Let other poets raisea fracas
“Bout vines, an’ wines, an’ drucken Bacchus,
An’ crabbit names an’stories wrack us,
An’ grate our lug:
I sing the juice Scotch bearcan mak us,
In glass or jug.
O thou, my muse! guidauld Scotch drink!
Whether thro’ wimplin worms thou jink,
Or, richly brown, reamowre the brink,
In glorious faem,
Inspire me, till I lisp an’ wink,
To sing thy name!
Let husky wheat the haughsadorn,
An’ aitssetup their awniehorn,
An’ pease and beans, at e’enor morn,
Perfume the plain:
Leeze me onthee, John Barleycorn,
Thou king o’ grain!
On thee aftScotland chowsher cood,
In souplescones, the waleo’food!
Or tumblin in the boiling flood
Wi’ kailan’ beef;
But when thou pours thy strong heart’s blood,
There thou shines chief.
Food fills the wame, an’ keeps us leevin;
Tho’ life’s a gift noworth receivin,
When heavy-dragg’d wi’ pine an’ grievin;
But, oil’d by thee,
The wheels o’ life gaedown-hill, scrievin,
Wi’ rattlin glee.
Thou clears the head o’doited Lear;
Thou cheers ahe heart o’ drooping Care;
Thou strings the nerves o’ Labour sair,
At’s weary toil;
Though even brightens dark Despair
Wi’ gloomy smile.
Aft, clad in massy sillerweed,
Wi’ gentlesthou erects thy head;
Yet, humbly kind in time o’ need,
The poor man’s wine;
His weep 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 inspired,
When gaping they besiege the tents,
Are doubly fir’d.
That merry night we getthe corn in,
O sweetly, then, thou reams the hornin!
Or reekin on a New-year mornin
In cogor bicker,
An’ just a weedrapsp’ritual burnin,
An’ gustysucker!
When Vulcan gies his bellows breath,
An’ ploughmen gather wi’ their graith,
O rare! to see thee fizz an freath
I’th’ luggit caup!
Then Burnewincomes on like death
At every chap.
Nae mercy then, for airnor steel;
The brawnie, banie, ploughman chiel,
Brings hard owrehip, wi’ sturdy wheel,
The strong forehammer,
Tillblock an’ studdiering anreel,
Wi’ dinsome clamour.
When skirling weaniessee the light,
Though maks the gossips clatterbright,
How fumblin’ cuiffs their dearies slight;
Waeworththe name!
Naehowdiegets a social night,
Or plackfrae them.
When neibors anger at a plea,
An’ just as wud as wudcan be,
How easy can the barley brie
Cement the quarrel!
It’s aye the cheapest lawyer’s fee,
To taste the barrel.
Alake! that e’er my muse has reason,
To wyteher countrymen wi’ treason!
But mony daily weet their weason
Wi’ liquors nice,
An’ hardly, in a winter season,
E’erSpierher price.
Wae worththat brandy, burnin trash!
Fellsource o’ mony a pain an’ brash!
Twins mony a poor, doylt, drucken hash,
O’ half his days;
An’ sends, beside, auld Scotland’s cash
To her warst faes.
Ye Scots, wha wish auldScotland well!
Ye chief, to you my tale I tell,
Poor, placklessdevils like mysel’!
It setsyou ill,
Wi’ bitter, dearthfu’ wines to mell,
Orforeign gill.
May gravels round his blatherwrench,
An’ gouts torment him, inch byinch,
What twists his gruntlewi’ a glunch
O’ sour disdain,
Out owrea glass o’ whisky-punch
Wi’honest men!
O Whisky! soul o’ plays and pranks!
Accept a bardie’s gratfu’ thanks!
When wanting thee, what tuneless cranks
Are my poor verses!
Thou comes-they rattle in their ranks,
At ither’s a-s!
Thee, Ferintosh! O sadly lost!
Scotland lament fraecoast to coast!
Now colic grips, an’ barkin hoast
May kill us a’;
For loyal Forbes’ charter’d boast
Is ta’en awa?
Thaecurst horse-leeches o’ the’ Excise,
Whamakthe whisky stells their prize!
Haudup thy han’, Deil! ance, twice, thrice!
There, seize the blinkers!
An’ bake them up in brunstanepies
For poor damn’d drinkers.
Fortune! if thou’ll butgieme still
Halebreeks, a scone, an’ whisky gill,
An’ rowtho’rhyme to rave at will,
Taka’the rest,
An’deal’t about as thy blind skill
Directs thee best.