My frien's, I've had a hasty ca',
I'm summoned hurriedly frae a',
There's scarce been ony time at a'
Gien to prepare,
For ere the shades o' evening fa'
I'll be nae mair.

I've been sae bothert nicht and day,
I ne'er had time to learn to pray,
But some o' you perhaps wad say
A word for me,
And straught accounts and clear the way
Before I dee.

I've orders that I maun fulfil,
I've grain unenter'd at the mill,
I've cash uncoonted in the till,
Letters to write;
Then there's the making o' the will,
And a' ere night.

This nicht, this very nicht, I lea';
Oh! how can I gie up the key?
Wha'll manage things as well as me
When I'm awa?
Oh! its an awfu' thing to dee
And leave your a'.

Ye see I'm in a sorry plicht;
Nae wonder that I sweet wi' fricht;
I saw and heard o' things last nicht
That gar me grue—
Enough to mak' me mad outricht,
They were sae true.

A' yesterday I spent in dunning,
And nickit some wha think they're cunning,
So I sat doun to coont the winning,
And write snell letters
To those wha've lang been backward running,
My doun-gaun debtors.

Says I, “My lads, I'll let ye see
Frae justice ye'll nae langer flee.
Nae mercy will ye get frae me;
Ye'll pay the cash,
Or else I'll houn' ye till ye dee,
Ye worthless trash.”

And then I swore by earth and sky,
And by the Ane wha reigns on high,
That tho' they micht o' hunger die,
Whate'er they've got
They'd give me, or in jail they'd lie
Until they rot.

I swor't again, but in a trice
A voice exclaim'd, “Thou hoary vice!”
And then it cried oot “Murder!” thrice
Within mine ear,
While something rattled like the dice
Amang my gear.

I saw a hand o'erturn the licht,
And in an instant a' was nicht;
But, tho' my hair stood up wi' fricht,
I closed my nieves,
And out I roar'd, wi' a' my micht,
“Catch, catch the thieves!”

Tho' I was in a fearfu' state,
I made to shut and bar the gate,
But then a voice, like that o' fate,
Cried three times, “John,
Prepare for death and judgment straight,
And hell anon!”

Nae frien', nae helping hand, was near,
And down I sank, o'ercome wi' fear;
But still the voice rang in mine ear—
Still it cried, “John,
Prepare for death and judgment near,
And hell anon!”

Oh! how my heid ran roun' aboot,
And strange things wriggled in an' oot;
I tint my senses, ne'er a doot.
At last a light
Was brocht by creatures black as soot,
Wha girnt wi' spite.

Away I vainly strove to flee,
While roun' an' roun' they danced wi' glee,
And oh! what mouths they made at me,
And scratch'd my face,
While one says, “John, we've kept for thee
The warmest place.”

While I sat sweetin', trem'lin' there,
The perfect picture o' despair,
Wha comes, and in my face did stare,
But widow Young?
And then she opened on me sair
Her tinkler tongue.

She gabbit for an hour or more
Aboot the things I falsely swore,
And o' the character I bore
For cursed greed,
And telt that story o'er and o'er
Aboot her deed.

She spak' o' a' my ac's unhallow'd,
O' a' the oaths that I had swallow'd,
And how in ill-got gear I wallowed,
And, what d' ye think?
Cast up the hizzies that I follow'd
And stov'd wi' drink!

I bore it lang. At last thinks I
The best o' law is to deny;
It's no the first time—faith, I'll try,—
Sae up I got,
But on, the very infant lie
Stuck in my throat.

For then my eye fell on a sign,
The very one that had been mine
When I was in the grocery line;
I saw wi' shame
Light wechts, false measures, bogus wine,
Stuck to my name.

Then the receipts that folk had lost,
For which I sued and put to cost,
Cam' roun' me like a mighty host;
On each my name
Stood up before me like a ghost
And cried oot, “Shame!”

Then a' wham I had e'er brow-beated,
And all that I had ever cheated,
And those I humbugg'd and defeated
In Brampton court,
Stept forth, and each his tale repeated
As if 'twere sport.

A' spak' o' my infernal greed,
Nae ane wad help me in my need,
But tied me to a stake insteid,
Wi' three-inch cables,
While boiling gowd upon my heid
They pour'd frae ladles.

I roar'd as loud as I was able,
An' wi' ae bound I burst each cable,
And struck my temples on this table;
Then I awoke.
Oh, lauchna, frien's! nor ca't a' fable—
It's nae a joke.

No, no! my frien's, I wasna' fu',
But sober as I am the noo;
I'll never see the morn, I trou;
I sweat wi' fricht,
For a' thae horrors they'll renew
This very nicht.

This nicht, this very nicht I lea';
Oh, how can I gie up the key?
Wha'll manage things as well as me
When I'm awa'?
Oh, its an awfu' thing to dee
And leave ane's a'?