To the Rev. Mr — , on his text , Malachi, ch. iv. vers. 2. " And they shall go forth, and grow up, like Calves of the stall."

Right, Sir! your text I'll prove it true,
Tho' Heretics may laugh;
For instance, there's yoursel just now,
God knows, an unco Calf!

And should some Patron be so kind,
As bless you wi' a kirk,
I doubt na, Sir, but then we'll find,
Ye're still as great a Stirk.

But, if the Lover's raptur'd hour
Shall ever be your lot,
Forbid it, ev'ry heavenly Power,
You e'er should be a Stot!

Tho', when some kind, connubial Dear
Your But-and-ben adorns,
The like has been that you may wear
A noble head of horns.
And, in your lug, most reverend J — ,
To hear you roar and rowte,
Few men o' sense will doubt your claims
To rank amang the Nowte.

And when ye're number'd wi' the dead,
Below a grassy hillock,
Wi' justice they may mark your head —
" Here lies a famous Bullock!"