Wi’ a’ his brimstone squadrons,
     Fast, fast this day.

     [Footnote 8:  Rev. Wm. Boyd, pastor of Fenwick.]

     [Footnote 9:  Rev. John Robertson.]

     [Footnote 10:  A district of Kilmarnock.]

     [Footnote 11:  The Rev. John Multrie, a “Moderate,” whom Mackinlay
     succeeded.]

     See, see auld Orthodoxy’s faes
     She’s swingein thro’ the city! 
     Hark, how the nine-tail’d cat she plays! 
     I vow it’s unco pretty: 
     There, Learning, with his Greekish face,
     Grunts out some Latin ditty;
     And Common-sense is gaun, she says,
     To mak to Jamie Beattie
     Her plaint this day.