⚫ without. sugar. 'blacksmith. m ninnies. SCOTCH DRINK Thou art the life o' public haunts; & But thee, what were our fairs and rants ?b By thee inspired, When gaping they besiege the tents, Are doubly fir'd. That merry night we get the corn in, с In cog or bicker, When Vulcan gies his bellows breath, I' th' luggit caup Then Burnewin' comes on like death Nae mercy then, for airn or steel; Till block an' studdie ring an reel, Wi' dinsome clamour. When skirling weanies' see the light, Nae howdie" gets a social night, 1 In the first edition : Wae worth them for't! Or plack frae them.1 When neibors anger at a plea, Cement the quarrel! It's aye the cheapest lawyer's fee, To taste the barrel. Alake! that e'er my muse has reason, Wi' liquors nice, An' hardly, in a winter season, E'er spier her price. Wae worth that brandy, burnin trash! An' sends, beside, auld Scotland's cash Ye Scots, wha wish auld Scotland well! Poor, plackless devils like mysel'! It sets you ill, Wi' bitter, dearthfu' wines to mell,h Or foreign gill. May gravels round his blather wrench, Out owre a glass o' whisky-punch Wi' honest men! SCOTCH DRINK O whisky! soul o' plays and pranks! Thou comes-they rattle in their ranks, Thae curst horse-leeches o' th' Excise, An' bake them up in brunstane pies For poor d-n'd drinkers. Fortune! if thou'll but gie me still 1 Forbes of Culloden had a concession for distilling whiskey. This was with. drawn in 1785. The Auld Farmer's New-Year- Morning On giving her the accustomed ripp of corn to hansel in the New-Year. Thou could hae gaen like ony staggie, h f Tho' now thou's dowie, stiff an' crazy, He should been tight that daur't to raize1 thee, Thou ance was i' the foremost rank, It's now some nine-an'-twenty year, Sin' thou was my guid-father's mear"; He gied me thee, Tho' it was sma', bhandful. o' tocher" clear, • belly. s lea J stalwart, firm and supple. m mare. dowry. 1 Written early in 1786 "in the New Year." THE AULD FARMER When first I gaed to woo my Jenny, But hamely, tawie, quiet, an' cannie, That day, ye pranc'd wi' muckle pride, Kyle-Stewart I could bragged wide e Tho' now ye dow but hoyte and hobble, That day, ye was a jinker1 noble, For heels an' win'! An' ran them till they a' did wauble,1 When thou an' I were young an' skeigh, • mother. An' tak the road! Town's-bodies ran, an' stood abeigh,m An' ca't thee mad. When thou was corn't, an' I was mellow, But ev'ry tail thou pay't them hollow, • can but amble. stumble. m aloof. Whare'er thou gaed. |