[Worse than]
There's Gau'n, misca't waur than a beast,
Wha has mair honour in his breast
Than mony scores as guid's the priest [good as]
Wha sae abus'd him:
An' may a bard no crack his jest
What way they've used him? [On the fashion]
See him the poor man's friend in need,
The gentleman in word an' deed,
An' shall his fame an' honour bleed
By worthless skellums, [railers]
An' not a Muse erect her head
To cowe the blellums? [daunt, blusterers]
O Pope, had I thy satire's darts
To gie the rascals their deserts, [give]
I'd rip their rotten, hollow hearts,
An' tell aloud
Their jugglin', hocus-pocus arts
To cheat the crowd.
God knows I'm no the thing I should be,
Nor am I even the thing I could be,
But, twenty times, I rather would be
An atheist clean,
Than under gospel colours hid be,
Just for a screen.
An honest man may like a glass,
An honest man may like a lass;
But mean revenge, an' malice fause, [false]
He'll still disdain,
An' then cry zeal for gospel laws,
Like some we ken.
They tak religion in their mouth;
They talk o' mercy, grace, an' truth,
For what? To gie their malice skouth [scope]
On some puir wight,
An' hunt him down, o'er right an' ruth, [against]
To ruin straight.
Pages:
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156