THE SHARK;

OR LANG MILLS DETECTED.

Poor wretch! in sic a dreadfu' hour
O' blade and dirt and hurry,
What wad thy saftest luke or sour
Avail to stap their fury?
Lang Mills, wad rise around thy lugs
In mony a horrid volley;
And thou be kicket to the dugs,
To think upo' thy folly
Ilk after day.

Ye Senators! whase wisdom deep
Keeps a' our matters even,
if sic a wretch ye dare to keep,
How can ye hope for heaven?
Kick out the scoun'rel to his shift,
We'll pay him for his sporting,
And sen' his mills and him adrift
At ance to try their fortune
Down Cart this day.

Think, thou unconscionable Shark!
For heaven's sake bethink thee!
To what a depth of horrors dark
Sic wark will surely sink thee—
Repent of sic enormous sins,
And drap thy curst intention;
Or faith I fear, wi' brislt shins,
Thou'lt mind this reprehension
Some future day.