Braw days for you, whan fools, newfangle fain, Like ither countries better than their ain; Sic balls, assemblies, operas, or plays; For you thir lads, as weel-lear'd travellers tell, Had sell❜d their sarks, gin sarks they had to sell. But Worth gets poortith an' black burning shame, Yet I am hameil; there's the sour mischance! For now our gentle's gabs are grown sae nice, At thee they tout, and never speer my price: A DRINK ECLOGUE. Witness-for thee they height their tenants rent, And fill their lands wi' poortith, discontent; Gar them o'er seas for cheaper mailins hunt, And leave their ain as bare's the Cairney mount. BRANDY. Tho' lairds tak toothfu's o' my warming sap. For you owr ear the ox his fate partakes, And fa's a victim to the bluidy ax. WHISKY. Wha is't that gars the greedy bankers prieve The maiden's tocher, but the maiden's leave: A DRINK ECLOGUE. By you whan spulzied o' her charming pose, BRANDY. Frae some poor poet, o'er as poor a pot, His tongue in thee, and reads the claiking news: While I shall yet on bein-clad tables stand, Boudin wi' a' the daintiths o' the land. A DRINK ECLOGUE. ‣ WHISKY. Troth I hae been ere now the poet's flame, And heez'd his sangs to mony blithesome theme. BRANDY. But here's the browster-wife, and she can tell LANDLADY. In days o' yore, I cou'd my living prize, A DRINK ECLOGUE. But now-a-days we're blithe to lear the thrift Will you your breeding threep, ye mongrel loun! Frae hame-bred liquor dyed to colour brown? So flunky braw, whan drest in maister's claise, Struts to Auld Reikie's cross on sunny days, Till some auld comrade, aiblins out o' place, Near the vain upstart shaws his meagre face ; Bumbaz'd he loups frae sight, and jooks his ken, Fley'd to be seen amang the tassel'd train... |