Classic Poem

Ae day, as Death, that grusome carl,
Was driving to the tither warl',
A mixie-maxie motely squad,
And mony a guilt-bespotted lad;
Black gowns of each denomination,
And thieves of every rank and station,
From him that wears the star and garter
To him that wintles in a halter:
Asham'd himself to see the wretches,
He mutters, glow'ring at the bitches,
" By G-d I'll not be seen behint them,
" Nor 'mang the sp'ritual core present them,
" Without, at least, ae honest man,
" To grace this damn'd infernal clan."
By Adamhill a glance he threw,
" L — d, G-d!" quoth he, " I have it now,
" There 's just the man I want, in faith,"
And quickly stopped Ranken's breath.