# Loss of the pack/The Auld Sark Sleeve

THE AULD SARK SLEEVE.
A reverend esteem’d divine, Upo' a Sabbath-day short syne, While studious, a drawer unlocket, To get a napkin for his pocket; But, by mistak, didna perceive, He whippet in‘t an auld sark sleeve!
​Straught to the kirk he took his way, The pu‘pet speel‘d-sung psalms-did pray. When preachin', in a little space, He wished to wipe his soncy face; But mony a ane could scarce behave, When he brought furth the ⟨auld⟩ sark sleeve
Its curlie edges he ne'er heeded, But gart it do the turn he needed: Bauldly the people he addressed, And earnest hame the matter pressed— Meanwhile exposing in his neeve, The dirty, ragged, auld sark sleeve!
But on a kittle point he landed, Which chosen scripture proofs demanded; He then the Bible grippet quickly, To trace the puzzlin' topic strictly— While he wi' looks composed and grave, Did lay aside the auld sark sleeve!
Upo' the pu'pit edge he laid it, Till through the Bible he pervadet, Explaining the dark critic point, Some heretic put out o‘joint. This doon—rail'd at the erroneous knave, An' caught again the auld sark sleeve!
Ance mair he held it up to view, An' waken'd on the points anew— Zealous an' warmly he extended, Till the discourse he fully ended: So when the subject he did leave, He, lastly—pouch’d the auld sark sleeve!
SEQUEL.
The hin’most prayer and grace weel said,
He left the kirk and hameward gaed,
To tak a chack and drap, and tune
His heart for labour afternoon.
His wife that morn stay’d in wi’ leave,
So kendna o’ the auld sark sleeve.
But now they, arm in arm proceeded,
'Mang wheens o' dandering bodies heeded,
Wha cracked o' faith, election, grace,
And scraped and bowed as they did pass:
Some smirked at Mess John's queer behave,
But nane spak o' the auld sark sleeve.
Again within the rostrum seated,—
The prayer re-coned, the psalm re-bleated—
He read his text:—"Wash me, and so
I shall be whiter than the snow."
Still clutching in his waully neive
The snuffy duddy auld sark sleeve.
He preached o' sprinkling and o' pouring,
0' dipping, scrubbing, and o' scouring,
And aye the rag, in illustration,
He shewed as needing great purgation:
But whan his nose he wad relieve,
His thumbs gaed through the auld sark sleeve
'Twas then laid doon whar ’twas before,
But by mischance 'twas soon ca'ed o‘er.
Meantime the sage precentor keepit ​His haffit on his hand and sleepit:
When o'er his wig and Face sae grave Fell flaffin doon, the auld sark sleeve.
A titter and a laugh began, Whilk o‘er the congregation. The worthy priest's gude wife surveyed Wi' rage, the sport the young anes made, And fry'd, and wus'd the deil might have The gigglers, and the auld sark sleeve.
But by his sermon sair impressed, He didna mind what round him pass'd, His dreepin' nose rubb'd on his luif, And on his coat tails dight it aff; While some, frae sport, began to grieve, To see him miss his auld sark sleeve.
A crone sat near, wha pity thought The man o' God should want for ought: She scrambled on her stool fu' big, And trailed the clout aff Bangor's wig, And on her pike-staff made to wave, Like tatter'd fig, the auld sark sleeve.
Then rax'd it heegh aboon the pu'pit, To gar the earnest preacher note it, The folk nae langer could refrain, But burst out in a roarin' vein. The gude divine, like a' the laive, Observed it now—an auld sark sleeve!
FINIS