SCOTCH DRINK.

LET other Poets raise a fracas
 'Bout vines, an' wines, an' druken Bacchus,
 An' crabbed names an' stories wrack us,
 An' grate our lug,
 I sing the juice Scotch bear can mak us,
 In glass or jug,

O thou, my MUSE! guid, auld SCOTCH DRINK! 
Whether thro' wimplin 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 haughs adorn,
 And Aits set up their awnie horn,
 An' Pease an' Beans, at een or morn,
 Perfume the plain,
 Leeze me on thee John Barleycorn,
 Thou king o' grain! 

On thee aft Scotland chows her cood,
 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 us 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 chears the heart o' drooping Care;
 Thou strings the nerves o' Labor-sair,
 At's weary toil;
 Thou ev'n 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 wine;
 His wee drap pirratch, 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 reekan 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 bellys breath,
 An' Ploughmen gather wi' their graith,
 O rare! to see thee fizz an' freath
 I' the lugget caup! 
Then Burnewin comes on like Death
 At ev'ry chap. 

Nae mercy, then, for airn or steel;
 The brawnie, banie, 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 coofs their dearies slight,
 Wae worth them for't! 
While healths gae round to him wha, tight,
 Gies famous sport. 

When neebors anger at a plea,
 An' just as wud as wud can 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 wyte her countrymen wi' treason! 
But monie daily weet their weason
 Wi' liquors nice,
 An' hardly, in a winter season,
 E'er spier her price. 

Wae worth that Brandy, burnan trash
 Fell source o' monie a pain an' brash! 
Twins movie 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' four disdain,
 Out owre a glass o' Whisky-punch
 Wi' honest men! 

O Whisky! foul 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 arses! 

Thee Ferintosh! O sadly lost! 
Scotland lament frae 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, fieze the blinkers! 
An' bake them up in brunstane pies
 For poor d — n'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 thee best,