Page:Memoirs of the late John Kippen, cooper, in Methven, near Perth.pdf/22

 O Death! how awful thy command,

Thou kills the fairest in the land,

To thee baith-Kings and Princes yield,

Some in the bed, some in the field,

To strong or weak, to high or low,

No favor didst thou ever shew,

The greatest beauty, fiercest scold,

The strong, the weak, the young and old.

On earth no longer finds abode,

When smitten with thy fatal rod:

Thy sov'reign will nae doubt it was,

Altho' we canno' tell the cause,

To drive poor Peter from the earth,

An' cause sic mourning into Perth,

Where lang the honest body dwelt,

Where mony a hunder beuk he selt,

An' where ten thousand wad defend him,

And sae wad ilk ane done that kend him.

Alas! poor Pate! nae mair will ye

Tell tales again wi' mirth and glee;

Lang will the country lasses weary,

To see that face was ay sae cheery,

A face, weel kent o'er Britain's Isle,

A face ay painted with a smile.

O wha will now fill up thy place,