icker,
'tween good and ill.
then that curst carmagnole, auld satan,
watches like baudrons by a ratton
our sinfu' saul to get a cut on,
wi'felon ire;
syne, whip! his tail ye'll ne'er cast saut on,
he's aff like fire.
ah nick! ah nick! it is na fair,
first showing us the tempting ware,
bright wines, and bonie sses rare,
to put us daft
syne weave, uhy spider snare
o hell's damned waft.
poor man, the flie, aft bizzes by,
and aft, as ce he es thee nigh,
thy damn'd auld elbow yeuks wi'joy
and hell
Epistle To Colonel De Peyster(2/3)