Epistle To The Rev. John Mmath
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epistle to the rev. john m'math sept. 13, 1785. inclosing a copy of “holy willie's prayer,” which he had requested, sept. 17, 1785 while at the stook the shearers cow'r to shuter blaudin' show'r, or in gulravage rinnin scowr to pass the time, to you i dedicate the hour in idle rhyme. my musie, tir'd wi' mony a so on gown, an' ban', an' douse black bo, is grht eerie now she's do, lest they should blame her, an' rouse their holy thunder on it an anathem her. i own 'twas rash, an' rather hardy, that i, a simple, try bardie, should meddle ack sae sturdy, wha, if they ken me, easy, wi' a single wordie, lowse hell upon me. but i gae mad at their grimaces, their sighin, tin, grace-proud faces, their three-mile prayers, an' half-mile graces, their raxin sce, whase greed, revenge, an' pride disgraces waur nor their nonsense. there's gaw'n, misca'd waur than a beast, wha has mair honour in his breast than mony scores as guid's the priest wha sae abus'd him: and may a bard no crack his jest what way they've us'd him? see him, the poor man's friend in need, the gentleman in word an' deed— an' shall his fame an' honour bleed by worthless, skellums, an' not a muse erect her head to cowe the blellums? o pope, had i thy satire's darts to gie the rascals their deserts, i'd rip their rotten, hollow hearts, an' tell aloud their jugglin hocus-pocus arts to cheat the crowd. god knows, i'm no the thing i should be, nor am i evehing i could be, but twenty times i rather would be an atheist , than under gospel colours hid be just for a s. an ho man may like a glass, an ho man may like a lass, but mean revenge, an' malice fause he'll still disdain, an' then cry zeal fospel laws, like some we ken. they take religion in their mouth; they talk o' mercy, grace, an' truth, for what?—to gie their malice skouth on some puir wight, an' hunt him down, owre right and ruth, to ruin straight. all hail, religion! maid divine! pardon a muse sae mean as mine, who in her rough imperfect line thus daurs to hee; to stigmatise false friends of thine e'er defame thee. tho' blotch't and foul wi' mony a stain, an' far unworthy of thy train, with trembling voice i tune my strain, to join with those who boldly dare thy cause maintain in spite of foes: in spite o' crowds, in spite o' mobs, in spite o' undermining jobs, in spite o' dark banditti stabs at worth a, by sdrels, even wi' holy robes, but hellish spirit. o ayr! my dear, my native ground, within thy presbyterial bound a did liberal band is found of public teachers, as men, as christians too, renown'd, an' manly preachers. sir, in that circle you are nam'd; sir, in that circle you are fam'd; an' some, by whom your doe's blam'd (which gies you honour) even, sir, by them your heart's esteem'd, an' winning manner. pardon this freedom i have ta'en, an' if imperti i've been, impute it not, good sir, in ane whase heart ne'er wrang'd ye, but to his utmost would befriend ought that belang'd ye.