THE TRAGEDY OF GRAYBEARD OR THE BRANDY BOTTLE OF KINKEGOLAW:  
With an Answer to Mr. Guild's Vindication of the Brandy-Bottle of Kinkegolaw, which is not here mentioned.  
Being the Tragedy of the Duke de Alva, alias Graybeard, or the Complaint of the Brandy Bottle, lost by a poor Carriour by falling from the Handle, and found by a Company of the Presbitry of Peebles near to Kinkegolaw, as they returned from Glasgow, immediately after they had taken the Test.  
Printed in the Year 1700.   

The Tragedy of the Duke de Alva, alias Graybeard, or the Complaint of the Brandie Bottle, lost by a poor Carriour by falling from the Handle, and found by a Campany of the Presbytery of Peebles near to Kinkegolaw, as they returned from Glasgow, immediately after they had taken the Test.  
IT fell upon the Month of November,  
A fatal Fall my Body did Dismember:  
Many shall tell the Tale that never saw,  
The Brandy-Bottle of Kinkegolaw.  
Where groaning on the ground I chanced to spy  
Two Men in Black devoutly passing by;  
So when my feeble voice their ears could reach  
Poor ancient Graybeard thus began to preach  
O Sons of Levi, Ministers of Grace,  
Have some regard to my right reverend Face;  
My broken Shoulders, and my wrinkled Brow,  
Calls fast for Pity and Supply from you;  
Help, Godly Sirs, and if it be your Will,  
Convey me safely Home to Bigger-Mill;  
Where going to the Widow I was lost,  
Alas! I fear the Carriour pay the cost.  
Poor Soul, if this mischance should him betid,  
He has no more in all the World beside.  
They did not relish this Discourse of mine,  
But vowed the poor should soon be out of pine;  
And took me Prisoner to Kinkegolaw  
Where store of that Black Company I saw:  
Fie Sirs, said I you have at Glasgow, been,  
Swearing Alledgeance to your God and King;  
So do not superad so foul a Deed,  
And take poor Gray-beard's blood upon your head,  
This cruelty sore should you all repent,  
Were he but here whose Picture I present,  
And yet before we part, I'll so prevail,  
The best of you shall strive to kiss my Tail,  
This I was taught when Grey beard I was called  
That proper, pure religion, and undefiled;  
The Widow's Case and Fatherless did notice,  
And ne'er drank out, but filled their empty bottles  
At first they pitied my Lifeless Skin,  
But when they found some cordial heat within  
They flocked about & quickly me surrounded  
And cruelly unto the Heart me wounded:  
They said the Alva never took the Test,  
Therefore rank Papist go unto thy rest;  
And brag of thy right honourable Tomb:  
When thou art buried in a Testers Womb,  
Right blithe they were & drank to one another  
And still th'health went round, here to you br● th●  
I love thy blood so well says Master Boe,  
Thy Bones to Tweed shall in Procession go,  
At last the Hosts of the House came in,  
Finding the Brethren in a merry pin,  
She tells them that a Carriour poor had lost;  
The Brandy-Botle whereof they did boast;  
And for a sure unquestionable Token,  
Here is the hand look ye where it was broke●  
So grave and reverend Sirs be but so handsome  
To take a double Gill for Gray-breads ransom●  
At which their godly Wisdoms were confounded i●  
For they had no intention to refound it.  

Mr. P. Purdy Speaks.  
Yet one stood up in Name of all the rest,  
And swore he bought it when he took the Test  
So be he Poor or Rich the Brandy lost,  
Till Doomsday we shall never pay the cost.  
This Wife will Lodge none be it Paul or Peter  
If once they take the test, for fear they cheat her  
You shall not find a Cloister of such Clouns,  
Search all the Squads of Troupers or Dragouns  
Survey the Country, try the Broken Lairds,  
Search Mar & Lithgows regiments of guards)  
Such spirit Liquor cures Us of all Sorrow;  
Courage we'll take another Test to Morrow:  
And after all is done, we can Recant,  
And swear to Tenor, Test or Covenant:  
While we are here, we'll no Advantage shun,  
There is no Brandy in the World to come,   

An Answer to Mr. Guild's Vindication.  
●nfamous Scribbler, Nature's Fool and Shame!  
O senseless Satire, Beast without a Name;  
Thou scandal to Devotion, scurvy Priest,  
Why made thou earnest of a merry Jest?  
Base Ballader, had thou no Remorse,  
To turn poor Gray-heads Case from bad to worse  
●ll my thy slanderous Tongue for ever smart,  
Though it run parallel with thy false heart,  
And cudgel thy dry Carcase into Tears,  
Were't not for the sacred Coat thou bears.  
What Mortal can read manners, good or gra●  
In the dark Lantern of thy Gipsies Face:  
Thou neasty Negro, filthy reasty Ram,  
A skin like that of a Westphalia-ham;  
Egyptian Mummy out of sight be gone.  
Let none but Surgeons view thy Scaleton.  
A Female amorous that were in Love,  
At thy first view would soon abortive prove  
If by misfortune she should chance to see,  
So foul a Compound of Disformitie.  
Thou calls the Author fool that never hear●  
How Spaniards wear Moustaches & no beard  
Obscure Fantastic Fellow let alone,  
I have seen 500 Spaniards for thy one:  
And yet I swear of all thy Sun-brunt Crew,  
I saw not one had thy prodigious Hue:  
Granting that this the Spaniards Custom we●  
In every place are not some singular?  
Bold Igno●amus, what needs all their Jars?  
Read thou but Strabo on the Belgic Wars;  
Where thou wilt see D. Alva's Beard & Face,  
The Dutch drew on their Bottles in disgrace.  
Thou Poetasters Ape, stain to thy Nation  
Vile Product of some monstruous Copulation  
Officious Guild, where were thy Fancy brags,  
When Gullenstript thee from thy Lousie-rags.  
And wilt thou Verify that general Evil,  
Let Beggar's tide, they'll gallop to the Devil.  
Did this look Gospellike, Guilddar thou say't  
To drink the poor Man's Bottle & not paid  
Or was it seemly for a Man that Preaches,  
To steal away the Bottle in his Breeches,  
Look that thy absence make the not despair,  
And cut thy Throat, because thou missed a share  
For sure it was, it put the in a Rapture,  
That thou forgot both Prayer, Grace & Chapter  
Thy wiser Brethren silent were & sorry,  
Such Fools as thou do make their shame their glory  
Thou wilt not have that fault so much as named  
Which they themselves first openly Proclaimed  
Thine was a Raling not a Vindication,  
And makes thee now Ridiculous to the Nation  
Why does this Fellow thus his Folly vent  
Doth Boe or He our whole Church Represent?  
Among the Apostles was there not a Cheat,  
And see we not the Tares grow with the What  
Don't hising snacks cloud the fair glistering mo●  
And grow not naughty Gull among the Cor●  
Clap to thy stomach this my blistering Plaist●  
And Learn no more to meddle with thy Mast●  
Which if thou do, the next it will be sharpe●  
I Fear not thee, far less Tom Suter Harper  
Whom I could whip, but Credit me restrain  
Because the Fellow is not worth my pains.  
Now show thyself great Caesar Man or ni●  
O Gild thou fool, mock Preacher at Kirkm●   
FINIS