No More Learning

Take aff your dram!




The Ordination

For sense they little owe to frugal Heav'n--
To please the mob, they hide the little giv'n.

Kilmarnock wabsters, fidge an' claw,
An' pour your creeshie nations;
An' ye wha leather rax an' draw,
Of a' denominations;
Swith to the Ligh Kirk, ane an' a'
An' there tak up your stations;
Then aff to Begbie's in a raw,
An' pour divine libations
For joy this day.

Curst Common-sense, that imp o' hell,
Cam in wi' Maggie Lauder;^1
But Oliphant^2 aft made her yell,
An' Russell^3 sair misca'd her:
This day Mackinlay^4 taks the flail,
An' he's the boy will blaud her!
He'll clap a shangan on her tail,
An' set the bairns to daud her
Wi' dirt this day.

[Footnote 1: Alluding to a scoffing ballad which was made on the
admission of the late reverend and worthy Mr. Lihdsay to the
"Laigh Kirk. "--R. B. ]

[Footnote 2: Rev. James Oliphant, minister of Chapel of Ease,
Kilmarnock. ]

[Footnote 3: Rev. John Russell of Kilmarnock. ]

[Footnote 4: Rev. James Mackinlay.
]

Mak haste an' turn King David owre,
And lilt wi' holy clangor;
O' double verse come gie us four,
An' skirl up the Bangor:
This day the kirk kicks up a stoure;
Nae mair the knaves shall wrang her,
For Heresy is in her pow'r,
And gloriously she'll whang her
Wi' pith this day.

Come, let a proper text be read,
An' touch it aff wi' vigour,
How graceless Ham^5 leugh at his dad,
Which made Canaan a nigger;
Or Phineas^6 drove the murdering blade,
Wi' whore-abhorring rigour;
Or Zipporah,^7 the scauldin jad,
Was like a bluidy tiger
I' th' inn that day.

There, try his mettle on the creed,
An' bind him down wi' caution,
That stipend is a carnal weed
He taks by for the fashion;
And gie him o'er the flock, to feed,
And punish each transgression;
Especial, rams that cross the breed,
Gie them sufficient threshin;
Spare them nae day.

Now, auld Kilmarnock, cock thy tail,
An' toss thy horns fu' canty;
Nae mair thou'lt rowt out-owre the dale,
Because thy pasture's scanty;
For lapfu's large o' gospel kail
Shall fill thy crib in plenty,
An' runts o' grace the pick an' wale,
No gi'en by way o' dainty,
But ilka day.

[Footnote 5: Genesis ix. 22. --R. B. ]

[Footnote : Numbers xxv. 8. --R. B. ]

[Footnote 7: Exodus iv. 52. --R. B]

Nae mair by Babel's streams we'll weep,
To think upon our Zion;
And hing our fiddles up to sleep,
Like baby-clouts a-dryin!