Elegy on the Long Expected Death of a Wretched Miser

Wealth he has none, who mourns his scanty store,
And, midst of plenty, starves, and thinks he's poor.

Wi’ branchin' birk your winnocks hing,
Whang down the cheese owre heaps o' bread;
Roun wi' the blue, and roar and sing,
For camsheugh auld F----s is dead.

Hech! is he dead? then ilka chiel
May now be fear't for Death's fell nips,
Since he wha faced the vera De'il,
Has fa'n beneath the spectre's grips.

Whare will the god o' gowden ore,
Light on a box wi' sic dog,
To guard by night and day his store,
Since John's laid cauld below the fug?

His fearsome blue Kilmarnock cowl,
His cloutet hose, and sarks, and bedding,
Wi' weel-swall't social vermin foul—
I saw them a' flung to the midding.

Now, Clootie loup and shake your rump,
Nae mair ye'll need at night to watch him,
Grim glowrin' by some auld tree-stump,
And rattlin' airns in vain to catch him.

Nae mair need ye in corp-like shape,
Aneath the midnight moon lie streeket;
Nor wi' langl clauts, like ony graip,
Waulk through his bield, and doors a' steeket.

Whiles, like a cat, ye'd tread his skelf,
And range arming his plates and bannocks;
Whiles rumlin' owre his box't-up pelf,
Or chappin' awsome at his winnocks.

But a' your schemes, and a' your plots,
And a' the midnight frights ye lent him;
And a' the fear o' tyning notes,
Was naething, till a wife ye sent him.

"A Wife! a curse!" (quo' John, in rage,
Soon as his tickling heat abated,)
"A black, bare whore, to vex my age!"
He said, he girn't, swore, and regretted.

His dearie, glad o' siccan routh,
To mill a note was aye right ready:
Aft she wad kiss his toothless mouth,
While John keen ca'd her his ain lady.

When in the bed, (whare a' fouks gree)
And John laid soun' wi' Venus' ca'pers,
She raise—lowst frae his breeks the key,
Slade up the lid, and poucht the papers.

This pass't a wee, till roused he ran,
He visited his cash,—his heav'n;
He couldna see, but trem’lin' fan'
A yearly income frae him riv'n.

O then what tortures tare his soul!
He groan'd, he spat, he glowrt, he shor’d out;
Then rais't a most tremendous growl,
Sunk by the box, and desperate roar'd out: