The Drunkard to his Bottle.
I was thinking of the temperance lyrics the great poet of Scotland might have written had he put his name to a pledge of abstinence, a thing unhappily unknown in his day. The result of my cogitation was this poor imitation of his dialect. Hoot!—daur ye shaw ye're face again,Ye auld black thief oa purse an' brain?
For foul disgrace, for dool an' pain
Ana shame I ban ye:
Wae's me, that e'er my lips have ta'en
Your kiss uncanny!
Nae mair, auld knave, without a shillina
To keep a starvina wight frae stealina [349]
Ye'll sena me hameward, blina and reelina
Frae nightly swagger,
By wall an' post my pathway feelina,
Wia mony a stagger.
Nae mair oa fights that bruise ana mangles
Nae mair oa nets my feet to tangle,
Nae mair oa senseless brawl ana wrangle,
Wia friena ana wife too,
Nae mair oa deavina din ana jangle
My feckless life through.
Ye thievina, cheatina, auld Cheap Jack,
Peddlina your poison brose, I crack
Your banes against my ingle-back
Wia meikle pleasure.
Deil mend ye ia his workshop black,
E'en at his leisure!
I'll brak ye're neck, ye foul auld sinner,
I'll spill ye're bluid, ye vile beginner
Oa aa the ills ana aches that winna
Quat saul ana body!
Gie me hale breeks ana weel-spread dinner
Deil taka ye're toddy!
Nae mair wia witches' broo gane gyte,
Gie me ance mair the auld delight
0' sittina wia my bairns in sight,
The gude wife near,
The weel-spent day, the peacefua night,
The mornina cheer!
Cock aa ye're heids, my bairns fua gleg,
My winsome Robin, Jean, ana Meg,
For food and claes ye shall na beg
A doited daddie.
Dance, auld wife, on your girl-day leg,
Ye've founa your laddie!
1829.
