Now stair-head critics, senseless fools,
Censure their aim, and pride their rules,
In Luckenbooths wi’ glouring eye,
Their neighbours sma’est fauts descry:
If ony loun shou’d dander there,
O’ aukward gate, and foreign air:

They trace his steps, till they can tell
His pedigree as weel’s himsell.

Whan Phaebus blinks wi’ warmer ray,
And schools at noon-day get the play,
Then, bus’ness, weighty bus’ness, comes,
The trader glours; he doubts, he hums:

In Luckenbooths wi’ glouring eye,
Their neighbours sma’est fauts descry

The lawyers eke to cross repair,
Their wings to shaw, and toss an air:
While busy agent closely plies,
And a’ his kittle cases tries.

In Luckenbooths wi’ glouring eye,
Their neighbours sma’est fauts descry

words: Robert Fergusson. From the forthcoming album Auld Reikie

see also:

The Mind’s Ay Cradled Whan The Grave Is Near

Idle Fancies