god present him,
the vera sight o' moodie's face,
to 's ai hame had sent him
wi' fright that day.
hear how he clears the point o' faith
wi' rattlin and wi' thumpin!
now meekly calm, now wild in wrath,
he's stampin, an' he's jumpin!
his lengthen'd , his turned-up snout,
his eldritch squeel an' gestures,
o how they fire the heart devout,
like tharidian pisters
on sic a day!
but hark! the tent has g'd its voice,
there's pea' rest nae nger;
for a' the real judges rise,
The Holy Fair(8/16)