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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=506423" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Address ToThe Devil</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">O thou! whatever title suit thee,- <br>Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie!<br>Wha in yon cavern, grim an' sootie,<br>Clos'd under hatches, <br>Spairges about the brunstane cootie<br>To scaud poor wretches!<br>Hear me, Auld Hangie, for a wee,<br>An' let poor damned bodies be;<br>I'm sure sma' pleasure it can gie,<br>E'en to a deil,<br>To skelp an' scaud poor dogs like me,<br>An' hear us squeel!<br>Great is thy pow'r, an' great thy fame;<br>Far ken'd an' noted is thy name;<br>An' tho' yon lowin heugh's thy hame,<br>Thou travels far;<br>An' faith! thou's neither lag nor lame,<br>Nor blate nor scaur.<br>Whyles, ranging like a roarin lion,<br>For prey a' holes an' corners tryin;<br>Whyles, on the strong-wing' d tempest flyin,<br>Tirlin' the kirks;<br>Whyles, in the human bosom pryin,<br>Unseen thou lurks.<br>I've heard my rev'rend graunie say,<br>In lanely glens ye like to stray;<br>Or whare auld ruin'd castles gray<br>Nod to the moon,<br>Ye fright the nightly wand'rer's way<br>Wi' eldritch croon.<br>When twilight did my graunie summon<br>To say her pray'rs, douce honest woman!<br>Aft yont the dike she's heard you bummin,<br>Wi' eerie drone;<br>Or, rustlin thro' the boortrees comin,<br>Wi' heavy groan.<br>Ae dreary, windy, winter night,<br>The stars shot down wi' sklentin light,<br>Wi' you mysel I gat a fright,<br>Ayont the lough;<br>Ye like a rash-buss stood in sight,<br>Wi' waving sugh.<br>The cudgel in my nieve did shake,<br>Each bristl'd hair stood like a stake,<br>When wi' an eldritch, stoor 'Quaick, quaick,'<br>Amang the springs,<br>Awa ye squatter'd like a drake,<br>On whistling wings.<br>Let warlocks grim an' wither'd hags<br>Tell how wi' you on ragweed nags<br>They skim the muirs an' dizzy crags<br>Wi' wicked speed;<br>And in kirk-yards renew their leagues,<br>Owre howket dead.<br>Thence, countra wives wi' toil an' pain<br>May plunge an' plunge the kirn in vain;<br>For oh! the yellow treasure's taen<br>By witchin skill;<br>An' dawtet, twal-pint hawkie's gaen<br>As yell's the bill.<br>Thence, mystic knots mak great abuse,<br>On young guidmen, fond, keen, an' croose;<br>When the best wark-lume i' the house,<br>By cantraip wit,<br>Is instant made no worth a louse,<br>Just at the bit.<br>When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord,<br>An' float the jinglin icy-boord,<br>Then water-kelpie s haunt the foord<br>By your direction,<br>An' nighted trav'lers are allur'd<br>To their destruction. <br>And aft your moss-travers ing spunkies<br>Decoy the wight that late an drunk is:<br>The bleezin, curst, mischievous monkeys<br>Delude his eyes,<br>Till in some miry slough he sunk is,<br>Ne'er mair to rise.<br>When Masons' mystic word an grip<br>In storms an' tempests raise you up,<br>Some cock or cat your rage maun stop,<br>Or, strange to tell!<br>The youngest brither ye wad whip<br>Aff straught to hell!<br>Lang syne, in Eden'd bonie yard,<br>When youthfu' lovers first were pair'd,<br>An all the soul of love they shar'd,<br>The raptur'd hour,<br>Sweet on the fragrant flow'ry swaird,<br>In shady bow'r;<br>Then you, ye auld snick-drawin dog!<br>Ye cam to Paradise incog,<br>And play'd on man a cursed brogue,<br>(Black be your fa'!)<br>An gied the infant warld a shog,<br>Maist ruin'd a'.<br>D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz,<br>Wi' reeket duds an reestet gizz,<br>Ye did present your smoutie phiz<br>Mang better folk,<br>An' sklented on the man of Uz<br>Your spitefu' joke?<br>An' how ye gat him i' your thrall,<br>An' brak him out o' house and hal',<br>While scabs and blotches did him gall,<br>Wi' bitter claw,<br>An' lows'd his ill-tongued, wicked scaul,<br>Was warst ava?<br>But a' your doings to rehearse,<br>Your wily snares an' fechtin fierce,<br>Sin' that day Michael did you pierce,<br>Down to this time,<br>Wad ding a Lallan tongue, or Erse,<br>In prose or rhyme.<br>An' now, Auld Cloots, I ken ye're thinkin,<br>A certain Bardie's rantin, drinkin,<br>Some luckless hour will send him linkin,<br>To your black pit;<br>But faith! he'll turn a corner jinkin,<br>An' cheat you yet.<br>But fare you weel, Auld Nickie-ben!<br>O wad ye tak a thought an' men'!<br>Ye aiblins might-I dinna ken-<br>Still hae a stake:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I'm wae to think upo' yon den,<br>Ev'n for your sake!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robert+Burns">Robert Burns</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=506423" data-title="Address ToThe Devil de Robert Burns" data-description="O thou! whatever title suit thee,- 
Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie!
Wha in yon cavern, grim an' sootie,
Clos'd under hatches, 
Spairges about the brunstane cootie
To scaud poor wretches!
Hear me, Auld Hangie, for a wee,
An' let poor damned b..."></div>
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