Or how the collieshangie works
Atween the Russians and the Turks;
Or if the Swede, before he halt,
Would play anither Charles the Twalt:
If Denmark, any body spak o't;

Or Poland, wha had now the tack o't;
How cut-throat Prussian blades were hingin';
How libbet Italy was singin';

If Spaniard, Portuguese, or Swiss
Were sayin' or takin' aught amiss:
Or how our merry lads at hame,

In Britain's court kept up the game:

How royal George, the Lord leuk o'er him
Was managing St. Stephen's quorum;
If sleekit Chatham Will was livin';
Or glaikit Charlie got his nieve in;
How daddie Burke the plea was cookin',
If Warren Hastings' neck was yeukin;
How cesses, stents, and fees were rax'd,
Or if bare as yet were tax'd;
The news o' princes, dukes, and earls,
Pimps, sharpers, bawds, and opera girls;
If that daft buckie, Geordie Wales,
Was threshin' still at hizzies' tails;
Or if he was grown oughtlins douser,
And no a perfect kintra cooser.-
A' this and mair I never heard of;
And but for you I might despair'd of.
So, gratefu', back your news I send you,
And pray, a' guid things may attend you!
Ellisland, Monday Morning, 1790.

THE KIRK'S ALARM;1

A SATIRE.

[FIRST VERSION.]

[The history of this Poem is curious. M'Gill, one of the ministers of Ayr, long suspected of entertaining heterodox opinions concerning original sin and the Trinity, published “ A Practical Essay on the Death of Jesus Christ," which, in the opinion of the more rigid portion of his brethren, inclined both to Arianism and Socinianism. This essay was denounced as heretical, by a minister of the name of Peebles, in a sermon preached November 5th, 1788, and all the west country was in a flame. The subject was brought before the Synod, and was warmly debated till M'Gill expressed his regret for the disquiet he had occasioned, explained away or apologized for the challenged passages in his Essay, and declared his adherence to the standard doctrines of his mother church. Burns was prevailed upon to bring his satire to the aid of M'Gill, but he appears to have done go with reluctance.]

ORTHODOX, Orthodox,

Wha believe in John Knox,

Let me sound an alarm to your conscience:
There's a heretic blast

Has been blawn in the wast,

That what is no sense must be nonsense.

Dr. Mac, Dr. Mac,

You should stretch on a rack,

To strike evil doers wi' terror;

To join faith and sense

Upon ony pretence,

Is heretic, damnable error.

Town of Ayr, town of Ayr,
It was mad, I declare,

To meddle wi' mischief a-brewing;
Provost John3 is still deaf

To the church's relief,

And orator Bob' is its ruin.

D'rymple mild, D'rymple mild,
Tho' your heart's like a child,

And life like the new driven snaw,
your

Yet that winna save ye,

Auld Satan must have ye,

For preaching that three's ane an' twa.

1 This Poem was written a short time after the publication of M'Gill's Essay.

2 Dr. M'Gill.

4 Robert Aiken.

8 John Ballantyne.

Dr. Dalrymple.

Rumble John,' Rumble John,
Mount the steps wi' a groan,
Cry the book is wi' heresy cramm'd;
Then lug out your ladle,

Deal brimstone like adle,

And roar every note of the damn'd.

Simper James, Simper James,
Leave the fair Killie dames,
There's a holier chase in your view;
I'll lay on your head

That the pack ye'll soon lead,
For puppies like you there's but few.

Singet Sawney, Singet Sawney,
Are ye herding the penny,

Unconscious what evil await?

Wi' a jump, yell, and howl,
Alarm every soul,

For the foul thief is just at your gate.

Daddy Auld, Daddy Auld,
There's a tod in the fauld,

A tod meikle waur than the clerk;
Though ye can do little skaith,
Ye'll be in at the death,

And gif ye canna bite, ye may bark.

Davie Bluster, Davie Bluster,
If for a saint ye do muster,

The corps is no nice of recruits;

Yet to worth let's be just,

Royal blood ye might boast,

If the ass was the king of the brutes.

Jamy Goose, Jamy Goose,

Ye ha'e made but toom roose,

In hunting the wicked lieutenant;

1 Mr. Russell.

Mr. Moody, of Riccarton.

Mr. Grant, of Ochiltree.

2 Mr. K'Kinlay.

4 Mr. Auld, of Mauchline.

• Mr. Young, of Cumnock.

But the Doctor's your mark,

For the L-d's haly ark;

He has cooper'd and cawd a wrang pin in't.

Poet Willie, Poet Willie,

Gie the Doctor a volley,

Wi' your liberty's chain and your wit;
O'er Pegasus' side

Ye ne'er laid astride,

Ye but smelt, man, the place where he

Andro Gouk, Andro Gouk,

Ye may slander the book,

And the book not the waur, let me tell ye;

Ye are rich and look big,

But lay by hat and wig,

And ye'll ha'e a calf's head o' sma' value.

3

Barr Steenie, Barr Steenie,

What mean ye, what mean ye,

If ye'll meddle nae mair wi' the matter,
Ye may ha'e some pretence

To havins and sense,

Wi' people wha ken ye nae better.

Irvine side, Irvine side,

Wi' your turkey-cock pride,

Of manhood but sma' is your share;

And

Ye've the figure 'tis true,

Even your faes will allow,

your friends they daur grant you nae mair.

Muirland Jock, Muirland Jock,

When the L-d makes a rock

To crush Common sense for her sins,
If ill manners were wit,

There's no mortal so fit

To confound the poor Doctor at ance.

1 Mr. Peebles, Ayr.

Mr. Stephen Young, of Barr.
Mr. John Shepherd, Muirkirk.

2 Dr. Andrew Mitchell, of Monkton.

4 Mr. George Smith, of Galston.

Holy Will,' Holy Will,

There was wit i' your skull,

When ye pilfer'd the alms o' the poor;
The timmer is scant,

When ye're ta'en for a saunt,

Wha should swing in a rape for an hour.

Calvin's sons, Calvin's sons,
Seize your spir'tual guns,

Ammunition you never can need;

And

Your hearts are the stuff,

Will be powther enough,

your skulls are storehouses o' lead.

Poet Burns, Poet Burns,

Wi' your priest-skelping turns,
Why desert ye your auld native shire?
Your muse is a gipsie,

E'en tho' she were tipsie,

She could ca' us nae waur than we are.

THE KIRK'S ALARM.

A BALLAD.

[SECOND VERSION.J

[This version is from the papers of Miss Logan, of Afton. The origin of the Poem is thus related to Graham of Fintry by the poet himself: "Though I dare say you have none of the solemn League and Covenant fire which shone so conspicuous in Lord George Gordon, and the Kilmarnock weavers, yet, I think you must have heard of Dr. M'Gill, one of the clergymen of Ayr, and his heretical book. God help him, poor man! Though one of the worthiest, as well as one of the ablest of the whole priesthood of the Kirk of Scotland, in every sense of that ambiguous term, yet the poor doctor and his numerous family are in imminent danger of being thrown out (9th December, 1790) to the mercy of the winter winds. The enclosed ballad on that business. is, I confess. too local: but I laughed myself at some conceits in it, though I am convinced in my conscience there are a good many heavy stanzas in it too." The Kirk's Alarm was first printed by Stewart, in 1801. Cromek calls it "A silly satire, on some worthy ministers of the gospel, in Ayrshire."]

ORTHODOX, Orthodox,

Who believe in John Knox,

Let me sound an alarm to your conscience

1 Holy Willie, alias William Fisher, Elder in Mauchline.