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A Satire Anthology
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Год написания книги
2017
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What was I, or my generation,
That I should get sic exaltation!
I, wha deserv’d most just damnation,
For broken laws
Sax thousand years ere my creation,
Thro’ Adam’s cause.
When frae my mither’s womb I fell,
Thou might hae plung’d me deep in hell,
To gnash my gooms, to weep and wail
In burnin’ lakes,
Whare damnéd devils roar and yell,
Chain’d to their stakes.
Yet I am here, a chosen sample,
To show Thy grace is great and ample;
I’m here a pillar o’ Thy temple,
Strong as a rock,
A guide, a buckler, an example
To a’ Thy flock!
But yet, O Lord! confess I must,
At times I’m fash’d wi’ fleshly lust;
An’ sometimes, too, wi’ warldly trust,
Vile self gets in;
But Thou remembers we are dust,
Defil’d wi’ sin.
May be Thou lets this fleshly thorn
Beset Thy servant e’en and morn,
Lest he owre proud and high should turn
That he’s sae gifted:
If sae, Thy han’ maun e’en be borne
Until Thou lift it.
Lord, bless Thy chosen in this place,
For here Thou hast a chosen race:
But God confound their stubborn face,
An’ blast their name,
Wha bring Thy elders to disgrace
An’ open shame!
Lord, mind Gawn Hamilton’s deserts;
He drinks, an’ swears, an’ plays at carts,
Yet has sae mony takin’ arts,
Wi’ great and sma’,
Frae God’s ain priests the people’s hearts
He steals awa.
An’ when we chasten’d him therefor,
Thou kens how he bred sic a splore,
As set the warld in a roar
O’ laughin’ at us;
Curse Thou his basket and his store,
Kail an’ potatoes!
Lord, hear my earnest cry and pray’r
Against the Presbyt’ry of Ayr!
Thy strong right hand, Lord, mak it bare
Upo’ their heads!
Lord, visit them, an’ dinna spare,
For their misdeeds!
O Lord, my God! that glib-tongu’d Aiken,
My vera heart and saul are quakin’,
To think how we stood sweatin’, shakin’,
An’ pish’d wi’ dread,
While he wi’ hingin’ lip an’ snakin,
Held up his head.
Lord, in Thy day o’ vengeance try him!
Lord, visit them wha did employ him,
And pass not in Thy mercy by them,
Nor hear their pray’r;
But for Thy people’s sake destroy them,
An’ dinna spare!
But, Lord, remember me and mine,
Wi’ mercies temp’ral and divine,
That I for grace and gear may shine,
Excell’d by nane,
An’ a’ the glory shall be Thine,
Amen, Amen!
Robert Burns.
KITTY OF COLERAINE
As beautiful Kitty one morning was tripping,
With a pitcher of milk from the fair of Coleraine,
When she saw me she stumbled, the pitcher down tumbled,
And all the sweet buttermilk watered the plain.
“Oh, what shall I do now? ’twas looking at you, now!
Sure, sure, such a pitcher I’ll ne’er meet again;
’Twas the pride of my dairy! O Barney M’Cleary,
You’re sent as a plague to the girls of Coleraine!”
I sat down beside her, and gently did chide her
That such a misfortune should give her such pain;
A kiss then I gave her, and, ere I did leave her,
Другие электронные книги автора Carolyn Wells
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Книга дельная. Без воды, приводятся реальные кейсы и способы их разрешения. Много практичных полезных советов и методик. Кое-что уже испробовала в дел...
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