Hypocrisy a-la-Mode

HYPOCRISY A-LA-MODE.

[The scene of this fine poem is the church-yard of Mauchline, and the
subject handled so cleverly and sharply is the laxity of manners
visible in matters so solemn and terrible as the administration of the
sacrament. "This was indeed," says Lockhart, "an extraordinary
performance: no partisan of any sect could whisper that malice had
formed its principal inspiration, or that its chief attraction lay in
the boldness with which individuals, entitled and accustomed to
respect, were held up to ridicule: it was acknowledged, amidst the
sternest mutterings of wrath, that national manners were once more in
the hands of a national poet." "It is no doubt," says Hogg, "a
reckless piece of satire, but it is a clever one, and must have cut to
the bone. But much as I admire the poem I must regret that it is
partly borrowed from Ferguson."]

Upon a simmer Sunday morn,
When Nature's face is fair,
I walked forth to view the corn,
An' snuff the caller air.
The rising sun owre Galston muirs,
Wi' glorious light was glintin';
The hares were hirplin down the furs,
The lav'rocks they were chantin'
Fu' sweet that day.

As lightsomely I glowr'd abroad,
To see a scene sae gay,
Three hizzies, early at the road,
Cam skelpin up the way;
Twa had manteeles o' dolefu' black,
But ane wi' lyart lining;
The third, that gaed a-wee a-back,
Was in the fashion shining
Fu' gay that day.

The twa appear'd like sisters twin,
In feature, form, an' claes;
Their visage, wither'd, lang, an' thin,
An' sour as ony slaes:
The third cam up, hap-step-an'-lowp,
As light as ony lambie,
An' wi' a curchie low did stoop,
As soon as e'er she saw me,
Fu' kind that day.

Wi' bonnet aff, quoth I, "Sweet lass,
I think ye seem to ken me;
I'm sure I've seen that bonnie face,
But yet I canna name ye."
Quo' she, an' laughin' as she spak,
An' taks me by the hands,
"Ye, for my sake, hae gi'en the feck,
Of a' the ten commands
A screed some day.

"My name is Fun--your cronie dear,
The nearest friend ye hae;
An' this is Superstition here,
An' that's Hypocrisy.
I'm gaun to Mauchline holy fair,
To spend an hour in daffin:
Gin ye'll go there, yon runkl'd pair,
We will get famous laughin'
At them this day."

Quoth I, "With a' my heart I'll do't;
I'll get my Sunday's sark on,
An' meet you on the holy spot;
Faith, we'se hae fine remarkin'!"
Then I gaed hame at crowdie-time
An' soon I made me ready;
For roads were clad, frae side to side,
Wi' monie a wearie body,
In droves that day.

Here