039; hell, whare devils dwell,
our vera “sauls does harrow”
wi' fright that day!
a vast, unbottom'd, boundless pit,
fill'd fou o' lowin brunstane,
whase raging fme, an' scorg heat,
wad melt the hardest whun-stane!
the half-asleep start up wi' fear,
an' think they hear it roarin;
whely it does appear,
'twas but some neibor snorin
asleep that day.
'twad be a tale to tell,
how mony stories past;
an' how they crouded to the yill,
when they were a' dismist;
how drink gaed round, in cogs an�
The Holy Fair(13/16)