your fa!)
An' gied the infant warld a shog, [shake]
'Maist ruin'd a'.

D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz, [flurry]
Wi' reekit duds, an' reestit gizz, [smoky rags, scorched wig]
Ye did present your smoutie phiz [smutty]
'Mang better folk,
An' sklented on the man of Uz [squinted]
Your spitefu' joke?

An' how ye gat him i' your thrall,
An' brak him out o' house an' hal', [holding]
While scabs an' blotches did him gall
Wi' bitter claw,
An' lows'd his ill-tongu'd wicked scaul, [loosed, scold]
Was warst ava? [of all]

But a' your doings to rehearse,
Your wily snares an' fechtin' fierce, [fighting]
Sin' that day Michael did you pierce,
Down to this time,
Wad ding a' Lallan tongue, or Erse, [heat, Lowland]
In prose or rhyme.

An' now, auld Cloots, I ken ye're thinkin', [Hoofs]
A certain Bardie's rantin', drinkin', [roistering]
Some luckless hour will send him linkin', [hurrying]
To your black pit;
But faith! he'll turn a corner jinkin', [dodging]
An' cheat you yet.

But fare you weel, auld Nickie-ben!
O wad ye tak a thought an' men'! [mend]
Ye aiblins might--I dinna ken-- [perhaps]
Still hae a stake:
I'm wae to think upo' yon den,
Ev'n for your sake!

Somewhat akin in nature is _Death and Doctor Hornbook_. The purpose
is personal satire, Doctor Hornbook being a real person, John Wilson,
a schoolmaster in Tarbolton, who had turned quack and apothecary. The
figure of Death is an amazingly graphic creation, with its mixture of
weirdness and familiar humor; while the attack on Hornbook is managed
with consummate skill. Death is made to complain that the doctor is
balking him of his legitimate prey, and the drift seems to be
complimentary; when in the last few verses it appears that in
compensation Hornbook kills far more than he cures.

DEATH AND DOCTOR HORNBOOK

Some books are lies frae end to end,
And some great lies were never penn'd:
Ev'n ministers, th