Stray leaves from the portfolios of Alisander the seer, Andrew Whaup, and Humphrey Henkeckle

124
STRAY LEAVES.
Chased like a roe from hill to dale.
Debarred from village, town, and city;
Her bleeding feet and visage pale.
Ne’er moved her wicked hunters’ pity :
To every murderous wretch a prey.
Who chose to mangle, maim, and cut her.
Heaven was her only hope and stay.
In whom to trust for bread or butter.
But mark the change on Madam now!
While silk and velvet robes bedeck her,
Wi’ greedy een and brazen brow.
She glow’rs into the State Exchequer;
Though bread be given, and water sure.
Yet these do not exactly fit her,
Some richer thing she maun procure.
And hence her howl, ‘Oh, mind the butter.’
The ‘ Poor Man’s Kirk ’ is all her cry.
Yet wi’ the rich she fondly dallies;
Yea—poortith’s cot she passes by.
To banquet in the lordly Palace.
Wi’ Dukes and Lords she feasts and rants,
Drinks smutty toasts—kicks up a splutter;
Then wails about her waefu wants,
And whining cries—‘ Oh, mind the butter.’
Her ‘ Kingdom is not of this warl’,’
At least, if we may trust her story :
But oh! she’s fond to get a haurl
O’ warldly wealth, and pomp, and glory.