BAILIE BRUCE

Ye’d winder, when creation’s plan Seems sae acceptable to man, And the Creator, in His power, Made brute an’ bird, an’ fruit an’ flower; When e’en the wasps that bigg their bike An’ clocks[15] an’ golachs, an’ the like O’ a’ yon vairmin has their use, What gar’d Him fashion Bailie Bruce? He couldna thole to see a wean Wheepin’ his pearie[16] on the green, Nae sweethe’rts coorted but he saw Auld Homie’s tail ahint the twa. In godly wrath he aye wad show His hate o’ sinfu’ men; but tho’ The wicked fled afore his face The guid aye passed them i’ the race. Oot frae the foremaist seat at kirk He roared the psalms like ony stirk, For gripp’d was he by sic a zeal As nane but the elect micht feel; An’ when the kirk-door plate was set, Wi’ looks o’ pride ye’d ne’er forget, When puir fowk laid their pennies doon He’d gi’e his Maker half a croon. Weel, whiles oor ancient customs change An’ fowk accep’ what’s new an’ strange; Oor decent plate awa was laid For bonny baggies—English made. Sawbath cam’ roond; the kirk was in; The Bailie sat an’ glow’red on sin; The Elder brocht wi’ reverent feet His baggie to the foremaist seat. In drapp’d the money; Bailie Bruce Wi’ open hand an’ purse-strings loose And e’en upliftit, kept his place; The bag passed on its road o’ grace. Weel was’t he couldna see the smile That a’ yon kirk-fu’ had the while Nor yet the Elder’s twisted mou’ That wrocht him a’ the journey through! For oh! ahint the Bailie’s back Was done a deed o’ shame to mak’ His righteous he’rt wi’ anger swell Nane gie’d a bodle but himsel’! An’ at the coontin’, plain to see, The baggie held but ae bawbee!

His health noo gars him keep the hoose; Losh-aye! what ails him, Bailie Bruce?