Weels me o' drink, quo cooper Will, Sin fou on Hansel-Teysday: The magistrates fu' wylie are; Our Deacon wadna ca' a chair; The foul ane durst him na-say! He took shanks-naig; but, fient may care! He arslins kiss'd the cawsey Wi' bir that night. Weel loes me o' you, souter Jock! Then wi' a souple leathern whang He gart them fidge and girn ay :"Faith, chiel! ye's no for naething gang, "Gin ye maun reel my pirny." Syne, wi' a muckle elshin lang He brogit Maggie's hurdies; And 'cause he thought her i' the wrang, There pass'd nae bonny wordies "Tween them that night. Now, had some laird his lady fand It might hae lows'd the haly band, But the niest day, they a' shook hands, While Meg for drink her apron pawns, Glowr round the cawsey, up and down, What mobbing and what plotting! Here politicians bribe a lown Against his saul for voting. The gowd that inlakes half a crown Thir blades lug out to try them, They pouch the gowd, nor fash the town For weights and scales to weigh them Exact that day. Then Deacons at the counsel stent Ye lowns that troke in doctor's stuff, O' death yon night. TO THE TRON-KIRK BELL. WANWORDY, crazy, dinsome thing, But weel wat I they cou'dna bring What deil are ye? that I shou'd bann, Nor ulzie pig, nor maister cann, But weel may gie Mair pleasure to the ear o' man Than stroke o' thee. Fleece merchants may look bauld, I trow, Sin' a' Auld Reikie's childer now Maun stap their lugs wi' teats o' woo, Thy sound to bang, Your noisy tongue, there's nae abidin't, To deave me, then, ye tak a pride in't Wi' senseless knoll. O! were I provost o' the town, I'd bring ye wi' a reesle down; Nor shou'd you think (Sae sair I'd crack and clour your crown) Again to clink, For whan I've toom'd the meikle cap, And fain wad fa' owre in a nap, That gies the tither weary chap To waken me. I dreamt ae night I saw Auld Nick ; Quo' he, "This bell o' mine's a trick, "A wylie piece o' politic, * · A cunnin snare "To trap fouk in a cloven stick, "Ere they're aware. |