Page:Prescript of the *.djvu/5

 Rh


 * What may this mean,

That thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel, Revisit’st thus the glimpses of the moon, Making night hideous; and we fools of nature, So horridly shake our disposition, With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls!

An’now auld Cloots, I ken ye’re thinking’, A certail *Ghoul* is rantin’, drinkin’, Some luckless night send him linking,’
 * To your black pit;

But, faith! he’ll turn a corner jinkin’,
 * An’ cheat you yet.