Page:Four excellent songs (10).pdf/6

 For sad misluck, without my hat,
 * I doiting cam’ awa, man;

An’ when I down the Drygate cam.
 * The win’ began to blaw, man.

When I cam to the Drygate Brig, It whipt awa my good brown wig, That whirl’d like ony whirligig, As up it flew out o’ my view. While I stood glowring, waefu’ blue,
 * Wi’ wide-extended jaw, man.

When I began to grape for’t syne,
 * Thrang poutering wi’ my staff, man,

I coupet owre a muckle stane,
 * And skail’d my pickle snuff, man.

My staff out o’ my hand did jump, And hit my snout a dreadfu’ thump, Which rais’d a most confoundet lump; But whaur it flew I never knew. Yet sair I rue tho mark sae blue,
 * It looks sae fleesome wauf, man.

Now wad ye profit by my loss,
 * Then tak’ advice frae me, man.

And ne’er let common sense tak’ wing
 * On fumes o’ barley bree, man.

For drink can heeze a man sae high, As gar his head maist touch the sky, But down he tumbles by and bye, Wi’ sic a thud ’mang stanes and mud, That aft it’s good if dirt and blood
 * Be a’ he has to dree, man.