SCOTCH DRINK.

Or lee-lang nights, wi' crobbit leuks,
Pore owre the devil's pictur'd beuks;
Stake on a chance a farmer's stackyard,
An' cheat like ony unhang'd blackguard.
There's some exception, man an' woman;
But this is Gentry's life in common.

By this, the sun was ought of sight,
An' darker gloaming brought the night;
The bum-clock humm'd wi' lazy drone,
The kye' stood rowtin' i' the loan;
When up they gat, an' shook their lugs,
Rejoic'd they were na men, but dogs;
An' each took aff his several way,
Resolv'd to meet some ither day.

SCOTCH DRINK.

Give him strong drink, until he wink,
That's sinking in despair;

An' liquor guid to fire his bluid,
That's prest wi' grief an' care;

There let him bouse, an' deep carouse,

Wi' bumpers flowin' o'er,

Till he forgets his loves or debts,
An' minds his griefs no more.

Solomon's Proverbs, xxxi. 6, 7

LET other Poets raise a fracas

'Bout vines, an' wines, an' drunken Bacchus,
An' crabbit names an' stories wrack us,

An' grate our lug,'
I sing the juice Scots bear can mak us,

In glass or jug.

O thou, my Muse! guid auld Scotch Drink,
Whether thro' wimpling worms thou jink,
Or, richly brown, ream owre the brink,
In glorious faem,

Inspire me, till I lisp an' wink,

To sing thy name!

Let husky Wheat the haught adorn,
An' Aits set up their awnie' horn,
An' Pease an' Beans at een or morn,

8

Perfume the plain,

Leeze me on thee, John Barleycorn,

Thou King o' grain!

4 Froth.

• Valleys An endearing phrase-I am happy in thee

On thee aft Scotland chows her cood,1
In souple' scones,' the wale' o' food!'
Or tumbling in the boiling flood

Wi' kail an' beef;

But when thou pours thy strong heart's blood,
There thou shines chief,

Food fills the wame," an' keeps up livin:
Tho' life's a gift no worth receivin,
When heavy-dragg'd wi' pine an' grievin;
But oil'd by thee,

The wheels o' life gae down-hill, scrievin,"

Wi' rattlin glee.

Thou clears the head o' doited' Lear:
Thou cheers the heart o' drooping Care;
Thou strings the nerves o' Labor sair,

At's weary toil:

Thou even brightens dark Despair

Wi' gloomy smile.

Aft, clad in massy siller weed,
Wi' Gentles thou erects thy head;
Yet humbly kind, in time o' need,

The poor man's wing,

His wee drap parritch, or his bread,

Thou kitchens fine.

Thou art the life o' public haunts;
But thee, what were our fairs and rants ?
Ev'n godly meetings o' the saunts,

By thee inspir'd,

When gaping they besiege the tents,

Are doubly fir'd.

That merry night we get the corn in,
O sweetly, then, thou reams the horn in!
Or reekin on a New-year mornin

In cog or bicker,
An' just a wee drap sp'ritual burn in,

An' gusty' sucker!

When Vulcan gies his bellows breath,
An' ploughmen gather wi' their graith,'
O rare! to see thee fizz an' freath

10

I' th' lugget caup!"
Then Burnewin12 comes on like Death

1 Chews her cud. Belly.

At ev'ry chaup.

13

* Flexible, A kind of bread. 4 The choice. Swiftly. 7 Stupified. 8 A wooden dish. 11 A wooden cup with handle. 12 Burnewin-Burn-the-wind-the Blacksmith. 19 Blow.

⚫ Tasteful.

10 Gear.

SCOTCH DRINK.

Nae mercy, then, for airn' or steel;
The brawnie, bainie, ploughman chiel,
Brings hard owrehip, wi' sturdy wheel,

The strong forehammer,

Till block an' studdie' ring an' reel

Wi' dinsome clamour.

When skirlin' weanies see the light,
Thou maks the gossips clatter bright,
How fumbling cuifs their dearies slight,

Wae worth the name.

Nae Howdie gets a social night,

Or plack' frae them.

When neebors anger at a plea,
An' just as wud' as wud can be,
How easy can the barley-bree"

Čement the quarrel!

It's aye the cheapest Lawyer's fee,

To taste the barrel.

