' a' my birr,
and down yon dark, deep alley spur,
where theologics daunder:
as! curst wi' eternal fogs,
and damn'd iing bogs,
as sure's the creed i'll blunder!
i'll stain a band, or jaup a gown,
or rin my reckless, guilty
against the haly door:
sair do i rue my luckless fate,
when, as the muse an' deil wad hae't,
i rade that road before.
suppose i take a spurt, and mix
amang the wilds o' politics—
electors aed,
where dogs at court (sad sons of bitches!)
septennially a madouches,
till al
Election Ballad(2/11)