Page:Robin Aboon (3).pdf/6

 Ca'l the drawer, let him fill it
 * fou, as ever it can hold:

O tak tent ye dinna spill it,
 * 'tis mair precious far than gold.

By you're drunk a dozen bumpers,
 * Bacchus will begin to prove

Spite of Venus and her super,
 * drinking better is than love.

Too much of the creature will make you mad; If you take in resson 't will make you wise: If you drink to excess it will close up your eyes;
 * Yet Father and Mother,
 * And Sister and Brother,
 * They all love sup in their turn.


 * Some preachers will tell you to drink is bail,

I thick so tooif there's a one to be had; The Swadler will bid you drink none at all; But while I can get it a fig for them all;
 * Both Layman and Brother,
 * In spite of th's pother,
 * Will take s sup in their turn.