The Kirk's Alarm
By Joseph Carson
TOWN o' B--n, town o' B--n, a' your foibles to scan
Would puzzle a pate more discerning,
Tho I rail at ye now, I maun fairly allow
That there's some o your preachers have learning.
Little town, little town, your name's running down
The gauntlet o鈥� scorn an鈥� derision, -
鈥楾is averr鈥檇 by the schools ye've forsook a鈥� your rules,
But Satan's auld rule o鈥� division.
J鈥攏 J---, J鈥攏 J---, your head鈥檚 like a whunstane,
Impervious to learning or sense
Off to Scotland again wi' your fanatic strain
An鈥� return wi鈥� a pouch full o' pence.
Va---nt---e, V---nt---e, wi' your hypocrite whine,
Ye delight in contention an' strife;
When ye canna' find foes to batter wi' blows,
Ye go home and belabour the wife.
J--n L---y, J --n L---y, 'twas an act of great knavery,
When Dick was a-dying up stairs,
To run off wi' the breeches contain'd all his riches,
An' left him wi' nought but his prayers.
Saintly S---m, Saintly S---m, ye're as meek as a lam',
When the" New-light" dim tapers ye snuff,
If a heart hard as steel sends a soul to the di'el,
Ye'll be hame to auld cloots time enough.
Sleeket J---s, Sleeket J---s, call the Papists bad names,
Then down to your knees wi' a groan,
An' howl forth a prayer that our lugs canna' bear,
And abuse every creed but your own.
Poet C---n, poet C---n, ye ne'er set you鈥檙e a--- on
The back o' the winged Pegassus,
Go home to your loom, 'tis your ultimate doom,
An' work for your four little lasses.
