(I will attempt to substitute some words
where I can to make it more readable,
but some words I cannot “translate”.)
Here Holy Willie’s sore worn clay
…Takes up its last abode;
His soul has ta’en some other way,
…I fear, the left-hand road.
Stop! there he is, as sure’s a gun,
…Poor, silly body, see him;
No wonder he’s as black’s the grun,
…Observe what’s standing with him.
Your brunstane devilship, I see,
…Has got him there before you;
But hold your nine-tail cat a wee,
…Till once you’ve heard my story.
Your pity I will not implore,
…For pity you have none;
Justice, alas! has gi’en him o’er,
…And mercy’s day is gone.
But hear me, Sir, devil as you are,
…Look something to your credit;
A coof like him would stain your name,
…If it were known you did it.