Like Socrates or Antonine,
Or some auld pagan Heathen,
The moral man he does define,
But ne'er a word o' faith in
That's right that day.
In guid time comes an antidote
Against sic poison'd nostrum;
For Peebles, frae the water-fit, [river-mouth]
Ascends the holy rostrum:
See, up he's got the word o' God,
An' meek an' mim has view'd it, [prim]
While Common Sense[20] has ta'en the road,
An' aff, an' up the Cowgate
Fast, fast, that day.
Wee Miller, neist, the Guard relieves, [next]
An' Orthodoxy raibles, [rattles by rote]
Tho' in his heart he weel believes
An' thinks it auld wives' fables:
But, faith! the birkie wants a Manse, [fellow]
So cannilie he hums them; [prudently, humbugs]
Altho' his carnal wit an' sense
Like hafflins-wise o'ercomes him [nearly half]
At times that day.
Now, butt an' ben, the Change-house fills, [outer and inner rooms]
Wi' yill-caup Commentators; [ale-cup]
Here's crying out for bakes an' gills, [rolls]
An' there the pint-stowp clatters;
While thick an' thrang, an' loud an' lang, [busy]
Wi' logic, an' wi' Scripture,
They raise a din, that in the end
Is like to breed a rupture
O' wrath that day.
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