English Satires Part 25

Think, when your castigated pulse Gi'es now an' then a wallop, What ragings must his veins convulse, That still eternal gallop.

Wi' wind an' tide fair i' your tail, Right on ye scud your sea-way; But in the teeth o' baith to sail, It makes an unco lee-way.

See social life an' glee sit down, All joyous an' unthinking, Till, quite transmugrified, they're grown Debauchery an' drinking: Oh would they stay to calculate Th' eternal consequences; Or your more dreaded h.e.l.l to state, d.a.m.nation of expenses!

Ye high, exalted, virtuous dames, Tied up in G.o.dly laces, Before ye gi'e poor frailty names, Suppose a change o' cases; A dear loved lad, convenience snug, A treacherous inclination-- But, let me whisper i' your lug[221], Ye'er aiblins[222] nae temptation.

Then gently scan your brother man, Still gentler sister woman; Though they may gang a kennin' wrang, To step aside is human: One point must still be greatly dark, The moving why they do it: An' just as lamely can ye mark, How far perhaps they rue it.

Who made the heart, 'tis He alone Decidedly can try us, He knows each chord--its various tone, Each spring--its various bias: Then at the balance let's be mute, We never can adjust it; What's done we partly may compute, But know not what's resisted.

[Footnote 216: well-going.]

[Footnote 217: hopper.]

[Footnote 218: idle.]

[Footnote 219: unlucky.]

[Footnote 220: exchange.]

[Footnote 221: ear.]

[Footnote 222: perhaps.]

XLVII. HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER.

The hero of this daring exposition of Calvinistic theology was William Fisher, a farmer in the neighbourhood of Mauchline, and an elder in Mr. Auld's session. He had signalized himself in the prosecution of Mr. Hamilton, elsewhere alluded to; and Burns appears to have written these verses in retribution of the rancour he had displayed on that occasion. Fisher was afterwards convicted of appropriating the money collected for the poor. Coming home one night from market in a state of intoxication, he fell into a ditch, where he was found dead next morning. The poem was first published in 1801, along with the "Jolly Beggars".

Oh Thou, wha in the heavens dost dwell, Wha, as it pleases best thysel', Sends ane to heaven, an' ten to h.e.l.l, A' for thy glory, An' no for ony guid or ill They've done afore thee!

I bless an' praise thy matchless might, Whan thousands thou hast left in night, That I am here afore thy sight, For gifts an' grace A burnin' and a s.h.i.+nin' light To a' this place.

What was I, or my generation, That I should get sic exaltation, I wha deserve sic just d.a.m.nation, For broken laws, Five thousand years 'fore my creation, Thro' Adam's cause?

When frae my mither's womb I fell, Thou might ha'e plunged me deep in h.e.l.l, To gnash my gums, to weep an' wail, In burnin' lake, Whare d.a.m.ned devils roar an' yell, Chain'd to a stake.

Yet I am here, a chosen sample; To show thy grace is great an' ample; I'm here a pillar in thy temple, Strong as a rock, A guide, a buckler, an example, To a' thy flock.

But yet, oh Lord! confess I must, At times I'm fash'd[223] wi' fleshly l.u.s.t; An' sometimes, too, wi' warldly trust, Vile self gets in: But Thou remembers we are dust, Defil'd in sin.

Maybe thou lets this fleshly thorn Beset thy servant e'en an' morn Lest he owre high an' proud should turn, 'Cause he's sae gifted; If sae, Thy ban' maun e'en be borne, Until Thou lift it.

Lord, bless Thy chosen in this place, For here Thou hast a chosen race: But G.o.d confound their stubborn face, And blast their name, Wha bring Thy elders to disgrace And public shame.

Lord, mind Cawn Hamilton's deserts, He drinks, and swears, and plays at cartes[224], Yet has sae mony takin' arts, Wi' grit an' sma'[225], Frae G.o.d's ain priests the people's hearts He steals awa'.

And whan we chasten'd him therefore, Thou kens how he bred sic a splore[226], As set the warld in a roar O' laughin' at us,-- Curse Thou his basket and his store, Kail and potatoes.

Lord, hear my earnest cry and pray'r Against the Presbyt'ry of Ayr; Thy strong right hand, Lord, mak' it bare Upo' their heads, Lord, weigh it down, and dinna spare, For their misdeeds.

Oh Lord my G.o.d, that glib-tongu'd Aiken, My very heart and saul are quakin', To think how we stood groanin', shakin', And swat wi' dread, While he wi' hingin' lips and snakin', Held up his head.

Lord, in the day of vengeance try him, Lord, visit them wha did employ him, And pa.s.s not in thy mercy by 'em, Nor hear their pray'r; But for thy people's sake destroy 'em, And dinna spare,

But, Lord, remember me and mine, Wi' mercies temp'ral and divine, That I for gear[227] and grace may s.h.i.+ne, Excell'd by nane, And a' the glory shall be thine, Amen, amen!

EPITAPH ON HOLY WILLIE.

Here Holy Willie's sair-worn clay Tak's up its last abode; His saul has ta'en some ither way, I fear the left-hand road.

Stop! there he is, as sure's a gun, Poor, silly body, see him; Nae wonder he's as black's the grun', Observe wha's standing wi' him.

Your brunstane[228] devils.h.i.+p, I see, Has got him there before ye; But haud your nine-tail cat a wee, Till ance you've heard my story.

Your pity I will not implore, For pity ye ha'e nane; Justice, alas! has gi'en him o'er, And mercy's day is gane.

But hear me, sir, de'il as ye are, Look something to your credit; A coof[229] like him wad stain your name, If it were kent ye did it.

[Footnote 223: troubled.]

[Footnote 224: cards.]

[Footnote 225: great and small.]

[Footnote 226: row.]

[Footnote 227: wealth.]

[Footnote 228: brimstone.]

[Footnote 229: fool.]

CHARLES LAMB.

(1775-1835.)

XLVIII. A FAREWELL TO TOBACCO.

Published originally in 1811 in _The Reflector_, No. 4. As Lamb himself states, it was meditated for two years before it was committed to paper in 1805, but not published until six years afterwards.