THE HOLY FAIR.* Arobe of seeming truth and trust Hid crafty Observation ; And secret hung, with poison'd crust, A mask that like the gorget show'd. And for a mantle large and broad, HYPOCRISY A-LA-MODE. I. UPON a simmer Sunday morn, The rising sun owre Galston muirs, The lav'rocks they were chantin Fu' sweet that day. II. As lightsomely I glowr'd abroad, To see a scene sae gay, Cam skelpin up the way: * Holy Fair is a common phrase in the West of Scotland for a sacramental occasion. Twa had manteeles o' dolefu' black, The third, that gaed a-wee a-back, Fu' gay that day. III. The twa appear'd like sisters twin, The third cam up, hap-step-an'-loup, An' wi' a curchie low did stoop, As soon as e'er she saw me. Fu' kind that day. IV. Wi' bonnet aff, quoth I, • Sweet lass, 'I think ye seem to ken me; 'I'm sure I've seen that bonnie face, 'But yet I canna name ye.' Quo' she, an' laughin as she spak, < An' taks me by the hands, Ye, for my sake, hae gi'en the feck 'Of a' the ten commands A screed some day. V. 'My name is Fun-your cronie dear, • An' that's Hypocrisy. I'm gaun to ********* Holy Fair, To spend an hour in daffin: "Gin ye'll go there yon runki'd pair, We will get famous laughin 'At them this day.' VI. Quoth I, With a' my heart, I'll do't; In droves that day. VII. Here farmers gash, in ridin graith Gaed hoddin by their cotters; There, swankies young, in braw braid-claith Are springin o'er the gutters. The lasses, skelpin barefit, thrang, In silks an' scarlets glitter; Wi' sweet-milk cheese, in monie a whang, An' farls bak'd wi' butter, Fu' crump that day. VIII. When by the plate we set our nose, Weel heaped up wi' ha'pence, A greedy glowr Black Bonnet throws, Some carrying dales, some chairs an' stools, Right loud that day. IX. Here stands a shed to fend the show'rs, Here sits a raw of tittlin jades, Wi' heavin breast and bare neck, An' there a batch of webster lads, Blackguardin frae K For fun this day. X. Here some are thinkin on their sins, On this hand sits a chosen swatch, Wi' screw'd up grace-proud faces; On that a set o' chaps at watch, Thrang winkin on the lasses To chairs that day. XI. happy is that man an' blest! Nae wonder that it pride him Wha's ain dear lass, that he likes best, Unkenn'd that day. XII. Now a' the congregation o'er For ****** speels the holy door, Wi' fright that day. XIII. Hear how he clears the points o' faith Wi rattlin an' thumpin! Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath, His lengthen'd chin, his turn'd up snout, On sic a day! XIV. But hark! the tent has chang'd its voice; |