Page:Roy's wife of Aldivalloch (2).pdf/5

 Alake! quoth Neil, I'm frail and auld,

And find my bluid grows unco cauld;

I think 'twad mak me blyth and bauld,

A wee drap Highland whisky, O,

And yet the doctors a' agree

That whisky's no the drink for me;

Saul! quoth Neil, 'twill spoil my glee.

Should they part me and whisky, O.

Tho' I can get baith wine and ale,

And find my head and fingers hale.

I'll be content, tho' legs shou'd fail,

To play fareweel to whisky, O.

But still I think on auld langsyne,

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 glam,

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. 



John Anderson, my jo, John,

When we were first acquent,