[Footnote 83: Mr. Moody, of Riccarton.]

[Footnote 84: Mr. Auld of Mauchline.]

[Footnote 85: Mr. Grant, of Ochiltree.]

[Footnote 86: Mr. Young, of c.u.mnock.]

[Footnote 87: Mr. Peebles, Ayr.]

[Footnote 88: Dr. Andrew Mitch.e.l.l, of Monkton.]

[Footnote 89: Mr. Stephen Young, of Barr.]

[Footnote 90: Mr. George Smith, of Galston.]

[Footnote 91: Mr. John Shepherd, Muirkirk.]

[Footnote 92: Holy Willie, alias William Fisher, Elder in Mauchline.]

CX.

THE KIRK'S ALARM.

A BALLAD.

[SECOND VERSION.]

[This version is from the papers of Miss Logan, of Afton. The origin of the Poem is thus related to Graham of Fintry by the poet himself: "Though I dare say you have none of the solemn League and Covenant fire Which shone so conspicuous in Lord George Gordon, and the Kilmarnock weavers, yet I think you must have heard of Dr. M'Gill, one of the clergymen of Ayr, and his heretical book, G.o.d help him, poor man! Though one of the worthiest, as well as one of the ablest of the whole priesthood of the Kirk of Scotland, in every sense of that ambiguous term, yet the poor doctor and his numerous family are in imminent danger of being thrown out (9th December, 1790) to the mercy of the winter winds. The enclosed ballad on that business, is, I confess too local: but I laughed myself at some conceits in it, though I am convinced in my conscience there are a good many heavy stanzas in it too." The Kirk's Alarm was first printed by Stewart, in 1801.

Cromek calls it, "A silly satire, on some worthy ministers of the gospel, in Ayrshire."]

I.

Orthodox, orthodox, Who believe in John Knox, Let me sound an alarm to your conscience-- There's a heretic blast, Has been blawn i' the wast, That what is not sense must be nonsense, Orthodox, That what is not sense must be nonsense.

II.

Doctor Mac, Doctor Mac, Ye should stretch on a rack, And strike evil doers wi' terror; To join faith and sense, Upon any pretence, Was heretic d.a.m.nable error, Doctor Mac, Was heretic d.a.m.nable error.

III.

Town of Ayr, town of Ayr, It was rash I declare, To meddle wi' mischief a-brewing; Provost John is still deaf, To the church's relief, And orator Bob is its ruin, Town Of Ayr, And orator Bob is its ruin.

IV.

D'rymple mild, D'rymple mild, Tho' your heart's like a child, And your life like the new-driven snaw, Yet that winna save ye, Old Satan must have ye For preaching that three's are an' twa, D'rymple mild, For preaching that three's are an' twa.

V.

Calvin's sons, Calvin's sons, Seize your spiritual guns, Ammunition ye never can need; Your hearts are the stuff, Will be powder enough, And your skulls are a storehouse of lead, Calvin's sons, And your skulls are a storehouse of lead.

VI.

Rumble John, Rumble John, Mount the steps with a groan, Cry the book is with heresy cramm'd; Then lug out your ladle, Deal brimstone like aidle, And roar every note o' the d.a.m.n'd, Rumble John, And roar every note o' the d.a.m.n'd.

VII.

Simper James, Simper James, Leave the fair Killie dames, There's a holier chase in your view; I'll lay on your head, That the pack ye'll soon lead, For puppies like you there's but few, Simper James, For puppies like you there's but few.

VIII.

Singet Sawnie, Singet Sawnie, Are ye herding the penny, Unconscious what danger awaits?

With a jump, yell, and howl, Alarm every soul, For Hannibal's just at your gates, Singet Sawnie, For Hannibal's just at your gates.

IX.

Andrew Gowk, Andrew Gowk, Ye may slander the book, And the book nought the waur--let me tell you; Tho' ye're rich and look big, Yet lay by hat and wig, And ye'll hae a calf's-head o' sma' value, Andrew Gowk, And ye'll hae a calf's-head o' sma' value.

X.

Poet Willie, Poet Willie, Gie the doctor a volley, Wi' your "liberty's chain" and your wit; O'er Pegasus' side, Ye ne'er laid a stride Ye only stood by when he ----, Poet Willie, Ye only stood by when he ----.

XI.

Barr Steenie, Barr Steenie, What mean ye? what mean ye?

If ye'll meddle nae mair wi' the matter, Ye may hae some pretence, man, To havins and sense, man, Wi' people that ken ye nae better, Barr Steenie, Wi' people that ken ye nae better.

XII.

Jamie Goose, Jamie Goose, Ye hae made but toom roose, O' hunting the wicked lieutenant; But the doctor's your mark, For the L--d's holy ark, He has cooper'd and ca'd a wrong pin in't, Jamie Goose, He has cooper'd and ca'd a wrong pin in't.

XIII.

Davie Bl.u.s.ter, Davie Bl.u.s.ter, For a saunt if ye muster, It's a sign they're no nice o' recruits, Yet to worth let's be just, Royal blood ye might boast, If the a.s.s were the king o' the brutes, Davie Bl.u.s.ter, If the a.s.s were the king o' the brutes.

XIV.

Muirland George, Muirland George, Whom the Lord made a scourge, To claw common sense for her sins; If ill manners were wit, There's no mortal so fit, To confound the poor doctor at ance, Muirland George, To confound the poor doctor at ance.

XV.

Cessnockside, Cessnockside, Wi' your turkey-c.o.c.k pride, O' manhood but sma' is your share; Ye've the figure, it's true, Even our faes maun allow, And your friends daurna say ye hae mair, Cessnockside, And your friends daurna say ye hae mair.