Page:Scotland's skaith, or, The sad effects of drunkenness (1).pdf/18

 18 In a sick-house, damp and narrow, (Left behind, wi' hundreds mair,) See Will neist, in pain and sorrow, Wasting on a bed of care. Wounds, and pain, and burning fever, Doctors cured wi' healing art; Cured, alas! but never, never. Cooled the fever at his heart. For, whan a' were sound and sleeping, Still and on, baith ear and late, Will in briny grief lay steeping; Mourning owre his hapless fate. A' his gowden prospects vanished, A' his dreams of warlike fame, A' his glittering phantoms banished, Will could think of nought but hame! Think of nought but rural quiet, birth Rural labour, rural ploys; Far frae carnage, bluid, and riot, War, and at its murdering joys. Back to Britain's fertile garden, Will's returned, (exchanged for faes;) Wi' ae leg, and no ae farden, Friend or credit meat nor claise. Lang through country, burgh, and city, Crippling on a wooden leg, Gathering alms frae melting pity, See poor Gairlace forced to beg.