The Twa Herds; Or, The Holy Tulyie Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis


O A' ye pious godly flocksA
Weel fed on pastures orthodoxA
Wha now will keep you frae the foxA
Or worrying tykesA
Or wha will tent the waifs an' crocksA
About the dykesA
The twa best herds in a' the wastB
The e'er ga'e gospel horn a blastB
These five an' twenty simmers pastB
Oh dool to tellC
Hae had a bitter black out castB
Atween themsel'C
O Moddie man an' wordy RussellC
How could you raise so vile a bustleC
Ye'll see how New Light herds will whistleC
An' think it fineD
The L 's cause ne'er gat sic a twistleC
Sin' I hae min'D
O sirs whae'er wad hae expeckitB
Your duty ye wad sae negleckitB
Ye wha were ne'er by lairds respeckitB
To wear the plaidB
But by the brutes themselves eleckitB
To be their guideB
What flock wi' Moodie's flock could rankE
Sae hale and hearty every shankE
Nae poison'd soor Arminian stankE
He let them tasteB
Frae Calvin's well aye clear drankE
O sic a feastB
The thummart willcat brock an' todB
Weel kend his voice thro' a' the woodB
He smell'd their ilka hole an' roadB
Baith out an inD
An' weel he lik'd to shed their bluidB
An' sell their skinD
What herd like Russell tell'd his taleC
His voice was heard thro' muir and daleC
He kenn'd the L 's sheep ilka tailC
Owre a' the heightB
An' saw gin they were sick or haleC
At the first sightB
He fine a mangy sheep could scrubF
Or nobly fling the gospel clubF
And New Light herds could nicely drubF
Or pay their skinD
Could shake them o'er the burning dubF
Or heave them inD
Sic twa O do I live to see'tB
Sic famous twa should disagree'tB
And names like quot villain quot quot hypocrite quotB
Ilk ither gi'enD
While New Light herds wi' laughin spiteB
Say neither's lieinD
A' ye wha tent the gospel fauldB
There's Duncan deep an' Peebles shaulC
But chiefly thou apostle AuldB
We trust in theeB
That thou wilt work them het an' cauldB
Till they agreeB
Consider sirs how we're besetB
There's scarce a new herd that we getB
But comes frae 'mang that cursed setB
I winna nameG
I hope frae heav'n to see them yetB
In fiery flameG
Dalrymple has been lang our faeH
M'Gill has wrought us meikle waeI
An' that curs'd rascal ca'd M'QuhaeJ
And baith the ShawsA
That aft hae made us black an' blaeC
Wi' vengefu' pawsA
Auld Wodrow lang has hatch'd mischiefK
We thought aye death wad bring reliefL
But he has gotten to our griefL
Ane to succeed himM
A chield wha' soundly buff our beefL
I meikle dread himM
And mony a ane that I could tellC
Wha fain wad openly rebelC
Forby turn coats amang oursel'C
There's Smith for aneD
I doubt he's but a grey nick quillC
An' that ye'll fin'D
O a' ye flocks o'er a the hillsA
By mosses meadows moors and fellsA
Come join your counsel and your skillsA
To cowe the lairdsA
An' get the brutes the power themsel'sA
To choose their herdsA
Then Orthodoxy yet may pranceA
An' Learning in a woody danceA
An' that fell cur ca'd Common SenseA
That bites sae sairB
Be banished o'er the sea to FranceA
Let him bark thereB
Then Shaw's an' D'rymple's eloquenceA
M'Gill's close nervous excellenceA
M'Quhae's pathetic manly senseA
An' guid M'MathN
Wi' Smith wha thro' the heart can glanceA
May a' pack affL

Robert Burns


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