"London Rain" by Louis MacNeice (read by Tom O'Bedlam)

"randy" means sexually aroused.
His remarks about conflicting impulses and conscience are interesting. If you believe, as I do, that we inherit morality and motivations - and I can't see how anybody who has had children believe otherwise, because these strategies are obviously inherent: we never taught them the emotions and crafty manipulations that they must have been born with - then in almost every situation we have a variety of impulses. If we choose the path of righteousness, then we will always hear the voice of the devil tempting us: if we choose to be selfish and wicked we will always hear the voice of conscience. These are not the voices of Devils or Angels: they are nothing but the voice of the other strategy, all that remains of it. Many a hardened criminal has reformed and many personal virtue has been tempted and fallen from grace. So, as a Christian might say, it is always possible to stray from the fold or, having strayed, return to it.
Louis MacNeice was Irish (not Scottish).
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Louis_Ma...
The picture of London Street:
radinandrew.com/
The painting was found at Deviant Art:
smiling-raven.deviantart.com/a...
The rain of London pimples
The ebony street with white
And the neon lamps of London
Stain the canals of night
And the park becomes a jungle
In the alchemy of night.
My wishes turn to violent
Horses black as coal--
The randy mares of fancy,
The stallions of the soul--
Eager to take the fences
That fence about my soul.
Across the countless chimneys
The horses ride and across
The country to the channel
Where warning beacons toss,
To a place where God and No-God
Play at pitch and toss.
Whichever wins I am happy
For God will give me bliss
But No-God will absolve me
From all I do amiss
And I need not suffer conscience
If the world was made amiss.
Under God we can reckon
On pardon when we fall
But if we are under No-God
Nothing will matter at all,
Arson and rape and murder
Must count for nothing at all.
So reinforced by logic
As having nothing to lose
My lust goes riding on horseback
To ravish where I choose,
To burgle all the turrets
Of beauty as I choose.
But now the rain gives over
Its dance upon the town,
Logic and lust together
Come dimly tumbling down,
And neither God nor No-God
Is either up or down.
The argument was wilful,
The alternatives untrue,
We need no metaphysics
To sanction what we do
Or to muffle us in comfort
From what we did not do.
Whether the living river
Began in bog or lake,
The world is what was given,
The world is what we make
And only we can discover
Life in the life we make.
So let the water sizzle
Upon the gleaming slates,
There will be sunshine after
When the rain abates
And rain returning duly
When the sun abates.
My wishes now come homeward,
Their gallopings in vain,
Logic and lust are quiet,
Once more it starts to rain.
Falling asleep I listen
To the falling London rain.