Page:Margaret and the minister; a true tale (1).pdf/8

 Unto ilk man a bottle‘s plac‘d,

In silent expectation,

That they wad better be in haste

After so much oration;

It‘s just to be, or not to be,

To take an unkenn‘d doze,

Short-sighted man can hardly see

An inch before his nose.

I‘ll ask a favour frae ilk man,

And ye will surely grant it.

To drink it up as quick‘s you can,

Nor take time to decant it;

Like bugle-horns then in a raw,

They glower up to the lift,

And it was hardly down when twa

O‘ them began to rift.

That‘s curious stuff, it's made me weel,

I ne‘er drank this before,

Wi‘ that the Soda Watei chiel

Got up wi‘ sic a roar;

I‘m gone, I‘m poison‘d, fatal drink !

For me there is no cure,

When o‘er his cheeks, black streams

Ran gushing to the floor. [like ink,

He held the bottle up to break,

Nae langer life expeckin,

Syne read the label round it's neck,

The real ;

He's ill before, but now he's worse,

Wi' gut and ga‘ he‘s partin,

And ‘twixt ilk boak he gaed a curse

Against real.