Th H F（4 / 5）

ives&039; fables:

but faith! the birkie wants a anse,

, cannilie he hus the;

altho&039; his carnal wit an&039; sense

like haffls-wise o&039;eres hi

at tis that day

now, butt an&039; ben, the chan-hoe fills,

wi&039; yill-caup ntators;

here &039;s cry out for bakes and gills,

an&039; there the pt-stowp ctters;

while thick an&039; thrang, an&039; loud an&039; ng,

wi&039; logic an&039; wi&039; scripture,

they raise a d, that the end

is like to breed a rupture

o&039; wrath that day

leeze on drk! it gies air

than either school or lle;

it kdles wit, it waukens lear,

it pangs fou o&039; knowled:

be&039;t whisky-gill or penny wheep,

or ony stronr potion,

it never fails, or drk deep,

to kittle up our notion,

by night or day

the ds an&039; sses, blythely bent

to d baith saul an&039; body,

sit round the table, weel ntent,

an&039; steer about the toddy:

on this ane&039;s dress, an&039; that ane&039;s leuk,

they&039;re ak observations;

while are zie i&039; the neuk,

an&039; forg assignations

to et day

but now the lord&039;s a trupet touts,

till a&039; the hills are rair,

and echoes back return the shouts;

bck rsell is na spar:

his pierc words, like highn&039; swords,

divide the jots an&039; arrow;

his talk o&039; hell, whare devils dwell,

our vera “sauls does harrow”

wi&039; fright that day!

a vast, unbotto&039;d, boundless pit,

fill&039;d fou o&039; lo brunstane,

whase ragg f, an&039; srchg heat,

wad lt the hardest whun-stane!

the half-asleep start up wi&039; fear,

an&039; thk they hear it roar;

when presently it does appear,

&039;as but neibor snor

asleep that day

&039;ad be owre ng a tale to tell,

how ony stories