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That a' y'ere telling may be true,Hae, there's a key, gang in your wayAt the neist door there's braw ait strae;Streek down upon't, my lad and learnThey're no ill lodg'd that get a barn."Thus, after meikle clitter clatter,James fand he coudna mend the matter;And since it might nae better be,With resignation took the key,Unlockt the barn—clam up the mou,Where was an opening near the hou,Through whilk he saw a glent of light,That gave diversion to his sight:By this he quickly cou'd discernA thin wa' sep'rate house and barn,And thro' this rive was in the wa',All done within the house he saw:He saw (what ought not to be seen,And scarce gave credit to his een)The parish priest of reverend fameIn active courtship with the dame—To lengthen out description here,Would but offend the modest ear,And beet the lewder youthfu' flameThat we by satire strive to tame.Suppose the wicked action o'er,And James continuing still to glowr;Wha saw the wife as fast as able,Spread a clean servite on the table,And syne frae the ha' ingle bring benA pyping het young roasted hen,And twa good bottles stout and clear,Ane of strong ale, and ane of beer.
But wicked luck, just as the priestShot in his fork in chucky's breast,Th' unwelcome miller ga'e a roar,Cry'd, 'Bessy, haste ye ope the door.'—With that the haly letcher fled,And darn'd himself behind a bed;
