Hyst.-Lowrie Macwill o' Powmuddle.
Jurym.-Here.

Hyst. Daniel Losh o' Benskair.
Jurym.-Here.

Hyst.-John Stoupie, writer, Kirkfuddle.
Jurym.-Here.

Hyst.-Baillie Bole, shoemaker there.
Jurym.-Here.

Hyst. Samuel Macguire in Craig-gullion.
If present, Sir, answer your name.
Jurym.-Here.

Hyst. Quintin Maccosh in Knockdullion.
Jurym.-Here.

Hyst.-Gal-lery-si-lence-Ahem!

*

*AIR.-In the Garb of Old Gaul.

Macer.-Hem!-Si-lence.

Cal.-Officer, bring John Black to the bar.

(The Pannel is brought in guarded,* and Petitions for Banishment.)

AIR.-The Lee Rig.

Pannel.-O send me oure the lang seas,

My ain kind lordie O;

* Alas! I cannot insert this word, without feelings of the most painful nature! The Town-Guard of Auld Reekie is now no more! and a gentleman, tried before the High Court of Justiciary, must submit to the indignity of sitting between two non-descripts called policemen, who sport glazed hats, and handle no better weapons than batons. How different was it in days of yore?— How dignified was the cocked hat of the gray-haired veteran! How imposing his queue. How awful his Lochaber-axe! But this is the age of innovation and reform; and a man will, ere long, not even be hanged, with common decency. I wonder the illustrious Hume has not, ere now, pointed out to the reformed House of Commons, the absurdity of the Country being at the cost of a new rope for each new culprit, when one good one might suffice for a score !-PRINTER'S DEVIL.

O send me oure the lang seaš,
My ain kind lordie O.

O send me east, or send me wast,
Or send me south or nordie, O;
But send me owre the lang seas,
My ain kind lordie O.

* AIR.-Lass gin ye lo'e me tell me now.

Cal.-Pannel, a halter must be your end,

The fiend, at your skirts, has now his prong;
Your days, that are number'd, in penitence spend ;
But I'll lecture you, presently, half an hour long.

Mercy were folly, if lavish'd on him;
Robbing and thieving, the gallows shall check;
Our duty is plain, we'll proceed to condemn,-
John
you shall presently hang by the neck.

AIR. We're gayly yet.

Pannel. We're no guilty yet,
We're no guilty yet,

Although we're accused,

We're no guilty yet.

Afore ye condemn,

Ye man hear us a bit,

For although we're accus'd

We're no guilty yet.

(Jury are chosen, and the Indictment read.)

* AIR.-Grimaldi's Jig in Mother Goose.

Hyst. Whereas by the laws o' this realm,
And o' ev'ry well governed land,
To seize on anither man's geer,

(As the tangs ance a Highlandman fand.)

And whether the thief he be caught
In the fact, or be gruppit out-fang,
The law says expressly, and wisely,
That chiel by the thrapple shall hang.

And you John Black, there, the pannel,
Ye robbit, assaulted, and a'

And sae, gang till an assize, Sir,

And underlie pains o' the law.*

* AIR.-Miss Macleod's Reel.

BOMBYX.

Painfull the duty is, which I must now perform,
Stating a train of guilt uncommon and enorm,—
Ous,-calling my witnesses to make the fact out plain,
And if your verdict's guilty, my labour's not in vain.

Gentlemen, your feelings must, with justice never jar,
The statutes of the land condemn the pris'ner at the bar ;
The law most clearly indicates the gallows, as reward,
For culprits such as him between the soldiers of the guard.

John Black met Peter Brown, upon the King's highway,
With foul intent to rob,-I fear intent to slay;

John Black, the pannel, did step up to Peter Brown,
And with his fist, or bludgeon, did knock said Peter down.

Ferocious, atrocious, felonious also,

Did then and there, with that or this, reiterate the blow; Then seized Peter by the throat, to suffocate his cries, And most outrageously exclaim'd, "Your money, d― your deyes."

Enter PETER Brown.

* AIR.-The bonniest lass in a' the warld.

Peter. The pannel's a regardless loon,

And brags that he defies man;

And bauldly threepit through the town
He'd do for the exciseman.

I thought 'twas nought but silly clash,
That sneevlin' gowks wad tell me ;
Quo' I, my thum I wanna fash,

It's no siclike can fell me.

Four cadgers rade through Halk-wood-stack,

I doubted Jean Macleerie ;

I took the road, when up cam Black,
And dang me tapsalteerie.

He rypit, maybe, for his knife,

I thought I saw it glancin',
He took the rue, and sav'd my life,
Syne, like a de'il, gaed dancin'.

Enter PEPPERTAIL.

AIR.-Bran lads o' Galla Water.

Pepper-Comin' frae the toun o' Straiven,

On my poor mare that had the spavin, I met the pannel near the Kirk o' Shotts, Like ony madman he was raivin.

Black his hair, and blue his coat,-
Tightly he did the gauger han'le,

The mair he shuck the fallow by the throat,
The steadier still I e'ed the pannel.

Enter MATHEW MUTCHKIN.

* AIR-Calder Fair.

Mat.-As I cam hame frae Ruglin fair,
At e'en, whan it was dusky,
I had enough-and may-be mair,
A drap oure muckle whisky.

I saw twa fallows yoke thegither,

Wha they war, the taen or tither,
I ken na mair nor Abram's mither,
I was blin' wi' whisky.

Enter Bizz.

* AIR.-Will ye gang and marry Katy?

Bombyx.-Pray, What is your name, friend? tell us.
Bizz.-Tammas Bizz.-I've blawn the bellows,
And I've clinkit on the studdy

Sin' a wean, knee-heigh and duddy.

And the gauger, weel I ken,

Aft he stammers butt and ben,

Snowkin a' frae end to end,
He's mislear'd and capernoited.

And I ken Jock Black fou weel,
A sturdy hand at our fore-hammer ;
Bess, his wife, flytes at the chiel,
But weel a wat I do condemn her.

Wark, ye ken yersels, brings drouth,
Wha can thole a gaizen'd mouth?

And gif he tak a gill, forsooth

Queans maun flyte, and fools man clatter.