Page:Dominie deposed, with the sequel.pdf/6

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His fishing-wand, his sneeshing box, A fowling piece, to shoot muir cocks. An’ hunting hare through craigs and rocks, This was his game, Still left the young anes, so the fox Might worry them.

When he committed a’ these tricks, For which he weel deserv’d his licks, Wi’ red-coats he did intermix, When he foresaw The punishment the kirk inflicts On fowks that fa’.

Then to his thrift he bade adieu. When wi’ his tail he stopp’d his mou', He changed his coat to red and blue, An’ like a sot Did the poor Clerk convert into A Royal Scot.

An’ now fowks use me at their wills. My name is blawn out o’er the hills, At banquets, feasts, a’ mouths it fills, ’Twixt each, Here's i' t thee, ’Tis sore traduc’d at kilns and mills, And common smithy.

Then, Dominies, I you beseech, Keep very far from Bacchus’ reach. He drown’d a’ my cares to preach, Wi’ his ma’t-bree, I’ve wore sair banes by mony a bleech O’ his tap-tree.