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Ae day, as Death, that grusome carl, Was driving to the tither warl', A mixie-maxie motely squad, And mony a guilt-bespotted lad; Black gowns of each denomination, And thieves of every rank and station, For him that wears the star and garter To him that wintles in a halter: Asham'd himself to see the wretches, He mutters, glow'ring at the bitches, 'By God I'll not be seen behint them, 'Nor 'mang the sp'ritual core present them, 'Without, at least, ae honest man, 'To grace this damn'd infernal clan.' By Adamhill a glance he threw, 'Lord, God!' quoth he, 'I have it now, 'There's just the man I want, in faith,' And quickly stopped Ranken's breath.