Epitaph on Holy Willie

Here Holy Willie's sair worn clayTaks up its last abode;His saul has taen some other way,I fear the left-hand road.

Stop! there he is, as sure's a gun,Poor silly body, see him;Nae wonder he's as black's the grun,Observe wha's standing wi' him.

Your brunstane devilship, I see,Has got him there before ye;But haud your nine-tail cat a-wee,Till ance you've heard my story.

Your pity I will not implore,For pity ye have nane;Justice, alas! has gi'en him o'er,And mercy's day is gane.

But hear me, Sir, deil as ye are,Look something to your credit;A coof like him wad stain your name,If it were kent ye did it.