On this hand sits a chosen swatch, [sample]
Wi' screw'd up, grace-proud faces;
On that a set o' chaps, at watch,
Thrang winkin' on the lasses [Busy]
To chairs that day.

O happy is that man an' blest!
Nae wonder that it pride him!
Whase ain dear lass, that he likes best,
Comes clinkin' down beside him! [Sits snugly]
Wi' arm repos'd on the chair-back
He sweetly does compose him;
Which, by degrees, slips round her neck,
An's loof upon her bosom, [And his palm]
Unkenn'd that day. [Unacknowledged]

Now a' the congregation o'er
Is silent expectation;
For Moodie speels the holy door, [climbs to]
Wi' tidings o' damnation,
Should Hornie, as in ancient days, [Satan]
'Mang sons o' God present him,
The very sight o' Moodie's face
To's ain het hame had sent him [his own hot]
Wi' fright that day.

Hear how he clears the points o' faith
Wi' rattlin' an' wi' thumpin'!
Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath,
He's stampin' an' he's jumpin'!