Page:Neil Gow's fareweel.pdf/3

Rh When Paradise our friends did tyne, Because something ran in their min’, Forbid, like Highland whisky, O.

Come a‘ ye pow‘rs o‘ Music, come! I find my heart grows unco glum, My fiddle strings will no play bum, To say fareweel to whisky, O. I‘ll take my fiddle in my hand, And screw the strings up while they’ll stand, To mak a lamentation grand. On gude auld Highland whisky, O.

Blythe, blythe, an‘ happy are we, Cauld care is flegg’d awa; This is but ae night o’ our lives. An’ wha wou‘d grudge tho‘ it were twa. The ev’ning shade around is spread, The chilling tempest sweeps the sky; We’re kindly met, an’ warmly set, An’ streams o’ nappy rinnin’ by. Blythe, &c.

While gettin fou, we’re great, I trow, We scorn misfortune’s greatest bangs;