Alake! that e'er my Muse has reason
To wyte1o her countrymen wi' treason!
But monie daily weet their weason"
Wi' liquors nice,

An' hardly, in a winter's season,

E'er spier1 her price.
Wae worth that brandy, burning trash!
Fell source o' monie a pain an' brash!
Twins monie a poor, doylt, druken hash,"
O' half his days;

An' sends, beside, auld Scotland's cash

To her warst faes."

Ye Scots, wha wish auld Scotland well,

Ye chief, to you my tale I tell,

Poor plackless devils like mysel,

It sets you ill,

Wi' bitter, dearthfu' wines to mell,

Or foreign gill.

May gravels round his blather wrench,
An' gouts torment him, inch by inch,
Wha twists his gruntle wi' a glunch

O' sour disdain,

Out owre a glass o' Whisky punch

Wi' honest men!

'Iron. A way of striking with their hammer on the arm.

Crying.

Blockheads.

The third part of a Scotch penny.

10 Blame.
A stupid fellow.

11 Wesand.

14 Enemies.

9

Anvil.

O Whisky! soul o' plays, an' pranks!
Accept a Bardie's gratefu' thanks!
When wanting thee, what tuneless cranks
Are my poor verses!
Thou comes- -they rattle i' their ranks
At ither's a-s!

Thee, Ferintosh!' O sadly lost!
Scotland, lament fra coast to coast!
Now colic-grips, an' barkin hoast,

May kill us a';

For loyal Forbes' charter'd boast

Is ta'en awa!

Thae curst horse-leeches o' th' Excise,
Wha mak the Whisky stells' their prize

Haud up thy han', Deil! ance, twice, thrice!

There, seize the blinkers!

An' bake them up in brunstane pies

For poor d-d drinkers.

Fortune! if thou'll but gie me still
Hale breeks,' a scone, an' Whisky gill,
An' rowth o' rhyme to rave at will,

Tak' a' the rest,

An' deal't about as thy blind skill

Directs the best.

THE AUTHOR'S EARNEST CRY AND PRAYER'

TO THE SCOTCH REPRESENTATIVES IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS.

Dearest of Distillation! last and best-
How art thou lost!-

Parody on Milton.

YE Irish Lords, ye Knights an' Squires,

Wha represent our brughs an' shires,

An' doucely manage our affairs

In Parliament,

To you a simple Bardie's prayers

Are humbly sent.

Alas! my roupet" Muse is hearse!

Your Honor's heart wi' grief 'twad pierce,

1 From Ferintosh, in Cromartyshire, where the Forbes family long had the privilege of distilling whisky, duty free.

Stills.

9 Breeches.

4 This was written before the Act anent the Scotch Distilleries, of Session 1786; for which Scotland and the Author return their most grateful thanks.-R. B.

5 Hoarse,

THE AUTHOR'S CRY AND PRAYER.

To see her sitten on her a―

Low i' the dust,

An' scriechen out prosaic verse,

An' like to brust!

Tell them whae hae the chief direction,
Scotland an' me's in great affliction,
E'er sin' they laid that curst restriction
On Aquavita;

An' rouse them up to strong conviction,
An' move their pity.

Stand forth, and tell yon Premier Youth,
The honest, open, naked truth:

Tell him o' mine an' Scotland's drouth,
His servants humble:

The muckle devil blaw ye south,

If ye dissemble!

Does ony great man glunch and gloom?
Speak out, an' never fash your thoom!
Let posts an' pensions sink or soom

Wi' them wha grant 'em:

If honestly they canna come,

Far better want 'em.

In gath'rin votes you were na slack;
Now stand as tightly by your tack;
Ne'er claw your lug, an' fidge your back,
An' hum an' haw;

But raise your arm, an' tell your crack'
Before them a'.

Paint Scotland greetin owre her thrissle;
Her mutchkin stoup as toom's a whissle:'
An' d-d Excisemen in a bussle,*

Seizin a Stell,

Triumphant crushin't like a mussel,

Or lampit shell.

2

Then on the tither hand present her,
A blackguard Smuggler, right behint her,
An' cheek-for-chow, a chuffie' Vintner,

Colleaguing join,

Picking her pouch as bare as Winter

1 Story.

Bustle.
Side by side.

Of a' kind coin.

2 Thistle.

3 Whistle.
A kind of shell-fish.
7 Fat-faced.

11