I there wi' Something did forgather,
That put me in an eerie swither;

An awfu' scythe, out-owre ae shouther,

Clear-dangling, hang;

A three-taed leister on the ither

Lay, large an' lang.

Its stature seem'd lang Scotch ells twa,
The queerest shape that ere I saw,
For fient a wame it had ava;

And then its shanks,

They were as thin, as sharp an' sma'

As cheeks o' branks.

Guid-een,' quo' I; 'Friend! hae ye been mawin, "When ither folk are busy sawin ?'*

It seem'd to mak a kind o' stan',

But naething spak;

At length, says I, Friend, whare ye gaun,

'Will ye go back?"

* This rencounter happened in seed-time, 1785.

It

It spak right howe,- My name is Death,
'But be na' fley'd.'-Quoth I, Guid faith,
'Ye're may be come to stap my breath;

• But tent me billie;

'I red ye weel, tak care o' skaith,

See there's a gully"

• Gudeman,' quo' he, put up your whittle, 'I'm no design'd to try its mettle;

But if I did, I wad be kittle

To be mislear'd,

I wad na mind it, no that spittle

• Out-owre my beard.'

'Weel, weel!' says I, 'a bargain be't;

'Come, gies your hand, an' sae we're gree't; 'We'll ease our shanks an' tak a seat,

'Come, gies your news;

This while ye hae been mony a gate,

'At mony a house.'

* An epidemical fever was then raging in that country.

Ay, ay quo' he, an' shook his head, • It's e'en a lang, lang time indeed • Sin' I began to nick the thread,

'An' choke the breath:

• Folk maun do something for their bread, An' sae maun Death.

• Sax thousand years are near hand fled • Sin' I was to the butching bred,

An' mony a scheme in vain's been laid,
To stap or scar me;

• Till ane Hornbook's* ta'en up the trade,
An' faith, he'll waur me.

"Ye ken Jock Hornbook i' the Clachan,
• Deil mak his king's-hood in a spleuchan!
• He's grown sae well acquaint wi' Buchan+
'An' ither chaps,

The weans haud out their fingers laughin
And pouk my hips.

• See,

This gentleman, Dr. Hornbook, is professionally, a brother of the Sovereign Order of the Ferula; but, by intuition and inspiration, is at once an Apothecary, Surgeon, and Physician.

+ Buchan's Domestic Medicine.

'See, here's a scythe, and there's a dart,

They hae pierc'd mony a gallant heart; 'But Doctor Hornbook, wi' his art

And cursed skill,

Has made them baith no worth a f―t, 'Damn'd haet they'll kill.

''Twas but yestreen, nae farther gaen, 'I threw a noble throw at ane;

'Wi' less, I'm sure, I've hundreds slain; But deil-ma-care,

* It just play'd dirl on the bane,

But did nae mair.

• Hornbook was by, wi' ready art,
⚫ And had sae fortify'd the part,
• That when I looked to my dart,

'It was sae blunt,

'Fient haet o't wad hae pierc'd the heart • Of a kail-runt.

'I drew my scythe in sic a fury,
• I nearhand cowpit wi' my hurry,
• But yet the bauld Apothecary

• Withstood the shock;

• I might as weel hae try'd a quarry
'O' hard whin rock.

• Ev'n them he canna get attended,

• Altho' their face he ne'er had kend it,

• Just

in a kail-blade, and send it,

As soon he smells't,

• Baith their disease, and what will mend it,

At once he tells't.

"And then a' doctor's saws and whittles,
Of a' dimensions, shapes, an' mettles,
" A' kinds o' boxes, mugs, an' bottles,
• He's sure to hae;

Their Latin names as fast he rattles
As A B C.

Calces o' fossils, earth, and trees; True Sal-marinum o' the seas; • The Farina of beans and pease,

'He has❜t in plenty;

Aqua-fontis, what you please,

He can content

ye.

• Forbye some new, uncommon weapons,

• Urinus Spiritus of capons;

• Or Mite-horn shavings, filings, scrapings; • Distill'd per se ;

* Sal-alkali o' Midge-tail-clippings,

And mony mae.'

• Waes