the tither's something dour o' treadin,
but better stuff ne'er cw'd a middin.
ye ministers, ount the poupit,
an' cry till ye be hearse an' roupit,
fhty-eight, he wished you weel,
an' gied ye a' baith gear an' meal;
e'en monc a pck, and mony a peck,
ye ken yoursels, for little feck!
ye bonie sses, dight your e'en,
for some o' you hae tint a frien';
iy-eight, ye ken, was taen,
what ye'll ne'er hae to gie again.
observe the very nowt an' sheep,
how dowff an' daviely they creep;
Elegy On The Year 1788(2/3)