Here Holy Willie's sair worn clay <br />Taks up its last abode; <br />His saul has ta'en some other way, <br />I fear, the left-hand road. <br /> <br />Stop! there he is, as sur's a gun, <br />Poor, silly body, see him; <br />Nae wonder he's as black's the grun, <br />Observe wha's standing wi' him. <br /> <br />Your brunstane devilship, I see, <br />Has got him there before ye; <br />But haud your nine-tail cat a wee, <br />Till ance you've heard my story. <br /> <br />Your pity I will not implore, <br />For pity ye have nane; <br />Justice, alas! has gi'en him o'er, <br />And mercy's day is gane. <br /> <br />But hear me, Sir, deil as ye are, <br />Look something to your credit; <br />A coof like him wad stain your name, <br />If it were kent ye did it.<br /><br />Robert Burns<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/epitaph-on-holy-willie/
