Page:Comical stories of Thrummy Cap and the Ghaist (NLS104185980).pdf/20

 Which drave the company a' throuther,

As they were kippled baith thegither.

But in a crack, the prins brak loose,

An' Margret, ravin' left the house,

Hameward, in haste, she hobbl’d sweating

Tell’d Tamos the disaster greeting,

Wrung baith her han's an' solemn sware,

To dine wi' gentle folk nae mair.

Puir Scotland's scaith is whisky rife,

The very king o' curses;

Breeds ilka ill, care, trouble, strife,

Ruins health and empties purses.

It fills a peaceful land wi' strife,

The ale-house fills wi' roarin';

It fills wil broils domestic life,

An' fills the kirk wi' snoarin'.

'Twas on a bonny morn in May,

Twa three chiels did forgather,

The night before they'd gane astray,

And were a' drunk thegither;

Wi' pain their pows were like to part,

Their very tongues did russel;

Wi' shilpit look and shiverin' heart,

And throats as dry's a whissel.'

O for a drink of something cool,

Says ane, for I'm maist faintin':

Then let's go in, another says,

For my puir head's just rentin.