Last,white-rob'd'Peace,crown'd with a hazle wreath, To rustic Agriculture did bequeath

The broken iron instruments of death;

At sight of whom our sprites forgat their kindling

wrath.

THE ORDINATION.

For sense they little owe to frugal Heav'n.-
To please the mob they hide the little given.

KILMARNOCK Wabsters fidge an' claw
An' pour your creeshie nations;
An' ye wha leather rax an' draw,
Of a' denominations;

Swith to the Laigh Kirk, ane an' a',
An' there tak up your stations;
Then aff to B-gb--'s in a raw,

An' pour divine libations

For joy this day.

Curst Common-sense, that imp o' hell,
Cam in wi' Maggie Lauder ';
But O******* aft made her yell,
An' R***** sair misca'd her;

1 Alluding to a scoffing ballad which was made on the admission of the late reverend and worthy Mr. L. to the Laigh Kirk,

This day M******* takes the flail,
And he's the boy will blaud her!
He'll clap a shangan on her tail,
An' set the bairns to daub her
Wi' dirt this day.

Mak haste an' turn King David owre,
An' lilt wi' holy clangor;
O' double verse come gie us four,
An' skirl up the Bangor:
This day the kirk kicks up a stoure,
Nae mair the knaves shall wrang her,
For Heresy is in her pow'r,

And gloriously she'll whang her

Wi' pith this day.

Come let a proper text be read,
An' touch it aff wi' vigour,

How graceless Ham2 leugh at his Dad,
Which made Canaan a niger;
Or Phineas3 drove the murdering blade,
Wi' wh-re-abhorring rigour ;

Or Zipporah 4, the scauldin jad,

Was like a bluidy tiger

I' th' inn that day.

There, try his mettle on the creed,
And bind him down wi' caution,

That Stipend is a carnal weed
He takes but for the fashion;

Genesis, ch. ix. ver. 22. 4 Exodus, ch. iv. ver. 25,

Numbers, ch. xxv. ver. 8.

And gie him o'er the flock, to feed,
And punish each transgression;
Especial, rams that cross the breed,
Gie them sufficient threshin,

Spare them na day.

Now auld Kilmarnock cock thy tail,

And toss thy horns fu' canty;

Nae mair thou'lt rowte out-owre the dale,

Because thy pasture's scanty;

For lapfu's large o' gospel kail

Shall fill thy crib in plenty,

An' runts o' grace the pick and wale,

No gi'en by way o' dainty,

But ilka day.

Na mair by Babel's streams we'll weep,

To think upon our Zion;

And hing our fiddles up to sleep,

Like baby-clouts a-dryin:

Come, screw the pegs wi' tunefu' cheep,
And o'er the thairms be tryin;

O, rare! to see our elbucks wheep,
An' a' like lamb-tails flyin

Fu' fast this day!

Lang Patronage, wi' rod o' airn,
Has shor'd the Kirk's undoin,
As lately F-nw-ck, sair forfairn,
Has proven to its ruin :

Our patron, honest man! Glencairn,
He saw mischief was brewin;
And like a godly elect bairn,
He's wal'd us out a true ane,

And sound this day.

Now R****** harangue nae mair,
But steek your gab for ever:
Or try the wicked town of Ayr,
For there they'll think you clever;
Or, nae reflection on your lear,
Ye may commence a shaver;
Or to the N-th-rt-n repair,
And turn a carpet-weaver

Aff-hand this day.

M***** and you were just a match,
We never had sic twa drones:
Auld Hornie did the Laigh Kirk watch,
Just like a winkin baudrons :

And ay' he catch'd the tither wretch,
To fry them in his caudrons :
But now his honour maun detach,
Wi' a' his brimstone squadrons,

Fast, fast this day.

See, see auld Orthodoxy's faes
She's swingein thro' the city;
Hark, how the nine-tail'd cat she plays!
I vow its unco pretty:

There, Learning, with his Greekish face,
Grunts out some Latin ditty;

And Common-Sense is gaun, she says,

To mak to Jamie Beattie

Her plaint this day.

But there's Morality himsel,

Embracing all opinions;

Hear, how he gies the tither yell,

Between his twa companions;

See, how she peels the skin an' fell,
As ane were peelin onions!

Now there they're packed aff to hell,
And banish'd our dominions,

Henceforth this day.

O happy day! rejoice, rejoice!
Come bouse about the porter!
Morality's demure decoys

Shall here nae mair find quarter:
M*******, R*****, are the boys,
That heresy can torture;
They'll gie her on a rape a hoyse,
And cow her measure shorter

By th' head some day.

Come, bring the tither mutchkin in,
And here's, for a conclusion,
To every New Light 5 mother's son,
From this time forth, confusion:
If mair they deave us with their din,
Or patronage intrusion,

We'll light a spunk, and, ev'ry skin,
We'll rin them aff in fusion

Like oil, some day.

New Light is a cant phrase, in the West of Scotland, for those religious opinions which Dr. Taylor of Norwich has defended so strenuously.