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Then I beheld the Service-room,
Black, horrible, and dusky,
Wi’ bleezes mingling wi’ the gloom,
That look’d like lowan whiskey;
And'warkmanship o’ blackest grain,
Wi’ twa three chosen swatches,
That, faith! for some o’ Satan’s ain,
Was even mair than matches;
The fleecing sheers were also there,
Besides the screw and grunstane,
Wi’ Satan, in an easy chair,
O het an’ lowan brunstane,
His under strappers at his lug,
Gleg on the watch were station’d.
Each, like a true Rat-catcher’s dog.
As nimble as impatient.
The grand procession, snug and tight,
Were in the lobby ranged.
And Satan at the pleasing sight,
Frae black to blacker changed.—
O Willy, were na ye a fool
Although ye dinna think it,
Your Colleagues made o’ you a tool,
