Classic Poem

Here's black misfortune hauds me down
And keeps me scant o' Gear
I ever bear her winter frown
And am poor from year to year
My pockets pennyless remain
In sunshine and in shades
Muses my requests disdain
Are naught but flirting jades
I'm scant o' grace and scant o' gear
And pennyless for a' the year.

2

Misfortune is a flirting jade
Her face a bump o' sin
Of priest-craft-cant she makes a trade
And takes the simple in
She makes the rich oppress the poor
The poor she keeps as slaves
The pulpet stands at hells hot door
She reads them in their graves
I've stood her gab the whole year round
And now I'm all but underground.

3

Sae' black misfortune hauds me down
I'm waur than parritch puir
Though five bare shillings make a crown
I pennyless endure
While hypocrites are set to preach
And turn the right to wrong
I'm forced to hear but no beseach
I tell them in a song
No Priestcraft balls down me they cram
I only show them — That I am.