SCOTCH! HOTCH! POTCH!

Digger (Invercargill RSA), Issue 20, 30 July 1920, Page 10

SCOTCH! HOTCH! POTCH!

(Contributed by "The Groper.")

Milton.

Burns.

ADDRESS TO THE DEIL. ''0 Priuce! 0 Chief of many throned Pow'rs That led th' emabttled Seraphim to war,"

0 Thou ! whatever titi® suit thee, Auld Horoie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie, Wha in yon cavern .gi-im an' sootie, Closed under hatches Spairges about the brunstane cootie, To scaud poor wretches! Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee, An' let poor damned bodies be ; I'ra sure sma' pleasure it can gie, E'en to a deil. To skelp ari' scaud poor dogs like me, An' hear us squeel ! Great is thy pow'r, an' great thy fame; Far kend an' noted is thy name ; An' tho' yon lowin heugh's thy hame, Thou travels far; An' , faith ! thou's neither lag nor lame, Nor blate nor scaur. Whyles, ranging like a roaring lion, For prey, a' holes an* corners tryin ; Whyles on the strong-wing-d teinpest flyin, Tirlin the kirks: Whyles, in the human bosom pryin, Unseen thou lurks. I've heard my reverend Graunie say, In JaneJy glens ye like to stray ; Or where a-uld-ruin'd casties, gray, Nod to the moon, Ye fright the nightly wand'rer's way Wi' eldritch croon. When twilight did my Graunie summon, To say her prayers, douce, honest woman ! Aft yont the -dyke she's heard you hummin, vWi' eerie drone ; Or, mstlin, thro' the hoortries comin, Wi, heavy groan. Ae dreary, windy/ winter night, The stars shot down wi' sklentin light, Wi' you. mysel, I gat a fright Ayont the lough ; Ye, like a rash-buss, stood in sight, Wi' waving sough. The cudgel in my nieve did shake, Each bristl'd hair stood like a stake, When wi' an eldritch, stoor quaick — quaick — Amang the Rprings, Awa ye squatter'd, like a drake, Qn whistling wings. Let wralocks grim, an' wither'd hags, Tell how wi'" you, on ragweed nags, They skim the muirs an' dizzy crags, Wi' vvicked speed ; And in kirk-yards renew their leagues Owre howkit dead. Thence countra wiveTj"- wi' toil an' pain, May plunge an' plunge the kirn in vain ; For, oh ! the yellow treasure's taen By witehing skill ; Ari' dawtit, twal-pint hawkie's gaen As yell's the bill. Thence mystic knots mak great abuse On young guidmen, fond, keen, an' crouse ; When the best wark-lume if the house, By cantrip wit, Is instant made no worth a louse, Just at the bit, WI ien thowes dissolve the snawy hoord, An' float the jinglin icy-boord, Then water-kelpies haunt the foord, By your direction ; An' nighted trav'llers are allur'd To their dest-ruction. An' aft your moss-traversing spunkies Decoy the wight that late an' drunk is, The bleezin,' curst, mischievous raonkeys Delude his eyes, TUI in some miry slough he sunk is, Ne'er mair to rise. When masons' mystic word an' grip In storms an' tempests rais© you up, Some cock or cat your rage maun stop. Or, strange to tell! The youngest brother ye wad whip Aif straught to hell! Lang syne, in Eden's bonie yard, Wben youthfu' lovers first were pair'd, An' all the soul of love they shar'd, The raptur'd hour, Sweet on the fragrant, flow'ry sward, i shady bow'r.

Then you, ye auld, snick-drawing dog ! Ye came to Paradise incog, An' play'd on man a cursed brqgue, (Black be your fa' !) An' gied the infant warld a sheg, 'Maist ruin'd a'. D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz, Wi' reekit duds, an' reestit gizz, Ye did pre&ent your smoutie phiz 'Mang hetter folk, An' sklented on the man of Uzz You spitefu' joke? An' how. ye gat him i' your thrall, An' brak him out o' house an' halt, While scabs an' botehas did him gall, Wi' bitter claw, An' lovrs'd his ill tongu'd. wicked soawl; Was warst ava? But a' your doings to rehearse, Your wily snares and an' Cetchiu fierce, Sin' that day Michael did you pierce, Down to this time, Wad ding a' Lallan iongue, or Erse, In prose or ryhme. An' now, auld Cloots, I keri ye're thinkin, A certain Bardie's rantm, drinkin, Some hickless hour will send him linkin f To yo.ur black P't ; But, faith! he'll turn a corner jinkin, An' cheat you yet. But, fare yon w,eel, auld Nickie^ien! 0 wad ye-.tak a. tboug'ht an' xnen' ! Ye aiblins mig'.it I d'mna kea— Stiii hae a stake— I'm wae to think upo' yon den, Ev'n i'or .your sake !

When your liver's out of gear, and you think you 'ro drawing near To the melancholy close of yo-r When you' iv uv !:r.; " prctty glum, as , commotions in your "tomrt Opou up a dreay prospect, of a trip to : Kingdom Come ; When ycqr tucker wcn't di.gest, and your -mind is sore distrcst, As you wonder how ihe moauinerit look abov.o your chest ; Take a liile wise advice — dodge the grave and par;ul:se By calling ^on the doctor— he wiil fix ycu in trice.